Our home was a sagging Minar
Where aspirations lived like cloths, worn,
The weathers wavering often visited it
As our bodies were just spaces to rest?
For years together the flowers would never know
The art of blooming
Weeping could be set off, any moment, anytime
Sometimes the Dal tasted bitterly salty
But hardly anyone would go on a long journey!

Letters dropped by relatives often came
The ritual of STD lessened their frequency
We bid farewell in youth, to some of our friends, who demised
Some dearly loved ones never turned up again once gone.
Wives and children bought expensive stuff only in the Ads
And looked contented.
Anarchy and Scarcities became natural, just as breathing!

Our home was ours
And we were not the inhabitants of an unknown planet- aliens,
We had full poise and pride about it
Like anyone has, or one ought to have!

Earlier this Minar used to quaver a bit
We were unconscious a little, then almost infatuated considered it as distinctive

But out of the blue it trembled
And now even with a slightest blow of wind
This could collapse off, to the earth.

But, you must ponder it over too-
If so happens some fateful day,
Responsible for it shall be, who?