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ILA Magazine
Where Culture Meets Creativity
Hanging
© Written by Burhan Peeping through the broken window
My ears deaf and my mouth numb
Along the police sirens and honking horns of ambulances
I remember the sentence in a strange language
on a oily paper strip guard passed to my mate.
Till now I couldn't decipher that
I was lost between hope and despair.
I heard most shops didn't open today
People were rushing toward graveyard with shovels
They have drunk all varieties of wine in a gulp
I was bemused, spread the praying rug
And the paper was passed to me with a knot sketched.
I was the man who knows the death calendar
I passed the goodbyes, I still saw a man
Peeking through the broken window.
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