The colors of art;
The colors of life;
Lie in relation
Beauty and strife

The ability of imbalance,
Sacred souls that nurse;
Bear pain quietly
Seldom they curse

In enigmas of world,
People slaughter and rumble;
They query and grumble
But remember
The conquers are the humble

In whirlpool of relation
One finds people drab ,
They seem really sweet
Behind back they stab.

The ones that follow flimsy dreams
Are like flowing in the stream;
In the garden of myth do they stroll
Bizzare they are, seem like droll

The agility to crow,
Fakeness dies it grows,
Mirth of truth with which you flee
Is the thing that makes you glee

The honour of kemcolians
Whom Almighty have fame;
Among all those veterans
Shahzaib is thy name