White wings flap and shelter many a breeze
Above the chairs blinking at the sun
And thoughts bestir their heavy forms
In the city by the crags of roughened shore
While heads nod and silent drums roll
In carpeted corridors; awe rears its shapely head.
If a book is measure of a writer’s skill
Let the written word a drum beat be,
That for each drum beat along the walk of fame
Awe may accompany, the life that seems a mile above;
The charlatan of time and world
In glorious pen to sword structure seek
And bide clockwork like the chance
That robes kings of book-dom from dusty nooks
As picked out from the riotous rabble
They stand timorous till that purveyor of corridors
Snare drums each page, each word, each phrase
Drum,drum, drum.
Impressions from the Karachi Literature Festival 2012
Writer, Poet, Psychologist and 'Thinker' 
