Most Unpopular In Pakistan Your Aj Is (A Reply To A Message Of My Dear Friend Me Poet Yeps Poet) Poem by Akhtar Jawad

Dear Friend, Pakistan is too fertile for the crops of poetry,
The land here grows green plants and springs flowers,
The wind here scatters aroma of the scented styles,
The clouds here spread their wings for the showers,

Everyday a flower with a new shade and new fragrance
Opens its delicate petals with an inviting smile like a ruby,
With the beauty of attractive contrast among blue diamonds,
Miracle of poetry! Very soon grows in a poet, this cute baby!

I am an old fashioned jewellery though made of pure gold
I can just watch the pinkish white necks from my silky base
I am an old necklace put secured in the lockers of a bank
She visits, looks at me, smiles, puts the new in her briefcase,

Suffocated in a locker, I cannot see, I can imagine only,
How the new restless necklace attempts to break the chains
How the valley below the necks ignores the shining jewels,
And when it fails to kiss her breasts, I forget my pains,

New one never knows one day it will be old and stale,
I shall welcome it in the locker with the pearls of my tears
When her silky brown hairs will lose density and colours,
Confined in a locker like room for nightmares and fears,

Shall break the steel of this locker and shall come out of it,
On the vibrating breasts with a single remaining last breath
With untied golden chains, who'll stop me to crawl and kiss?
On the silk I shall slip to bid farewell, somewhere underneath!

She is mortal her soul may go to the Heavens for peace and rest
I know her grandchildren will sell me to the goldsmith, I am gold,
He will extract the jewels; will soften the gold, he will renovate me,
New and new fashioned in the neck of a bride, yes, I'll be sold.