Could not, she wait, for, one last Eid
Was such, the calling, of her zeal
“In the, Holiest Month, jihad, indeed
Is the, only deed, for a wound, to heal!”
Hate, had not been, that, teacher’s trait
Who blew, herself, to martyrdom
Unbeknown, to how, it will, change fate
Of, Baloch ethos, seeking freedom!
Have conquests, ended, ethnic quests
Baptized by, blood-fests, of, mad men
What a woman, would add, to these, vile bequests
Besides, most, dreadful, dimension!
Whose garden, whose gardener, was lost
In the, furor of, fanatic fanfare
Which triumph, was bought, at a, mortal cost
Who Martyred, A Mother, Her Faith, Or Her Fear!
© 2022 Vikas Chandra