The carousel, which once spun freely

Is now a macabre tornado, coloured by the blended entrails of children

Ashen faced paramedics with trembling hands

Remove infant limb and maternal skull from fairground iron

Entire generations devoured by a putrid ideology

In a sick, deranged cannibal mist

Lahore’s streets are now festooned with the midnight ghosts

Of Mothers and their children

Pale spectres ascend to some foreign bough

To escape the roaring fireworks of blood and organ

And exist tender

In a kinder parallel

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