Simorgh At Islamabad Arrivals

In Islamabad arrivals, a great hullabaloo arose, like a volcano erupting. Hundreds of tired and disgruntled travellers crowded the luggage belts, struggling to catch sight of their possessions, like a flock of herons, frantically searching the water for fish. Faces scowled; babies wailed; ladies sat back, fanning themselves with their scarves. It had been two hours; their luggage had failed to arrive and, to make matters worse, the luggage of the next arrivals was beginning to appear instead.

“What the hell is this!” yelled a large, moustachioed fellow, in a rich, white salwar qameez. The officials, in blue uniforms, continued to play dumb, expressing platitudes: “we have some technical difficulties… One of the computers has malfunctioned, but it will be fixed, and your luggage will be here soon.”

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An Ode To Nikki Haley

Nikki Haley, I’m your friend,
Coz you’re such a smarty!
Your policies, I will never offend
So can I come to your party?
I’d love to eat some Trumpy treats!
With Zionists so hearty!
I just ordered a confederate flag
So can I come to your party?
I’d love to sit with piles of wit
Like you and Netanyahu
And see if you can pronounce the names of
Honduras, Palau and Togo.
You kicked ass in the UN
You cussed them like a yardie
One hundred and twenty-eight lost out
Coz they can’t come to your party!
Don’t worry I won’t shame you up
Or refer to you as Nimrata
I’ll hang upon your every word
Like Geeta, you’re my Rama!
Hanging out with you and Trump
It’s like being on safari!
Your policies I can not offend
Let me come to your party!!!

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