The Tattered Comforter

Urdu in the air, children in the streets The eucalyptus smelling sharper in the heat Family, sunshine, rickshaws, mirth Sweet scent of the monsoon drenched earth Oh the sounds, smells, feel of my land I belonged here, no place more grand Like a soft comforter enveloped in love Heaven on earth, nothing better above Today my comforter is in tatters Run by idiots and mad-hatters Dismal, ruined, infested by vice held together by blood sucking lice Nothing remains of its warmth Inhabited now by the foul stench of death And tales of horrors foretold Throughout its once fragrant breadth (Karachi, June 2013, On the massacre of mountaineers at Nanga Parbat)