It is hard to share the hope

of the man before whose eyes

hangs the hangman’s rope,

praying that it’s the wrong size.

It is hard to force a smile,

as if the past never hurt,

the pain lasted only a while,

left the soul untouched, the heart unhurt.

It is hard to goose-step, to march in line

with dull treads that drum the earth,

to suffer drier minds that incline

towards drought, not a monsoon’s birth.

It is hard to stay awake when one’s eyes

long to shut the world out, and the self within.

It will be hard to ignore Death when he arrives.

He is family, Life’s long-lost twin.

F.S. AIJAZUDDIN,  30 May 2015