Untitled Poem # 4…

by Talha Minhas

I sit here waiting, gloating,

Over the stately wisdom,

Of my lovely people, that I love.

Yet to faintly traces of forgotten identities,

I bore this sigh of terror.

And this lowly mirror,

Shall be able to tell no more.

My pride ascends.

My faith digresses.

What speaks of truth?

What asks for salvation?

Shall never be explored.

 

Whatever.

 

Talha Minhas; 9-28-2012.

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