*Written back in 2010.
Before you cast a look of disgust on my face,
Decree my value by it, that too in haste,
Ever do you wonder, what made it lose its grace?
From the abundance and lack of crisp paper,
The fortunes I posses, you suppose,
To where it really lies, you fail to peek and know,
For it is the heart in which wealth is held, sole and alone,
By how I walk, by what I eat,
How magnificent my abode is and in which street,
You draw a conclusion of what I am,
Not by my deeds but all these?
All my actions,
You examine and dissect,
What forces me to inherit these ways, do you ever check?
The scars it left,
The bruises it gifted me and of much it made me bereft,
With your hands tied to your back,
In one glance, from the unfathomable depth of my painful past,
You think the real reasons you can fetch?
Deeming me a sinner,
Declaring others future inhabitants of heaven,
Who are you to say?
Because when open will crack the grounds,
And swallowed will be mankind,
With each’s souls by the Angel of Death, impounded,
On our bodies will lay the same single cloth of white,
No riches in hand, no tongue to speak,
Time would’ve crumbled to dust with and with no second to contrite,
So remember the Last Day,
And through what you’ll trudge,
When you speak to judge,
As we have our own paths to pave,
For at the end we’d have separate graves.
~ Hafsa Khawaja