Shahid Abbas [Pakistan]

Bones of the Unborn

 

We came not by choice, but by divine decree,

Soft bones of the unborn crushed beneath tyranny.

Schools ignite, dreams shatter, skies rain fire,

Innocence hunted by greed’s dark desire.

Eyes plucked, hearts torn, minds consumed by night,

Crows and vultures feast where hope once took flight.

Yet amid the wreckage, whispers softly rise,

A flicker of courage, reflected in children’s eyes.

Tanks roll, bombs fall, devils still grin,

Masked as humans, wearing the sin within.

From home to home, creed to creed, we roam,

Seeking shelter, love, a fleeting sense of home.

We take nothing, demand no throne,

Still we’re hunted, beaten, left alone.

Greed paints lies, fear shapes their reign,

Blind to humanity, deaf to pain.

Peace whispers soft, yet roars meet our ears,

Tears are rivers, flowing with fears.

Children of God, reflections of light,

Met with fury, shadows in the night.

Bones of the unborn, scattered, yet rise,

Ashes of hope, still touch the skies.

Devils in man’s guise, greed in their veins,

Shall shiver when truth breaks their chains.

No creed, no color, no borders, no name,

Can justify cruelty, or fuel the flame.

We rise, untamed, voices reborn,

And whisper to the world: innocence is sworn.

It Was Never Just Land

 

It was never just land

never just sand,

it was our hands,

our own hands

we broke them,

we sold them,

we lost our stand,

it was never just land.

We carved our truth in borrowed lies,

hid our guilt behind disguise,

silent deals in dust filled air,

we watched it fall and called it fair,

and now it whispers when I stand

look at you… what you’ve unplanned,

it was never just land.

It was sweat on my father’s face,

lines of hope time can’t erase,

bread from honesty, earned not begged,

dreams he carried but never said,

now those fields feel strange, unmanned,

ghosts of truth in stolen land,

it was never just land.

You speak of racism far away,

but here it breathes in shades of grey,

they don’t ask your name, they ask your caste,

then write your future from your past,

working hands pushed down, unmanned,

like dignity they can’t withstand,

it was never just land.

We claim one God yet we divide,

build our walls and let truth hide,

what kind of faith draws lines so deep?

what kind of prayers do we still keep?

you break a soul, say “it’s their place,”

then bow your head with borrowed grace,

book in your hand but heart unmanned,

it was never just land.

How long this silence, how long this chain?

how long this inherited shame?

how long till we understand

no one is lesser in this land?

say it clear, say it plain,

we rise together or fall again,

it was never just land

it was us,

we didn’t understand.

The Sweltering Bird

 

A gentle bird swelters upon the wall,

Beneath the blazing noonday sun,

Its feathers whispering of silent heat.

He flies to the water pot,

Dismayed to find

Only scorching, lifeless water there,

As though the sun had set it aflame.

He thought he might die,

So parched, so painfully dry was he.

A restless, burning wind wanders through the night,

Stirring sleep till dawn’s first golden light.

I rose at once to fill the pot

With fresh, cool, soothing water.

Perhaps catching sight of my shadow,

The bird returns in trembling hope,

Drinks with wild abandon,

Like rain upon a thirsty soul,

Then flies away

Perhaps believing man can still be kind,

A quiet, gracious host.

Author's bionote:

* Shahid Abbas is a multi-awarded international author and poet from Kirpala 421 G.B., Tandlianwala, Faisalabad, Pakistan. He is the author of Words from Nature and a co-author of We Speak in Syllables as well as Verses of Meraki. His literary works have been featured in numerous international anthologies and a wide range of distinguished literary platforms, both in print and online. Shahid Abbas’s poetry has been translated into thirteen different languages, reflecting his global reach and artistic impact.