Love,

Is it an investment

On which a handsome interest is earned?

 

Does the hand that rocks the cradle

Seek it too?

That the return be turned

Into a golden crown

And worn over a head

Always held high

 

Where can that love be found

Which seeks no return

Except love?

 

Why is it a crime, a sin

To be ordinary, just ordinary?

I am but an ordinary person

With dreams and aspirations

That yield no ‘return’, that give no ‘interest’

But they make me what I am

A man

Not a god

Which I’ll never be

Though I was brought up by them --

By the gods on Mount Olympus

Where everyone has to be extraordinary -- all the time

 

I shall not forsake

My mortality --, which rests upon truth

For apotheosis founded upon deceit

To make a man a god

Which no man -- being human --

Can actually be

But though I have left Olympus

Olympushas not left me

 

Investors

Each one of them

As a teetering, avaricious, greedy Jew

Tear at my flesh

To get back every penny

Of the return they wish to hungrily devour

Of the investment they tenaciously hold

For the love they ruthlessly sold

 

Ah! But in the hands that tear and scratch

Is one which with a soothing lullaby

Had once rocked my cradle

 

Heu prisca fides!

The heart that bleeds, the blood it poureth

Cried out loud

Though none understood

I am but a man, sir

Neither great, nor good

Just a human, gentlemen

Nice gentlemen

Rich, fat, scornful gentlemen

Just a human gentlemen

Who needs love

In return for love

(Asif Iftikhar)

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