The Crescent Nation’s Adversity Times

A Swati’s Words…

For an IDP * like me, it’s just like Déjà vu,

I’m returning back to my home, in angst and blue.

In debris, bombshells, dead bodies and bricks,

I’ll seek my home where I played with my Sputniks*.

No matter in place of fruits, if hand grenades grow,

You can’t question fate if it’s destined to deathblow.

No matter instead of flowers, if gunpowder is the smell,

I’ll go beyond the feeling, I’ll mould myself to dwell.

My brain says “It’s destruction”; my heart, “It’s the motherland”,

It’s been too much of brain now, I ought to grab my heart’s hand.

By- Farrukh Zafar

*Sputnik : Soviet satellites sent into Earth orbit in the 1950s.

*IDP : Internally Displaced Person.

Today is the 12th of July, 2009, which signifies that from tomorrow onwards, the return of the refugees affected by the Swat war, starts. I believe each and everyone of us owes something to these immensely grief stricken people. And so I dedicate this poem to all my brothers and sisters who made such a big sacrifice for their country.

I salute you. And I pray for your safe and peaceful rehab that’s worth your heavenly homes.

Comrades, Come Break The Shell

Yes we are, the angry and uptight,

The one’s you always, deceitfully kept quiet.

Yes we are, the hungry and the bold,

Who always did what they were told.

The ones who kneeled down for you,

Just to read hanging scriptures in Hebrew*.

But now when we see our wings have grown,

It’s time you start repaying your loan.

Each drop of blood has priced a countless penny,

There’s one kill comin’, that’ll cost one too many.

Keep quite no longer, we’ll rise with the sun,

Each hand will throw candles and grab a loaded gun.

Not blinded by the lies, for which we’ve been blamed,

The lives that we lost, all those lives will be reclaimed.

-By Farrukh Zafar

*Hebrew is the ancient language of the Jewish Bibles.

The Self Encounter

Swords, slings, lances and spears,

Here I come, with changing gears.

 

Dragons, pulling the chariot with glamour,

Taking along with ‘em, the man in the armour.

 

Can’t turn back time, so before it gets late,

I remove the curl, in my lines of fate.

 

Wounds, deep with peep, made me well worth a warrior,

I sneaked a look inside me and I found myself a savior…

 

-By Farrukh Zafar.

 

For all those who have found their saviors in them and are primed to stretch and straighten their wriggly curly lines of fate…