Painted Fruits Poem by Showkat Ahmad Wani

Thy friends are never friends of core, you know?
Yet foes of foes don friendship's tattered guise;
You leap them all thy treasure, all thy glee,
And all thy spring that blooms each crimson rose,
In gardens green beneath the stony shade,
Amidst the crimson scent and burning sun;
And gift them every song the soft birds weave,
To still the volcanic tides that surge within;
Yet never yield the autumn's cooling breath,
Nor winter's chill, nor owl's foreboding cry,
Nor infant's cry for want of mother's clasp,
Nor haunting dreams, nor night's keen darts of woe,
Thou turn'st the darkest woes of friends in pain
To morning's breath and dawn's renewing light,
And all the autumns, all the winter's chill,
Yet never glimpse the simplest smile of spring;
Let friendship veil the foes who toy with hearts,
And pull the cords of trust with hands of spite;
Let every door be barred to branded friends,
Yet ope the same for foes, and gift them faith,
Let friends remain beneath the blood-stained sun to plot,
And rest thee low beneath the selfish tree,
Let praise be given to deceit for gain,
And swiftly join the frantic race of men;
To flaunt thy name and bend the minds of men,
Sit high among the fruits of painted hue,
Upon the living tree, the sweetest found,
The truest one, by the art of fabric smile.
(05 June,2007)