The revolution is futile near cemeteries noise

Written by: Faleeha Hassan

The revolution is futile near cemeteries noise
                         
                (To the oldest of me, of course, my son Ahmad in my birthday)
Introduction
                  	 Cut out my soul as shirt
Wrenching the heart arteries 
Boot strap of your shoes
The poem 
The patched soul with raw dreams
And soft body which was stained at cicatrixes of war
And crowded broken heart as falling leaves trampled a track
These are my only signals refer to my being
In a room like storm dreaming of blowing
Oh, my baby
Allowed me to say
Tonight and objectively
I couldn't do anything
Because what happened
Happened always
And what didn't happen
Didn't happen
And we always improve toward the worst