Philosophers, ingenious rabbi’s of yesteryear
The great masters of the past, fade into the dusky air
Their words of freedom lie vacant on our sea’s passage
Integrity wasn’t passed down, unfortunately
It doesn’t run in our raptured veins,
Now our blood is cold, like that of dead bodies.
Generations lost to merciless heirs,
There shall be no Asma Jahangir born again!
The blood of our noble ancestors sleeps lifeless.
The ground shakes and reeks beneath my feet
Will anyone as courageous as the Turk sultan;
‘Suleiman the magnificent’ lawmaker arise from ashes?
Or one with the valour of Sultan Mehmed- The conqueror
Storm forth to free us from the clutches of tyrants
Will no replica within whose veins runs justice,
Who possesses a shadow of truth or resemblance
To the ways of Umar ibn al-Khattab (r.a) save us?
Or Martin Luther King, that warrior of nonviolence
Shall ignite these darkened nights with a flame of hope?
Shall no one with the sweetness of Rumi’s tongue
Come forth to wipe these tears of oppression?
The land where many Sufis once walked upon
Is crying out for a saviour to come and free it
Isn’t there any saint, scholar or Sufi left?
Remnants of withered leaves remain,
But a saint’s prayer hangs over a silver rainbow
Like a shoulder to lean on, soothing our blisters
While injustices are committed by those in authority
Hiding behind fabricated disillusionment of power
Drunk on money, intoxicated by the thrill of a kill
Atrocities hammered into citizens
By those who are supposed to uphold
The principles Of Justice and equality;
A smokey history on record for our next of kin
Is this the legacy our rulers shall pass down?
Puddles of blood lie on the pavement.
Where does one start this tale of anguish?
How does one describe the sound
Of the shattered heart beating numb
Within the chest of a mother who lost her child
Underneath the king’s convoy, crushed.
Or innocent one’s slain in vain by men in uniform?
The killer who ran like a mouse
Where justice is served on a cold plate
And the abused souls reek of poison.
Where even schools are attacked by Taliban
And even the sick in hospitals are burnt by goons,
Where men in bearded disguises play by unfair devices
Where there are no rules, ah what an unfair game!
Even the game of chess has standard rules
But there are no parameters here, it’s a wild jungle
How convenient to their nefarious designs
A rule-less game of threats, shouting and violence?
If the earth desired, it shan’t spare a second
To reckon us and demand a grave penalty!
A compensation for the innumerable offences
Crimes committed in the name of war
A war veiled behind the black curtain of scriptures
A battle waged against ideologies, against rights!
Our lips often betray us and silence speaks volumes
At the sight of a bribe, at the cost of a low price
Here many consciences are sold at whims
But perhaps one day, someday, someday soon
After this dark stormy mist of darkness dissipates,
A bright sunny dvay, a silver lining might appear.
The author is a lawyer and social activist. She has written on social and human rights issues for various publications and websites
Published in Daily Times, April 16th 2018.