Home of thousands,
shouts of merchants selling their wares,
bustle of people haggling
the age old practise,
no simple exchange of money and goods here.
Visitors from all over the world come
for learning, trade or just to see.
where friends and family go to find peace
amidst the scented flowers.
Elegant houses of the well-to-do,
not so well off,
down to the hovels of the poor in their grinding poverty,
worse of all,
young and old alike,
children and grandparents.
Why is this?
In every land the same.
We come, we see,
a few pennies given to ease a conscience that cannot make much difference in a life.
But does our pain for the misery make a difference?
Everyone has one life,
we can only live it the way we see best.
Why are we here?
Why are they there?
Our life is a gift
We must live our life to the level he has placed us.
HE put us here.
Who are we to question?
Lahore is London, Calcutta, Munich, Paris.
Inside, people are no different,
whatever their origin.
where I, as a
also feel at home.
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