SONNET 413
By JH Sayyar
Hunger and poverty sharpen our wit,
Wit: the gist of human soul in brain,
It shuns from the darkest wisdom grit,
Emotions push wisdom for fake gain,
I see wisdom sit at the corner of street,
Laughing at the foolish in tattered robs,
With sunken eyes see all women’s feet,
Spreading hair weeping with the sobs,
Wisdom peeps through the slut’s eyes,
Cunning love sits at her attractive lip,
I listen to her conscious and dim cries
What they have done today in the kip
Glee in good deeds, look in the glass,
Good deeds do shine among the mass
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