The Broken City

“Suit suicide”, “The Broken City” and “The Void”

In Poetry by Shariq Babar

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Suit suicide

Don’t let me go, into the void.
Don’t let me go, I’m already sold.
Don’t let me go tonight.

Save my heart from the Aston Martins.
Save my mind from numbers galore.
Save my eyes from the minx from Brooklyn.
Save me! Save me. I’m already sold.

A plague of lust and sorrow,
while she sings away her soul.
A tale of families broken,
while he rides away, behold!
Do you see it? The flashes and lights,
I see! I see! What you’re thinking,
The map to my demise.
Losing the soul to gain the mind.
Losing the mind to gain the soul.

A pull from tie to collar,
A noose for its hold.
A wrist worth a million dollars,
come here boy, do what you’re told.

In the end it doesn’t even matter,
in the end it’ll all be, not mine,
in the end he’ll be laughing,
in the end, when I go into the night.


The Broken City

The city that is new and old,
glistening towers, falling bridges.
Dug out holes, useless riches,
drugs, sex, violence, galore.
Too old to fight, too young to care,
in the shallow, yet, deep pit of despair.

Broken Smirnoff’s, broken dreams.
What is it that you believe?
Burning tires, burnt out souls,
broken beliefs are all we hold!

Gun to your head, God save my soul!
Give me your cash, let the chaos unfold.

Muslim! Muslim! Only in name.
The spirit died with Jinnah’s bane!
In the sun lies nothing, but scorching heat.
Boulevard to boulevard, they dread the beast,
He lurks in the shadows, no sign of defeat.
You punch it, you kick it, you throw it around,
It just becomes stronger, doesn’t make a sound,
It kills you and throws you with its infinite heads,
All is forgotten, but not the dread.

With the broken roads, lay our broken dreams,
Promises to fix them, but you are unseen.
Grow some stature, grow some feet,
Your people are dying, fleet by fleet.
An abundance of promises, with no sounds,
Do you see them dying? Is it just for your crown?

What is it, a man can do? What is it, he can believe?
Bureaucratic bullshit it’s all the same,
The city lives and dies, it’s all very mundane!

God save us all! “No! God save their crowns!”
Is it a broken record? When no one makes a sound?
You kill them, you beat them, and you throw them around.
What is it that I can do?
But make my sound.


The Void

Engulfed in a sea of sounds and sights,
no culture seen on this starry night,
I drown in this perfect void.

You see them pass you every day,
the perfect little citizens of this modern state,
indifference or ignorance I really can’t say,
they say “we aren’t perfect; we are the same.”

That just isn’t true, no one is to blame,
as we all move around the massive yellow light,
you stand still, on this starry night.

About the Author

Shariq Babar

Shariq Babar is an undergraduate student at Rutgers University in New Jersey, USA. He is currently a junior studying Economics. Shariq is working on a Young Adult Novel.