Chanced up on a gathering br where chests were being beaten br and wedding gowns of nudity ripped in shards br requiems squealed for every pleasure every indulgence br every orgasm; stuck in br rush hour of remembrance br br Providence’s ordained second fiddle player br burdened underneath blackened crepes of customs br br It was Ward-III Civil Hospital Karachi br storage facility of fire wood to stoke br the satanic flames of poverty br a manufacturing concern of large flypaper br meant to attract farthest slings of mud br br br With head hung in shame I returned; br and for the well suffixed and prefixed existence br in backdropp of their anonymity br all I had were some malnourished tears br some watery lei born in melee of guilt and gratitude br br My forehead itched scampered for terra firma br and found comfort in the stony indifference br of wall that comforts.....