I want to know my post mortem

I want to know my post mortem

Over ten thousand bodies have been annihilated in the streets of Pakistan. Hundreds of people have buried their loved ones to dirt. Over a thousand mutilated extended families complete devastated from this ongoing turmoil. Our schools, shopping malls, police stations and even our worship places are all on the list of being incinerated without a price and without justification. Imagine, back into the pages of lost history, where Lahore was known for its botanic gardens and Karachi was the upbeat mesmerizing city of Asia. And today, the gardens are depleted and the magnanimous city without light and bodies.
Is this the Pakistan our parents fathomed for us? I weep as I leave behind the atrocious monster to eat up at our left overs. Our silence is remarkable. Every one of us is sitting idle and anticipating that tomorrow maybe this nightmare will wash itself away. Needless to see we are a part of this horrific nightmare. Every beautiful child that is born in this nation will now have its fate written in the slaughterhouses of unknowns. Our mothers will vanish by the collapse of buildings as the car bombs keep on shaking our cities. Our fathers will be buried beneath the rubble as the vigilant sounds of terror vamoose into the mosques and offensively left them dead as their bodies were prostrating to their lord.
I will not believe for an instance that these great martyrs died in vain. I will not bury my loved ones anticipating more to come. I vouch that I will write. I testify that I will not let go of the dreamland that has given me meaning and my identity. I will write till my heart bleeds no more and I perish into the night. My words are for my country. My sentences the veneer of hope and understanding. With these walls I will build my palace and raise the silent into a vehement voice. No governance and law can become a detriment in our journey to salvation. Will you not join me and communicate the message of tolerance and liberation? Will you not write with me the testifying moments of brutality? Will you not walk on the streets when we speak up against violence?
Our government has been deciphering different messages since the inception of the terror bomb. Pakistan might have created the atomic bomb, but the greatest nemesis bomb that can obliterate entire nations is the terror bomb. Both bombs being manufactured by the western ideologies. Question is are we ready to take its toll? Why is our government not giving us the message? Who is behind the massacres? I want to know my enemy. I will haunt it down with my life. But who is it? Is it RAW? USA? Who really is it? Is it you? Is it me? I need a post mortem report.
What happened to the communication of the terrorists that were captured in different deadly encounters? Have we not allowed their tongues to speak? Give this nation a report. Give our enemies a face. Give my life meaning. Give me Pakistan.

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Poem for the children who have died in Islamabad

She holds me tight
At the gates of her school
Armed military personal monitoring how a father kisses his daughter goodbye
Weren’t these soldiers to be deployed at the borders?
Shouldn’t the teachers be receiving my little princess?
She does not let go
Something deep within her
Tells her to hold on tight
Her eyes glistering with freight, despair and guilt
An inner reflection of my soul and identify
I look at people around me
The lurid clouds of a nemesis
Shadowing our future and our potential prosperity

October 27, 2009 – when terrorist attached Islamabad

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To the Lives of Peshawar who died with me

Today they have bombarded me into a millions shreds
In my own homeland
On my own streets
With my loved ones watching
My children a part of my life’s tragedy
My voice buried beneath the rubble and dirt
I am now lifeless
But what makes you silent?
Wont you speak volumes of my tragic death?
Wont you take revenge of the innocent lives that have been taken today?
Remember as you remain silent
The empty graves next to me
Are awaiting your bodies
I will be waiting
I will be anticipating………

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Our children died today in Peshawar

I held my daughter tight as the city shook with vehement force. Depilated buildings and mutilated bodies scattered across the open streets. Just minutes ago, there was a certain ambiance of speculated peace and tranquility. After all, Peshawar has been recently rocked by bullets, terrorism, sectarianism and violence. Innocent lives have been buried in the dusty graveyards and tears have still not stopped oozing out of red swollen eyes of loved ones. Is this the Peshawar that we recall of? Is this the face of the earth that is a glimmering and reflecting mirror of our own self destructive alliances?
I never did let go of my daughter. She kept on wondering how fright and despair embarked on her father’s superman eyes. To her I was her everything. A man who could make her smile on every rainy day and give to her flowers in the cold brazen nights of October. She insists that I have a superman cap and costume hidden away. She veneers my love with superhero talk. This time all superheroes are silent. Perturbed silence. If we stay ambushed like this, we will lose our voice forever.
To stay silent in times like these will mean that we accept and acknowledge the nemesis ahead of us. Memories of turmoil and desolation accentuate as we live off our lives second by second. Prayers breathe out with each passing of a breath and our heartbeats tremble when unknown noises occur. We live in a horror movie and do not know the outcome. This is the worst form of governance. The ultimate disaster of the human spirit. Now I know how the Jewish children felt as the lay aimlessly waiting for their execution. The nation of Pakistan is no different. Each day. Someone somewhere will be killed. There is a bullet that has your name on it. Time and speed are the only question marks.
I have dreamt a million times to devour myself into the political scene and become the hero that Pakistan badly needs. The political insignificance associated with an educated class is common ground. This is the country where false commitment and bogus votes are allocated to the government bodies. Elections are rigged and a fierce competition is associated amongst the mongrels. This is the only nation that has rapists, murders and people who have spent time in jail allowed to contest elections and further plunge this nation into darkness.
We are without electricity, water and opportunity. This is the world that has been carved after so many struggles and lives. I cannot allow this nation to be handed over to my generations without a fight. Another struggle remains. Gateways of hope will be built. Question is how. Will these words recall armies and multiply elements of good? Can I imagine that one day the people who have lost their lives can hail as one and communicate to the world that the real Pakistan remains silent? The world only knows of the bombarded Pakistan. My foreign friends have associated violence with my name and have marked me off of their listings. This is the price I pay for having this nation’s passport. I am humiliated at airports and struck off lines as I have a brownish skin tone.
Maybe someday my words will become a giant and take control over the despair and anarchy. But today, I write as my hands still tremble. My daughter is still close by. She is shocked at having witnessed such a massive explosion. Young children bodies lay ambushed in the fumes. She is only three. What would she think now? Can you imagine what would happen if it were your children? Is this not the end of innocence?
I met some of the men who lay crying on the streets and ready to forgive the men who have slaughtered these poor and innocent lives. Our mosques have not even been forgiven. Our streets have become grounds on which our bodies lay. These same grounds that were built for out pathways. Imagine a world that we live in.
Questions pound at the doors of the political system. Do these men not see the garbage on the streets and the empty factories and locked down furnaces? We should question everything from the contaminated rivers to the polluted cities? In the last 60 years, we were not able to build anything except our graves. This is not the Pakistan I intent to keep. This is not the Pakistan I have voted for.

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