The Done On Run Poem by Hanan Muzafar

I saw a mad crowd,
knocking on a locked door:
Waiting for the calm storm,
to let them free.

An on and on schedule;
Looking for an excuse,
to be alive:
Lost fellows,
drifting with dust.

It wasn't to be meant,
but that's how it goes:
Triumph on a lost table,
One following the other,
Purposeless,
A flame without light.

What you reveal,
Doesn't need a seal;
Sometimes its feel,
And sometimes a broken deal.

Few with a worthy cause,
And birth of a thought,
They just demand a pause.

Slowdown for a while,
Some lies, I hear all the time;
Hope doesn't shine.

Thin threads taking leap,
What matters, is it all:
Some rise and some fall.

What midnight says,
Let it be;
On your knees,
All you see,
Dusk and golden paddy grass.

Through grassy lea,
Watching the dragonflies:
The done on run,
For a bright sun.