Salut to the tenants of the night

These women don't dare to dream because they know that dreams will only bring more misery.

Mowahid Kiani November 13, 2013
Salut to the tenants of the night,

Who bend faith and time,

Who bend modest climes,

Wrapped in a thunder cloud,

And reach for the holy grail.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

Who put to shame

A million eyes in vigil,

A sky with the cloudy sigils,

Of mercy and benevolence.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

When the wild sounds of a cock

And a thousand eyes salivate,

Raping with uncouth cheers,

The only two women who dare

To chase the storm for their empty bellies.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

Those uncouth ladies - harlots,

Who tried their best to hide

The blemish and the hair white

With rouge and dyes,

And streaks of gold

That aged upon the silken strands,

And burnt in callous hands.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

Such nights with only one stand,

In the jaws of the beast

Who nourish from their passion,

And their love sourced from the valleys of neglect

Nurse them all.

But once in a while,

They walk in the night with a thousand stands,

Where beasts amused, whet their appetite.

All eyes fixed on the heaving hollow mounds,

Where love depleted, love extracted,

Only footprints reside,

Footprints of every size.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

In their cheap perfume,

Filth ridden glamour,

And sad dance moves,

Which give away their sense of art.

The green stems of aesthetic,

Amidst inspirations blooming in a tavern,

Their gaze never touched

The tulips in the fields,

Where sky was a tease,

And the heavens displayed

Ancient mirth in a breeze.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

Who do not dream,

Because they have learned

To dream is to be unhappy,

Who sleep for the solitude.


Salut to the tenants of the night,

Who never will read Brothers Grimm,

Abridged or otherwise.

They know no Cinderellas,

Nor wait for the princes upon white steeds.

They have a horde of highwaymen,

Who rob them each night,

Who take refuge in their flesh,

And take off with their pride.


Salut to the tenant of the night,

The innocent harlot,

Being eaten alive,

Her limbs a bounty,

Her lips a bounty,

Her fear a bounty,

A million fragments of her soul.

Each will be ripped,

Each will beg and bleed,

Each will be preyed upon.

While those who devour her,

With eyes,

With lies,

With sighs,

Will dreams of heaven,

And unmitigated paradise.


Salut to the mother

Who never was,

Salute to the sister

Who never could,

Salut to the wife

Who never will.

Salut to the love

That never would.
Mowahid Kiani A student of International Development at the University of Manchester, he is in search of beauty and the occasional truth. He tweets as @KMowahid (
The views expressed by the writer and the reader comments do not necassarily reflect the views and policies of the Express Tribune.


Supriya Arcot | 10 years ago | Reply Hey that's a sensitive poem / article. shows that the writer himself is sensitive. Keep it up .
Hafsah | 10 years ago | Reply very touchy...stunned me for a while
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