The haste, the damned haste, and nothing but the haste

The haste, the damned haste, and nothing but the haste
Nothing but the naught that begat the haste

The naught that was wrought, no sooner than the fall, sooner
Yet the saving, the damned saving, who would thus care

To be saved given the ought wrought by naught? The
Small, the less than free, the gates which close at dawn.

Taking a tangent from Jon Elia’s verse from Shayad (pg 123)
haasil-e-‘kun’ hai ye jahaan-e-kharaab
yehi mumkin tha itni ujlat maiN

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged .

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