Have you, ever felt, your, all bones melt
In the, fire of faith, furnace of fear
It’s me, whose funeral, you have smelt
Who is, his, mortal dreams’, martyr!

In this, wasteland of sand, I miss, my land
Duped, by middleman, scourged, by foreman
Beside my tomb, those, FIFA stadia, stand
Which spent, me, more than, a conquest can!

I sold, myself, for a, thousand Riyals
To buy dreams, that, turned to, nightmares
Here, work, no morales, never ever, rationales
Just a, mean malevolence, Arab prejudice, bares!

“Expect Amazing”, when, Qatar, blares
How hideous, is, its heart, it seems
Sinking in, a quicksand, of despairs
I Chase, In, Mortar Mirage, My Dreams!

© 2022 Vikas Chandra