Poem: The Flour Deaths

Do we need?
The Prime Minister House
The President’s palace
The great old parliament
The Muppets of our bureaucracy
The old feudal lords,
And the thousands acres
The old hands of dictators
And the warmth of lies
From the leaders of our present

Do we need?
The ruins of our existence
From one crisis to another
In the land enriched in its soil
From the fertile plains of Indus
To the rivers of the north
The old seasons of harvest
In the mockery of our times
From the creation of promise
To the hardened crimes of our elite

Do we need?
The remembrance of our times
From the questions of the youth
To the analysts of the past
The words in abundance
The absence of action and work
Delivered for the benefits of our hearts
The rotten souls and their dreams

Do we need?
The education and our health
The dream of our existence
Or the reliance on the west,
From its mercenaries to its aids
The disease, inhabited in our land
The crisis of the times, our lives engulfed

Do we need?
The question on their lips
The hatred in their hearts
As they died in the stampede
Of our failures and demise!