The Pakistani Spectator

As the dew sets in early in the morning
As wake up calls echo like the sirens
When the conscience begins to question
The meaning and of its relations

There exists a place,
where foes turn into friends
And friends into foes – explicit markings

There I ran hundred miles with the old friend
In anger and in pain, as the rain kicked in
As the blood dripped in, from knees and its joints
There I ran hundred miles, to get away

From myself for the last time, one last try
Summoned me they in courtyards of questions
Furnished with my motives and my hate,
Of all the wrongs I had done, in my time

As the trust began to fade, found I myself
At the station, in coloured socks,
Two tracks never to join

The other life far away, in silence for years
To begin, as I leave with a morning mist
Out of a place of my creation and existence

Where once I ran, hundred miles
with an old friend, with an old foe!