A Cry Among The Voices Poem by Showkat Ahmad Wani

We lost all the senses since we melted fast
As glaciers giant with global warming curse,
And drop by drop we went down chasm of dark,
These strode on hunting souls, we went on sleep,
I search the million billion willion souls
For lonely word of Ibrahim to share
A sweetly soothing sense of spritely spring,
Among the Numroods blaze of human race,
But find the voice of hunter's being to wave
The Numrood fire, to feed the hunting bird;
We lost the crown of pride for rags of self,
And lost our mind and soul, became a vague;
We Are ‘the lost' but know not, probing what?
We had once the glory-past, with tint minds,
And hearts with holy feel, and tongue with truth;
These drank the gen from pools of all their minds,
And gobbled book of time then page by page,
To throw the darks away, to have the sun;
They taught to reach the fact and learnt the soul,
But now we copy fake to get the fake;
Our schools__ ‘the farms of wilds' that craft the beasts,
We wear the fabric virtue try to prove
All true among the devil's seat of sense;
We made all faith a trade, and bent to fake,
We think by other's mind to smash our thought,
And do by other's act to rub the mourn,
We please by other's joy as owl in day,
And fly at night to sip the inner dark,
We breathe in doubt; we wear the doubt of faiths
And keep the doubts of faith; we pledge the doubt;
We eat the doubt; we drink the doubt in thirst;
We walk the doubt; we say the doubt in need;
We are the doubtful souls who lay in darks;
We are the dead by mind and spirit and by being,
They fought to be alight, we fell in darks,
We lay in endless darks, we buy the darks
To share the darks among the minds of dark;
Now, which our sun will rise to shun the darks?
And drop the stirring beams to give us feel,
We had past ___ ‘the bright and true', zenith to stars,
But lost then beam by beam with sleep of death;
They gleamed true to gleam the other darks,
They flew among the wilds, the peaks and depths,
To share the will of life, to rub the rough;
We flow to darks' ocean noiselessly,
Becoming crumb of oceanic beast to waste
Our self for living comfy clothed joy;
Let never shake our mind and call not death
To this our drowsy dream of drowsy thought;
Now, who will rise against the winter play?
Against the wakeful bird of hunting act?
Thee call on us to sun the darks by chance
I call this crime for acting stir us hard
From pretend-sleep to mindful wake of time,
Then thee are dead for sharing sip of life.