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In the Name of God بسم الله
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Rawshni

STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKE

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Strawberry Milkshake

The Milkman

He comes around at six

A little after daybreak

Bringing

Life sustaining milk

Take your day's quota

And then

As he rides away

Take a shot at his back

Aim

Just this side below the left shoulder

Pierce his heart

The blood . . . cardinal

Life itself

Warm, pulsating with vitality

Will spurt, fountain out

The bike will careen a moment

And crash

The milk in the cans

Will flow, gushing out

Onto the tarmac

Mix with the blood

Luscious pink frothy milkshake

In the Karachi of February 1990

Rawshni Ali

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After reading this poem, you know it happened. It was so cold blooded I could not call it a crime of passion. . Sectarian warfare, I think that would be a more effective title. Strawberry Milkshake is to Macabre.

Just an opinion, go with what you know.

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(salam)

I was expecting a sweet milkshake poem and it was this.. :squeez:

Gosh sis, wonderful on how you use your words and have an unpredictable twist.

Sis, just wanna say...

You just ruin my breakfast. I was having scones with jam :cry:

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Guest Confucius Say...

:!!!: rofl why thats too funny i dont even know! Maybe its cause i was expecting a happy song about milkshakes yet it turned into a cry of bloody murder. What happened to the simplier days, when poems about happy things like milkshakes remained happy (ie. all main persons in poem stay alive and well)

interesting poem nonetheless

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This little poem encapsulates a heartless crime I was witness to.

A wheel jam strike had been called by a political outfit. This Sindhi milkman used to deliver milk door to door on a bike, with 4 milk cans hanging two either side of the rear wheel.

He rang the bell at a house in my neighbourhood, a man cam out, brought out a pot to take the milk in, went inside, came back again and shot the milkman dead as he was riding away -- because he'd violated the strike call . . .

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This little poem encapsulates a heartless crime I was witness to.

A wheel jam strike had been called by a political outfit. This Sindhi milkman used to deliver milk door to door on a bike, with 4 milk cans hanging two either side of the rear wheel.

He rang the bell at a house in my neighbourhood, a man cam out, brought out a pot to take the milk in, went inside, came back again and shot the milkman dead as he was riding away -- because he'd violated the strike call . . .

It's a true incident??? :o

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After reading this poem, you know it happened. It was so cold blooded I could not call it a crime of passion. . Sectarian warfare, I think that would be a more effective title. Strawberry Milkshake is to Macabre.

Just an opinion, go with what you know.

Strike enforcement by a militant "political" group . .

Now, I will never drink Strawberry milkshake I guess.. :P

But creative and unique poem, no doubt!!

You'll get over it bibi, worry not . . .

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Salams

This is the fifth time I read this poem, and I still do not know what to say.

I keep on imagining the following scene:

Milk man: Salams, here is your milk for today

little man: wa salams, thanks, rainy day today eh?

Milk man: yeah, can it get any worse?

Both release a faint, tired smile.

Milk man turns and rides away.

Little man shoots him

How old were you at the time?

wa salam

(salam)

At least you understand.

I love the epithet "little man" Our world is populated by so many . . .

I was around 14 . . . this happened in February 1990 and started me off into a spin I haven't got out of till now . . .

Thank you bimic . . . this incident is still a throbbing pain that won't go away . . .

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(bismillah) (salam)

picturesque poem.

Strawberries are sometimes bitter.

(salam)

A lot many picteresque things in life turn out to be bitter upon close contact.

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Beautiful poem.

Early 90's were the scariest days of my life. We would find hollow bullets on the narrow residential streets..everyday tens of people would die in the city!

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Guest blessedflower

(bismillah) (salam)

Dang - where did my post go?

Infuriating! (not the poem, the fact that my post disappeared)

I don't remember what I wrote then, when I have time I'll read the poem dobara and then respond.

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(bismillah) (salam)

Dang - where did my post go?

Infuriating! (not the poem, the fact that my post disappeared)

I don't remember what I wrote then, when I have time I'll read the poem dobara and then respond.

Your post went down with many others in the security breach on 30th April . . .

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Baita you've captured the inhumanity and the insane cycnicism of tose with chilling effect. I myself did a few lines on the killing fields of Karachi inthose. If I find them somewhere I'll post them here . . . just to prove that I do not pen empty praise . . . jeetee raho ... aur Allah karey zore bayaan aur ziyadah

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Strawberry Milkshake

The Milkman

He comes around at six

A little after daybreak

Bringing

Life sustaining milk

Take your day's quota

And then

As he rides away

Take a shot at his back

Aim

Just this side below the left shoulder

Pierce his heart

The blood . . . cardinal

Life itself

Warm, pulsating with vitality

Will spurt, fountain out

The bike will careen a moment

And crash

The milk in the cans

Will flow, gushing out

Onto the tarmac

Mix with the blood

Luscious pink frothy milkshake

In the Karachi of February 1990

Rawshni Ali

Oh Gosh. . .

Where it started and where ended. . .

Hard to stand such strawberry milkshake. . .

very difficult recipe. . .indeed!

very hard hitting poem . . .portrays a moving & clearer picture of the scene. . .

admirations and appreciations. . .

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Strawberry Milkshake

The blood . . . cardinal

Life itself

Warm, pulsating with vitality

Will spurt, fountain out

The bike will careen a moment

And crash

The milk in the cans

Will flow, gushing out

Onto the tarmac

Mix with the blood

Luscious pink frothy milkshake

In the Karachi of February 1990

Rawshni Ali

Yaa Allah!!!!!

Is there any place where I can find all of your poems . . . some blog?

Create one, if you haven't already . . . please post a link here if you have . . .

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May be some I will create one . . . time is short these days. I'm a working woman and have a million other things to do . . . pore ole me

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