The place of my childhood
The place of my birth
Long quiet roads shaded by trees
The city surrounded by the cool comfort;
Of the ever-green Margalla Hills
The quiet evenings and bustling mornings
The emptiness and calm over the holidays
Serene paths and long walkways
Ice-cream cones and cappuccinos
Afghani jewelery and old book shops
Long strolls in the night
For nothing ever did go wrong
Peace and quiet
Love and warmth
Of friendships and love
Of family and friends
The feeling to belong
That urge to evolve
Jokes told; laughters shared
Memories made and passions exchanged
Mango parties and Aabpara karahi
Rock pools and QAU huts
Friend eggs and boiling tea
Hiking up Track 4 and sprinting down
That cool milkshake and paani-poori
Lying on the roof, feeling the rain
Nothing could go wrong
Nothing would go wrong
Bomb-blasts and shattered limbs
Extreme thoughts and broken hearts
Feeling scared and eating in
Curfews and genocide
Army actions and suicide
Promise of heaven to create hell
Show card illusions and lost souls
Lost lives, wives and kids...
Lost wills, smiles and now just chills
Who dies but the security guard
On minimum wage with his smelly feet
Four or five kids
And family back home
Making 4000 a month
Eating left-overs to send all the money home
Still singing songs in the evening
Telling stories of a freedom fighter grandpa
Who dies but the stories that were told
Memories that were shared
Jokes that were made
One dead and four or five to follow
More left-overs for the ones left over
That surely has to be good
Who dies but the good wife
Prostitute yourself woman to support your kids
Living in perdition, perdition awaits
No promises of heaven for you either, my dear
Swallow your grief and make small talk
Don't tell your story it would only kill the mood
Do what you can until you are strangled by the righteous neighbor
Or the honorable brother
And the kids of the whore, well they can go fuck themselves
Who dies but this illusion of peace
Hope and joy
Laughter too, shall run its course
Blank stares and muted thoughts
Don't say too much, for you too, maybe next
Say you believe, even though you don't
For saying otherwise shall get you death
But live on in this dead world
No hereafter for you my friend
Who dies but this city of dreams
For she too was just a dream
I hear she was a nice young girl
Born in the 60s she was just learning to run
Ice-creams and milkshakes
Paani-poori and cappuccinos
Aabpaara karahi and old book shops
They're all still there
Barely alive inside her belly
But you shouldn't go, better stay inside
For all this was always just fluff...
Go on you fuck
You militant man
Strap on yourself
And give us another pop
There's another security guard
That miserable sod
Working for the devil
Stick a fork in him, he's done
The nerve on him to hope for a good life
A full life...
To marry, have kids and sometimes smile
That stupid stupid, audacious prick
Singing songs in foreign tongues
No heaven for him either, not even hell
For this was his heaven, which turned into hell
That stupid grandpa
That freedom fighter
He should have known better
For he never, did really matter
Who dies...but a little of me
With all my limbs
And all my thoughts
Who dies...but a little of you
My sweet little girl
For you never belonged
5 comments:
How candidly you state reality.
The simplicity of this piece gives it a dignity that is gut wrenching...
I too knew that city...
the guard that sang with smelly feet...
eating left overs and smiling always...
I know the righteous neighbor, and that honorable brother...
and in those musty old bookshops I loved to roam...Aabpara karahi, QAU huts, milkshakes and cappuccinos... all were once...
Now I visit and it's all gone.
Where once was life now death remains...
The rotting carcass is disguised,
behind a gaudy mask of plastic!
And ignorant souls laugh in glee
"behold", they say, "we have evolved"...
"look at us now- we are so proud"
The stench of hypocrisy nauseates
and all who loved it once,
observe and flee...
disgust and heartache
loss and guilt
what is there to do
but sit back and wait?
What is there to do
except die each day?
..why cry for just our beloved elitist Islamabad? why not the entire misbegotten "secular" nation? why should Islamabad be spared? because you and I loved her? because "she never did belong"?
I have stopped reading about things going on in Pakistan and had passed the day just fine after the initial shock at the news this morn. I had resisted a distant urge to check details, now before I could call it a day, you had to make me read this and burn inside. more for you perhaps than myself, because I have never heard you swear before.
I could write eulogies and learned, reasoned essays why this is happening and how to stop it but wtf? Sages like Bulleh Shah knew it, said it, wrote it:(but to what avail?):
Bullehya....
Chori kar, tay bhan ghar rab da
ais thuggan de thug noo thug.
If any bombing and protesting ought be done why stop here, dang it, why start here? ..why not go straight to Big Boss:
O Bullehya,
Plunder, wreck the house of God
Swindle the Cheat of Cheats.
I couldn't have asked for better feedback on this. I hope there are more and more people who start to feel like this, and maybe, just maybe, we have hope again!
Sista - do you really know how to stop this? I really don't. I mean it's the Gaza strip all over again, and I dread that soon it won't be a matter of who did what, or who started it, but just revenge, and then it won't even be revenge, it would just be something that you do.
And hey, I am all for going after the Big Boss, should we start our Dark Materials trilogy here?
The greatest damage that has been done to the nation is that we have all turned selfish to the full exterme of the word.People hardly ever worry about someone dying in the next city,it isnt because they have become heartless,but because life has to go on somehow.People try to become comfortably numb,closing their eyes to the bloodshed,ignoring the screams of people dying,for it is a natural reaction.When everything becomes too much we immune ourselves from it.What happens if some unknown people have died,at least me and my family safe and well fed.We know the dread yet we somehow pass it on to the next moment,hoping against hope that nothing happens.
I knew about the tragedy in Islamabad,yet it never affected me as it affects me now,how selfish and cruel truly we have become.,we have even forgotten how it feels to have hope.
I congratulate you Mohican,because it takes a degree of courage and bravery to avert your eyes from greener pastures and open the window to the sight of blood,flesh and screams.Hope is never lost,you only have to have faith.
Dont let the window close.
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