| A swinging youth with friends uncouth, |
| Unkempt his curly hair, |
| Strolled pleasantly, in reverie, |
| Enjoying the evening air. |
| He sang of aims, |
| of common claims, |
| and joys that they could share, |
| His voice was loud |
| but in that crowd |
| Another voice was rare. |
| Soon, gentle maids with tacked-on braids |
| Of his presence became aware. |
| With tender charms and forceful arms |
| Young leader to ensnare, |
| They moved with guile |
| in single file, |
| Singling out a pair. |
| Though love is blind, |
| it is not unkind, |
| And certainly not unfair. |
| The weight of love |
| fell from above |
| On head and shoulders bare. |
| Ideals sustained limbs that pained, |
| Heads that needed repair. |
| The elders heard of things unheard of |
| Before a magistrate’s chair. |
| Reason prevailed; |
| so the youth unveiled |
| His wounds to medical care. |
| Red weals spread on his back |
| whereon his innocence lay bare. |
| T’was from the back |
| that spurned Zulakh Did pure Yousaf’s raiment tear. |
[Published in THE PAKISTAN TIMES, 1 August 1970] |
