Dear Patriots, Shaheeds, Ghazis, the Ruled, the Rulers, Pakistanis and Anti-Pakistanis,
Our silence has yielded another daughter to be stripped and paraded naked. Kudos to our characters, kudos to our existence, kudos to our dead souls, kudos to our elders who instructed us the theory of silence, kudos to the curriculum which is made void of spiritual and social uplift. How shall we avoid Salahuddin, Tariq Bin Ziyad, Mohammad bin Qasim and how shall we face Hazrat Umer and what better workable excuse shall we give to your Nabi (Sallalahu Alaihi Wasallam); shall we bring in our best of minds and government secretaries who would compile some lame but rich worded explanations? The first time in 1947 looted, plundered, killed and raped in hoards, then innumerable times after that. We are indeed living corpses and Hajjaj, in this context, was much better.
Even more, if this didn’t soothe and deepen our slumber, we have acquiesced our voice further, we set on a course of utter slavery of silence. We are silent and so we survive, on our knees, we speak and we are droned, so hush and we breathe the breath of death, the death of pharaohs, everyday. Can we get a timeline when shall we rise from the embers? Do we deserve some apathy, some innocence, some answer, some dignity? Can we rise or shall we remain disgraced every day and for eternity.
Have we not imported unfathomable humiliation in aid, loans, and dictators, oft blackmailed and hence we are looked down upon, frowned upon and losing our mindset to trivial notions that finds us displaced, confused to think that this is the end.
But it is not. It’s just the beginning of the awakening. Masses are arising, the storms out of streams flow down in red, since blood turned white. The sand dunes stand mountains when mountains moved when they shouldn’t have.
This is what we deserved? Lillah, we didn’t ask for this. But the Meer Jafars and Meer Sadiqs of our souls restrained us to our bellies while our intellect was casted away before hounds of the nights and jackals of the day. But who gave you the right to hand over our fates, dignity and self respect? But what is self respect, we might have to give up more of it to know it, but whose? Of course more of Aafias are plentiful? You failed. And you made us fail, miserably; in our systems, in our own land which should have been a shelter is the most unsafe prison, in our national vision which existed until the nation was liberated and then the nation was held hostage for years till now. The bondage and shackles can be undone if you desire you, if you step forward, if we look up to the jackals in their eyes and set out to rout their dark, warm refuges.
Blood, waste, shaheeds, corrupts, illiterates, dirty streets and dirty gallows; haven’t we achieved much? Now its the time of the greater awakening. Those who shall miss the call, miss the history to be on their sides.
Yeh Waqt e Aghaaz, Arzoo e Inqilaab Tehra
Kay Ab Iblees ka Musalmaan Hona
History before setting aside gives 3 chances, we have missed 2 already. Shall we face our history to be remembered finally? Time is unto us, daggers are drawn, spears ready to be splintered, intention of annihilation and disperse and Diaspora. We don’t want another bloodier emigration yet again. Our ancestors and ladies have given much already.
Would a million more rapes and sexual abuse of our women and their silent shrieks open your eyes? Would the blood of thousand innocents droned be the ink of your pen to be raised who razed our lands where once our RS.30 billion grazed?
Afia was a respectable educated doctor and a daughter of the East. You cannot fight her war as she is American? Your pen and education never went for any silenced, looted and plundered. Our history is awash with such numerous and yet insignificant examples.
To soothe her pain, gift her Chak Shahzad Mansion of Pervez Musharraf he so blatantly and preposterously has laid his claim onto. His days were counted, his fate should be too. But do you care enough? Do you mumble in your sleep even? Can you whisper even in ferocious, ignoble and louds hoards and crowds? But shall we care as we prosper under the garb and wings of the White Houses and Downing Street as they stay and lay ready to receive us with our glamour and honour that so dearly await us. Do we care as our children mingle and take pride in speaking language which is not their own and abhor their own as standards of the vultures don’t change but Shaheens are ‘sold’ so dearly and eagerly.
But shall you understand, it takes a ripple to cause a flood, a motion to cause a stir, a whisper to a deafening noise, a stone to gather the mountains at its back; but alas we tend to see the mountains between our fingers and like the reduced spectrum, but when the fingers amputated aren’t that microscopic.
Time is now; these words descend from the blood taken in pints by this land. It has to erupt and spew out the dirt, the ever ravaging dirt which has to be washed away. Life isn’t without a cause and life taken away without a purpose stirs a movement. Musalmaan were left devoid of any spiritual life and set out on the enlightened but fiery path to salvation. But they didn’t know, Jinnah didn’t know what followed was the valley of suffering, vultures, broken pens, broken swords, annihilated intellect and raped souls. We are the dwellers of darkness, oft afraid to express, wish and dream. The dark and shadows were never to be confided in but we solemnly took refuge to have our women hunted and devoured.
The public again was blindfolded to vote and step out for those who never carried flowers until the coffins were placed before them. Democracy, milit-o-cracy or meritocracy? We have to decide. The political will is dead and cannot be undead further. People have to realise and break the cycle. Democracies are protecting the family run businesses of parties. Their wives party out and lose thousands in casinos while their workers wait in abeyance to have a connection resolved, their children either admitted while the masters cast their fortunes bet the Machchar colonies for years to come.
Shall you rise or would the public stand for you. But till when? Our pens and spirits are weaving a culture, a magic, a revolution, an attitude which shall ring in the gallows and the hallways of the castles. The castle-woods aren’t to remain for long. Whence the youth and the fury culminate together, the time is already up, the wake-up call is about to be sounded, the dawn of tomorrows is to ascend in these times.
How many Aafias are we to surrender? Would you surrender your daughter and would you mind her to be searched in the most ignoble way a father wouldn’t stand? Not even the most stone hearted dictator father would stand that as a chance. So many Aafiyas, Shazias, Bushras, Fatimas and Zainabs have repealed and lost their zeal and purpose of a respectable life. Thanks to you, to your educated and sold away silence as only then you are eligible to walk the higher lanes of Islamabad with your puppies.
The society is judged by its prisoners and so are we, the Begging Prisoners of Asia. Reminds much of that era when England was inundated with them, when Paris was in late 1500s. Then one fine day, a hurled stone from the crowd was enough to cleanse.
And cleansing is what we wait. Hopeless was your system and so shall it remain, but now the system in its last, like the shimmery glowing flare of the candle. But this candle has to be doused permanently which has been spreading the thick and corrupt darkness, the candle the political parties employ and trick the gullible awaam-zaaday; but we knew the time that was to appoint Aafia as the one who would open the doors with trembling yet victorious hands. The Doors to self determination.
Every heart and soul now stands a chance, last final chance and we are up to it. We are answerable NOT to the system but to Jinnah, who laid upon us the responsibility to the state, parents and then to ourselves.
The hour approaches soon and fast, the nation has silently realised the tinge and the pain of losing their character at the hands of others who wish to see our generations with the begging bowl the depth of which gets deeper always when our woman loses her life and self-esteem.
We were led and we lost, now we shall lead and the system shall follow suit or be casted away for the new Pakistan which has been given impetus by the desperate Aafia.
No more Aafias and Zainabs to be lynched. Its your turn to take this turn.
People of Pakistan, rise shall we, why not on our own accords and intent, rather the bugle of wars are sounded and the fires that warm the fists are lit up seen from afar and then we draw out from our recluses and warmer blankets to see the enemies, then at our gates.
See the writings on the wall chalked out from the burning ashes or else we’ll have to see the pools and piles of blood and bodies whilst no hand to write or carry.
Pakistan Paáindabad.
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