Makaan ke dewaraoon per bhayanak shakloon ke nishan din raat khoof ka manzar keh rahay hain, yeah itnee khoon ke piyasee hain key chuoo to khaal cheelay daalteen hain.
Chaet khaasta hai jiss say din raat khoon tapakta hai aur zameen say guzray hua maaasoom, mazloom insanoon kee dill hila daynay walee cheekhain din raat ubharteen rehteen hain.
Koi bhee darwaza kholo to insanoo ke lashain, jin say sardnay kee boo umandte hoo, Suit boot main liptee, dono bahain pheylaey mugh say baghal geer hoonay ko kehteen hain.
Hava boghal hai, is kay paas dainay ko siraf ghuthan hain, asmaan hai key sooraj ke tapish say lal hooraha hia, badal bhee is shehair say guzartay ghabratay hain aur agar kabhee guzar bhee jaeen to un say siraf lahoo he barasta hai… aur barish man boondain seesay ke, jo barood kay zoor per zinda loogon ko maut kay ghaat utarnay per tulee rahteen hain
Bahar lagay hua darakhtoon main bhee aab patoon ke jaga zehrelay Khaar ugg aeen hain, agar kaheen koi phool in kntoon kay dermain ugg bhee jata hai too us tak pohanch na too door ke baat, khushboo ko mahsoos kerna bhe namumkin hai, aur aysee matee main ugay ga bhee kiya jo barsoon masoomon ka khoon pee pee ker lal hoo chukee ho –
Is shahar main wehshat ka raaj hai aur kahen kaheen jo zindage kay chand aasaar hain who bhee aab akhree saans laytay dikhtay hain.
English Translation :
The walls of the house, laced with haunting figures, so thirsty of the blood that they would scrape your skin off the moment it’s touched.
The ceiling so worn-out that it drips of blood and the floor, from beneath which the deafening shrieks of the oppressed and innocents of the past seeps out day and night shattering my soul.
Behind the doors, the corpses, rotting and stinking, wrapped in suits and boots, ready to embrace with open arms, thirsty of fresh, warm blood.
The air outside dense, heavy to breath. The sun’s heat baking the sky red hot and the clouds too shy to visit the city, and even if they ever do all they shower is blood. And the rain drops are lead powered by gunpowder, thirsty of blood with determination to eliminate any signs of life.
Even the trees and plants have now grown poisonous thorns instead of leaves, and among them if any flower bloom one cant imagine even to reach close enough to feel it’s fragrance. But what else can be expected to grow in such a soil which has been absorbing the blood of poor innocents since many a years and has now turned red.
Darkness and Horror rules the city, and the few vague signs of life too seems to be on the verge of death.