Painted Fruits Poem by Showkat Ahmad Wani

Thy friends are never friends of core, you know?
But foes of foes that share the rag of friends;
You leap them all thy treasure, all thy glee,
And all thy spring that bloom the every rose
Of every garden green under the rocks,
Among the puffs of bloody smell and sun;
And give them every song of every bird,
To sleep volcano gushes from chasm of heart;
But never give the autumn breeze and shade,
And winter cold or owl's eccentric woe,
Or baby-fear in mother's want of lap,
Or fearful dreams, or misery darts of night,
You alter darkest pages, troubles deep
Of friends' to morning bear of newly dawn,
And all the autumns, all the winter's cold,
But never find a simplest smile of spring;
Let friendly be with foes to fool with hearts,
And play the malice tug with trust of friends;
Let shut out all the doors for friends of brand,
And open same for foes to give them faith,
Let friends be still in bloody sun to plot,
And take thy rest beneath the selfish tree,
Let give thy praise to cheat to get thy pile,
And swiftly run with rapid public race;
To have thy credit shown and win the minds,
Let sit among the painted fruits at top
On natural tree, and prove the most tasty one
And the true, by the art of fabric smile.