>14th March 05 – A letter and a Poem dedicated to me


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My dearest Agha Jan, AOA

Nice to know the epic details on the forefronts of Africa. Can´t say that i have taken many ready greens of advantages from Golf in the last three weeks utmost. Sumptuously, there will be plenty of shooting balls once my scores of education are settled. Howbeit the paper went well and hopeful like always with bleak assurances, apprehensive of the results, like every average student counting on mother’s prayers and thanksgivings. She has been very sweet lately by the way Ö. should be able to get through it on a clean note and cash no coins. A humongous candidate count considering it was an exam. Holiday Inn hotel; the venue of 3 to approximate 4 stars. Candidates seated in the basement wedding hall. No weddings. Just Exam. Dozen arrayed Justice of Invigilators (both young educated dopatas and dedicated lads). Students in all styles and metaphors. All chappals and jeans under one roof. The paper was made difficult in three spooky sections. 1st, the listening, that didn´t go very well. But don´t blame me. Englishmen, Urdus, Bolsheviks and Germans all have hearing problems understanding each other. But perhaps after 2nd world war we have managed our disputes well. 2nd, the reading went well 2 and completed all 3 instead of barely 1/3 like last time. Last time I was wearing spectacles.3rd, Writing very robust and a word-mincing machine like Mom making macaroni and Qeema when she is happy. Hand written words turning and tilting, topping and prostrating. Not to mention INSCRIBING. Bulldozer and Monster words all enmeshed in most difficult thoughts of very simple scenarios. All on few sheets of hand written paper. But not one. Computers consume electricity these days. Interview is scheduled on 18th the 50th of 13th earth hour. I plan on eating the interviewer with my propelling propensities to yapp, whether him or her, by their very first reconnaissance. GRE showdown is liable to jettison well since I have ample time on me now. Who cares if Pakistan runs on CNG. Math’s is unfortunately making sense with all zebras and division crosses. Holy Math! Rest reading and day dreaming as usual.

 

I have written a poem. The lines were dreamt on the dawn of waking up in bed. Please close one eye if you see any mistakes. I was in bed sketching them on early morning hours. They continue in the under behavior and ill-mannered mind mentioned below:

 

Okay this is serious now!

 

We are habitants of hope and You beholder of its fulfillment

We are confidants of constitution and You its solemn pillar

We are a crowd of millions in embittered rows and You vowing thousand services for its security

We scorn at neighbours from cities to suburbs and You serve them all on country outskirts

We are guests dining parties and You fighting to host the pledge of your compassions

We are conceited money making teams and You a league bereft by the very currency of it

We jeer in subjects of jested foolishness and You the tower on guard with regard for justice

We are destitutes of our daily civic duties and You destined to an unexpected breach of life

We pastor in our ill perceptions and limited peripherals of sights while You saviour us on zenith of bloody battles

We are objects of laughter gathered around fountains while You a forgotten group on the tenuous rifts of mountains

We are scattered visitors and tossing tulips on friends for favours and You a promised unified protector of fellowship

We are a Standard of scrounge in the Bank of our deceptions and You save us from the feuds of enemy emancipations

We are reckless in publicity of our superficial reputations and You for simplicity in the lines of enemy slaughters

We yawn in chors and dance on songs in our sensations of youth while You hasten youth in the hazards of servitude

We isolate ourselves with instincts of rich and poor but You dare to save us both in the eye of  fury and danger

We value mode of our fabrics and means to travel while You bear the range of average school fee in modest stakes and limitations

We foster to gain rupees by the ironies of wealth and You the residual of war in the shelter of bullets and bombs

We tire our evenings choosing ways to color the sense in our clothes and You speed years in the stiff crease of uniform

You are my sterling Warriors and Pride of Pakistan.

 

A Poem one and Wishes a many, Happy Birthday!

By

Your loving son, Moodz

 

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