Thou two-faced bridegroom of a futile marriage,
Thou couldn’t walk the aisle, though drove the carriage.
Clever Muse! With thy mysterious musings thou misguided a sage.
While trying to fly him thou got him a cage.
Only to spoil his good, and earn him a bad name,
Thou didst all efforts at thy disposal, and (un)played the game.
No wonder, the old hero did never stagger,
And turned himself into a villain, lo, greater.
Partly to thee the credit goes, and partly does to his doddering age.
Thou healed the wound with salt instead of a bandage.
Thou dreamt of a honeymoon with gold at the bank?
Alas! the ship of ambitions with the crew, lo, sank.
Thy longings did submerge, and yearnings did shake,
And left thy repute and good name at stake.
Thy designs dark, with thy silly deeds,
Have stoned thy status, and there it bleeds.
The horizon lights up, and hopes are humming,
Why? Couldn’t thou stop the second coming?
Oh! How haunting it is when the imagined burns,
And quest, retreated, into failure returns!
Zahoor ul Haq Danish