The Bare Pakistan

I am Pakistan’s dis­as­ters

I am Pakistan’s resilience

His prej­u­dices

And fer­vor.

That blaz­ing fero­cious sun which strikes only the poor of Karachi and par­dons the rich

That tor­rent of mon­soon flood which demol­ish­es peas­ants hous­es, ignor­ing the near­by palace of the land­lord

That danc­ing death in a farmer’s house whose seeds the gov­ern­ment didn’t buy

That wrath of God des­tined for the weak only.

I am the fal­si­fied his­to­ry which is being taught to the pupils

His­to­ry which glo­ri­fies the tyrants and under­mines the real sons of the soil.

I am the bel­li­cose politician’s instinct of felony; felony that loots a nation

I am that bro­ken oath on the Quran, the tes­ti­mo­ni­al of a Mil­i­tary Gen­er­al that he will not inter­vene in pol­i­tics

That wand of a ser­vice­man which he uses against his own coun­try­men

That con­sti­tu­tion which he sus­pends

I’m the defense bud­get, it’s a taboo to bat an eye on me

I hide behind denials when it comes to Balochis­tan, sup­press­ing and humil­i­at­ing their voic­es.

I am also that stolen baby from a children’s ward that left my moth­er with hue and cry

A poor man’s kid­ney, stolen and sold by a crooked doc­tor

The instinct of that bar­bar­i­ty which makes a per­son steal dead bod­ies

Dead bod­ies from the unsafe ceme­ter­ies, from the unsafe graves

I am that urea being adul­ter­at­ed in milk

Milk that is fed to an infant and runs in his veins

I am the agony of a 6 months old baby being raped by a bar­bar­ian

The mis­ery of an incar­cer­at­ed man for a crime he didn’t com­mit

A life wast­ed behind the bars

I’m the poi­son a home­less moth­er mix­es in food to feed her kids and to her­self

That last fatal sup­per

That defeat­ed sui­ci­dal jump in the riv­er

The tor­pid­i­ty of a pros­ti­tute whose moans are con­sid­ered as joy

Her numb­ness and the invis­i­ble dried tears.

I am that hon­or of Islam being saved by burn­ing Chris­t­ian colonies

I’m Salman Taseer’s courage laid to rest by 23 bul­lets

That dol­lar-spon­sored Jihad that took our sons for good

Jihad that filled the pock­ets of the oli­garchs

I am also the dubi­ous face of its pseu­do-intel­li­gentsia

The main­stream turned into the lamestream

The hypocrisy

Amir Liaquat’s fan­cy brand­ed dress worn whilst lec­tur­ing on sim­plic­i­ty

Junaid Jamshaid’s beard, the beard which made him escape blas­phe­my accu­sa­tions

Bilal Qutab’s tas­beeh that he rocks whilst wear­ing Armani suit

Mubashir Luqman’s hoopla break­ing news, nobody believes me.

I am Billaw­al Bhutto’s sir name, bor­rowed from the moth­er, the only one of its kind

I’m the wretched cit­i­zen, search­ing for my cul­prit

I’m the lost pride, the lost com­pas­sion, and the lost nation­al­ism

I’m a for­got­ten ide­ol­o­gy

I’m an unwor­thy sac­ri­fice

I am the Bare Pak­istan!