Untitled Xxxiv Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

Wiggie hat hangs over a teeny face
Of seventy I am sure, may be more,
Made from the thick hair of Transoxania.
The field marshal in the manner of desert snake,
Like raccoon pated the backs of mules. He came
Riding on. Girlie mane, would you be a man,
Of bald head, like some Baldwin
Or we are used to grave faced Winston.

O soil of many rivers, didsn't thou
Gave birth to men of dignity and demeanor,
Yea, our coastal breed, speak through wire
From London. The cult, and the other's a humor,
His son in lap. The language of the body
Of the National is, abusive, uncontrolled.
The habit of rote, to the spokesperson of divine,
Though wears a pink tie, but is fresh from seminary.

Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
September 13,2014.