Where in a white building lay all the parables of red – by Saria Benazir

by admin


Moments too spiteful,
I gaze back three years,
I stumble on blood everywhere,
God! Ain’t it a nightmare,
I catch an austere glower,
Is that all fair?
Nothing sounds fine to ears,
Eyes show nothing, but tears,
I lost nothing, but my verve,
I don’t cleave to that nerve,
For in incidents is a giant camber,
Heaving a sigh here isn’t even plausible……

The crowds too massive,
But the fortune staring,
There stood a leader, too audacious,
For who had an unparalleled individuality,
For in every aspect of her personality,
There was no one in her similarity,
The sky that day was crimson,
So was the boulevard,
This in minutes was sluiced away,
To conceal that blood, too viciously…

The connive was ferocious,
They thought too malicious,
The one they snatched was too precious,
Her gallantry was too conspicuous,
It was a chronicle,
Aching every compassion,
My Benazir had denied every sumptuousness,
To put an end to the coercion,
The rule of the persecutors,
Who had executed her father,
And two young brothers….

The prompts are too throbbing,
Can’t watch the people ailing,
Who lost their redeemer,
Their only expectation,
Nothing else could cope,
The heart ceases to beat,
The expressions get trapped in the larynx,
For she is my fanaticism,
Today and forever…
The eyes desire to catch the scrutiny,
Of the dauntless Daughter of Destiny,
Loaded with flowers,
With a white scarf, hovering on her head,
She had been an icon of power,
An emblem of democracy,
Who was always prepared to defy tyranny,
Fight for her cause,
Not by bullets, but by ballet…..

I’d crave to hear the same words,
Which spoke to save Pakistan,
A land, in whose edifice was her father’s hand,
For she’d struggled a lot,
The words for it exist not,
Trying to portray her person,
That is not at all feasible,
To write, worth her exertions,
She’s my ideal,
My motivation…

I hear the voice of the bullets, too loud,
In her support was standing a huge crowd,
And the firmament, loaded with red, green and black,
It was a symbol of triumph,
Of an eternal victory for Benazir,
It was a scrutiny, too Benazir,
One, which I’d never, wondered of….
My heart thaws,
I hear her words filled with valor,
Yai Bazi Khoon Ki Bazi Hay,
Yai Bazi Tum Hi Haro Gay,
Har Gar Say Bhutto Niklay Ga,
Tum Kitnay Bhutto Maro Gay…

I hear the songs “Live Live Benazir”,
But was the time too ruthless,
She was the reason of my subsistence,
The realism was what my eyes couldn’t trust,
Or the empathy ready to recognize,
She had left us too soon,
She was taken so harshly,
Was the universe at a halt then,

For it lost its fascination,
The exquisiteness of the world,
Who was only Benazir…

I’d lost my gravel,
Lost my audacity,
My willpower,
My only anticipate…….
The heartrending instants,
That I’d never forget,
The journey from Islamabad,
To the soil of Garhi Khuda Bux Bhutto,
Where in a white building,
Lay all the parables of red…..

To this day too,
Her assassins never goad to consider her dead,
She’s still alive,
And rules everyone’s compassion and psyche….
She’s today too, Saria’s brainwave,
Her mentor, her courage, her fervor,
For she lived all her life as a candle,
That glows itself & Gives light to others…..

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