Let Go

Sometimes things are out of your hands;
Like a situation reaching a point,
Where you have no other option but to let go.
To let go of you ideas, your hopes, even your expectations;
And just let things flow.
Let the river of destruction take it’s course.
You can only be the dam holding it in for so long.
Let go before you break.
Let go before the situation breaks you.
Sometimes you can’t prepare for the worst;
You can think about it,
Stress about it,
Worry and be anxious over it.
But you will never be prepared for when the storm hits.
It will always be so many times worse than you imagined it to be.
So let go right now.
You’ll figure it out when the time comes.

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The Last Ride

There she goes my little girl,

Just this morning I watched her twirl.

She was wearing a new frock so pink,

With my hand, her hand was linked.

We reached the ride which goes round and round,

She jumped and danced to the sound.

Once she was on it, her eyes shone bright,

It was a truly heartwarming sight.

The ride began and I watched her go,

The ride turned a corner and lo!

There was a bang and nothing remained,

The ground with blood was stained.

I am looking for my little girl,

In the morning, who I watched twirl.

Wearing a frock so pink,

Where is she; I fear to think.

 

At least 65 people have been killed while over 300 injured as a result of a deadly explosion that took place in Gulshan Iqbal Park, Lahore. Most of the victims were women and children. (27 March 2016)

 

 

Untitled.

Yesterday my best friend was taken away,

Today, he is afraid to come out and play.

He came back shivering, crying aloud,

The principal told him he was proud.

His eyes are glazed, he sits alone,

Not even moving, still as a stone.

He watches the others as they fool around,

Afraid to even make a sound.

Nobody knows what happened to him,

Only that his bright face seems to be dim.

When the teacher walks by, he seems to shrink,

In his thoughts, deeper he sinks.

The Safoora Goth Incident.

The gunshots echo and I wake up screaming,

I guess I really must have been dreaming.

I think and rethink how I could change,

Take my son out of their range.

I dab at my eyes and wonder how,

I would move on with life now.

My pretty daughter with hands painted red,

Lies in her final bed.

Here is my brother in a deep sleep,

And his innocence he shall keep,

I watch him sleep and remember the times,

We were together, partners in crime.

And one last time her mother leaves,

And she; one last tear heaves,

Remembering the argument she had that morn,

About the dress she should have worn.

For the last time, his father he sees,

Stands up; and his mind he frees.

No more tears; he must be strong,

The family must not feel something is wrong.

Rewrite the Past

You just can’t rewrite the past,

Hence, forever it must last.

It is true that time flies fast.

And the curse has been cast.

Nobody can bring back what you thought was right,

You just have to stand up and fight.

Stand up against all the shadows in night,

Look for your way to the light.

Ask

Ask that bloodied shoe in the corner,

What it’s owner’s mistake was…

That little girl with the pretty smile,

Find out what she dreamt.

Ask the hallways of the school,

What teachings did it ensure…

That little boy who learned Salam,

What misstep did he make.

Ask the swings which stand so quiet,

What happiness did it spread…

How many children took turns,

To enjoy the pleasant wind.

Ask the windows of the days,

When children would wait for games…

Or look out and smile,

Waiting for the school bell to ring.

Ask the ties;  they stuffed in their mouths,

To prevent themselves from screaming…

Ask the walls which could only watch,

The blood spill of the innocent.

Ask the winds which screamed and howled,

As the children fell to the ground.

Ask the desks which in the end,

Were the only refuge for them…

Ask…

Just ask.

A poem about the Peshawar School Massacre by the Taliban. (16 December 2014)

http://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-30491435

They Stood

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It brought tears to my eyes. It really did. All those people standing there shouting Pakistan Zindabad and Allah-u-Akbar after the horrifying incident that took place yesterday. All those people taking a stand and showing the enemy that no matter how hard you try to bring us down, we will stand tall and we will bring you down. All those people honoring the victims of the bomb blast at Wagah on 3rd November 2014. All those people looking the enemy in the eye and saying we will NOT back down, no matter how hard you try.

So here is a poem. Something to remind us long after about this day. Something to remind us of the day we took a stand. Something to remember the victims of the blast by. Something to remember the vigor of the people the next day. Something to remember for years to come. Something to prove that we must fight the enemy within.

I howled and howled long after it ended,

Long after all the worlds blended.

I watched them cry, I couldn’t help,

I watched the children shout and yelp.

I watched the happiness in their faces,

And afterwards, blood and traces.

I watched the transition in front of me,

And all those people happy and free.

Then I watched them be caged; and thrown away,

I watched them shatter like marble and clay.

I caressed their faces, their hands, their hair,

I tried to wake them, I tried to dare.

I whispered around, a secret song,

Hoping someone would prove me wrong.

I lost all hope, after a while,

And knew that there would be no smile.

And so I died down alone,

Preparing for stillness like a stone’s.

The night droned on; I feared the day,

Because I knew it would bring into play.

A fear in the hearts of the people around,

I knew, for days, there won’t be a sound.

But I am proud of the fact that I was wrong,

All these people seem really strong.

They didn’t sit home; with tears they came,

They showed the killers they were not the same.

They stood there and honored those who had died,

They stood there and honored those who still cried.

They stood there and for once made me believe,

That maybe even wind; could do more than blow leaves.

So I howled with them; in all their glory,

And now, with pride, I share their story. 

PAKISTAN ZINDABAD! LONG LIVE PAKISTAN!