Price Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Who can pay the price of dry leaves
Who have, in them, seasons' history.
Who can pay the price of sharp thorns
Who have a shining rare beauty.
Who can pay for the wayward winds
Who seem to be paying duty.
Who can pay for the twinkling stars
Who shine without electricity.
Who can pay for graceful sunshine
Who never disobeys her treaty.
Who can pay for running rivers
Price seems to be thought's travesty.
Who can pay for sweet chirping birds
Rainbow, and clouds' vast tapestry.
Who can pay for parents' true love
Feelings against which prove casuistry.
We cannot pay for anything around
Though we live in false sophistry.
We can only make some exchange
If it falls in a feasible range.