We are sorry to announce that any further contributions by Sana Toor will not be entertained by the Poets' Corner. The poem 'On Little Cat Feet' (Poets' Corner, Nov 27, 2009) published under her name was originally written by the famous American poet, Carl Sandburg under the title, 'The Fog'. A reminder for our contributors: Most of the times we are able to spot cases of plagiarism and those who have personally received our responses to plagiarised works contributed by them know what we are talking about! However, there are times when such a work goes unnoticed due to human error – we apologise for that – and we are extremely thankful to such careful and observant readers who point it out to Us.

Before sending lifted poems please keep this thing in mind that sooner or later plagiarism is discovered and what ensues is great shame for the so called contributor. We might be sounding harsh at the moment, but the point is that plagiarism is a SERIOUS CRIME and it is our responsibility that we discourage it as vehemently as possible.

Ripped of its honour

The crimson fluid

Streams of it running

Through each street

This city, another Venice

…A Venice from Hell!

Drowned in the blood

Of the Crown of Creation

A flood of unsanctified blood!

Adams and Eves weep

On the falling corpse

Of each Abel

Of each Christ.

Yet Cain lives on

And Pharaoh smiles

And Judas Iscariot pushes the button

To the cessation

Of the Crown of Creation

And wins another Nobel Peace prize

Beyond all cries!

I bleed internally!

I bleed eternally!

O my little bird!

Where art thou?

For thy heavenly songs

I dost implore

In thy innocent pleasures

I seek delight

And want thee always

Before my sight

Thy melodious chirping

O I can hear

In lands solitary

When I have fears!

Being so little

Thou understand not my pains

Neither can extinguish the gargantuan flames

For thou art a free bird

Of the rains…

Still, thou dost lift

Curtains dreary, from a happy life

And that momentous pleasure

For me becomes -- a priceless treasure

Sing my bird! Sing!

Sing as long as I live

Cease not thy song!

Let it spread…

May God grant you a long, long life

May the strings you fife upon, always survive.

All melodies melted

All diamonds dented

The blast shook my world

As feral emotions pelted.

'The life that I live,

The attire that I don,

The pleasures that I seek,

The associations that I form,

All freed from the fetters,

Of dogmatic tradition I want.'

On the sage's lips gathered,

The most beatiful smile.

In reply to her outburst,

He spoke but one line.

'What thou call freedom is naught,

But enslavement to thyself, O my child!'

She sipped her coffee warmly,

Her soft hands tightly hugging the mug.

Behind her, down below, the city lights shimmered

Their distant glow was mesmerising.

From high on top of the mountain,

Their intricate net

could take anyone's breath away

But, what was left of breath anyway!

The lights had faded.

The heartbeats had skipped.

For, there lay on her lips

The prettiest smile.

The prettiest....ever

And so asks Lahore!

What is it,

that I did?

What brings upon me

the wrath, the agony?

Ah!

If

only

you

could

let

me

show

again...

my

love

for

you!