Untitled unfinished Poem # 16…

by Talha Minhas

Here’s a ballad – for the struggles I made
To get to the point I never saw coming.
Had I been more elaborate, more articulate
Had I been more stubborn, more cocky
This tedious event would never have happened.
It brings me to a point where I become cold,
Inconsiderate and unworthy of compassionate bonding.
But it feels like it was called for, asked for…
maybe even deserved.
To see the point, this becomes exceedingly meaningless.
As a whore for words, I turn into a monster for love.

What becomes of that man that I shamed?
I shouldn’t be putting a show to…
something that he’d never want to hear.
Being blamed for all the things undecipherable…
by the cultural ignorance and the shams.
What of that woman…
the one with the morals of a child?
Bashing the intimate to its fall,
calling it faith to its face.
What a shy face to have,
The irony of being a human…

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