by Rana Junaid Mustafa Gohar

I am a poor man

Of a poor land

No god I have

Nowhere I stand.

I see the doors shut

Where come the help from

Whenever I raise

High my hand.

I cry, call to Him

I raise my sound

Orisons I found

No one in the sky

Doth respond.

My head cometh down

Bow I on the ground

And so doth the hand

No god I have

Nowhere I stand.

And so the insight

Doth fright and inform

Nor do I conform

What’s asked to perform.

I feel like, I

Like the slid sand

From Thy hand.

I am a man banned

No god I have

Nowhere I stand.