by Athar Mudasir
It is the cold and wilderness outside
Their lies a bride sworn with Gold inside
The snow cloaks the earth warmth the dead soil
The men are desolated and wondering yet their galore boil
The Gardens which flourished are ruined
The frost and cold has occupied every trench
The intrusion sets on borders and resident evil in homes
The roses are plucked before it dwells in Garden
The Foresightedness bloomed as worldly pleasure Glooms
Some are running and some hiding,
The Plague spreads and snatches a sacred soul
The death has become common, the ransom has become common
How long will this herd survive where best is been buried and worst throned
It might be soon when you will be in exile and wonder once I grazed here.
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