I ran once, past the howling wolves,

But could not say for sure:

If they were the ones we term shrewd;

Or were they the ones obscure?

In each of them, I see myself:

I find a human race,

But betwixt the mighty and the cunning,

I see an innocent face:

The trust- fellow who believes in thee;

The hope- to see thy merry, in glee;

The expectation- waiting for you to call;

The jester- making you happy in all

The grief that lies beneath thy breath.

May trace he, the path he chose but once,

May find, that eternal joy:

The warm hug from a friend indeed,

The gestures free from all the greed.

Copyright © 2002 Khan, Khalid Raza