That you hold in your hand.

History, Kaee Chicharr, Lahore, Oldie but goldie, Poetry, Politics, War

There are more tombstones in the valley,
No thought in your mind,
Just your fear conquering the world,
As your muscles tremble to make the machine scream
That you hold in your hand.

And no birds sing in the morning,
And no crickets sing their haunting songs by night,
And no stars sparkle in the dark sky,
Only the fate of a burning people, once alive,
That you hold in your hand.

No one milling around in the busy bazaars,
No one romancing under the moon,
No one playing the haunting flute by the river,
As all are silenced by the rattling scream of the machine
That you hold in your hand.

The sands below grip your feet,
The rivers try to swallow you,
The wind tries to chase you away,
As it rips your banner of new-found fear from the staff
That you hold in your hand.

There are more tombstones in the valley,
Yet, more deserved none as you won.
Or was it fear that conquered you that won?
As your black boots trample another land into submission,
And then, the accusing silence echoes in your head
That you hold in your hand.

Wrote this when US forces invaded Iraq under the false pretense of liberating people from “the tyranny of Saddam Hussain” and to “bring democracy to the people of Iraq.”

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