Land of plenty and woven rugs.
Down and ailing with banal bugs.
Sadly on the wings of tipsy thugs.

Blood of a million gave her life.
Lost to odium and planted strife.
In bondage love, as hate is rife.

Round and round they brew the pot.
Concocted lies to truth a rot.
Add more fuel to make it hot.

Whir the bobbins on their wheels.
Zip; bits and bytes in zillion reels.
Naked innocence sobs and kneels.

O’derry O’derry*…cackled lies.
Rip a shanty gouge the eyes.
Stomp and stifle helpless sighs.

It so worked in centuries past.
Land ahoy! We yelled from masts.
Broke the ranks in sullied casts.

Wondered the witches as they gaped.
My motherland alas is vanquished raped.
As those that matter, stood by, aped.


original
saadat tahir
03 June, 2k11
Islamabad

*O’derry O’derry,
…in contemporary English lore, sound of the spinning wheel.

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