by Hirra Sultan
Hope to me was God himself
But to me, was He turning deaf?
The rope to pull me up was Him
But somewhere, did the rope He trim?
My light in dark was none but Him
But, was the dark not induced by Him?
In sorrow my shoulder to cry was His
But, did He Himself not cease my bliss?
My bleeding feet were caressed by Him
But, were the thorns not given by Him?
When alone I talked to Him
But, was I not rendered friendless by Him?
Contentment locked away from me
Was it that He wanted to hear my plea?
The list never ceased to be
Was it not He who made thee?
(Hirra Sultan is a final yr B. Tech student)
Awsm Lines