The Land of Pure

Pakistan - The land of pure is dubbed as one of the most corrupt nation of the world. But the irony lies in the fact, that the nations which classify this country as corrupt are the pioneers of corruption. I have never been so fascinated and thwarted, at the same time, by the history and attitude of a nation. This country has been looted by its custodians and public alike for the past 60 years. Perhaps, looted would be an understatement. It has been ransacked, perchance, more by its custodians than by its people. Any other nation might not survive such perfidy. Yet, this nation is still standing and the very passion of its inhabitants resurrects it, time and again, from its deathbed. This is what is truly fascinating about this nation.

Over the years, this nation has faced extreme intricacies, both internally as well as externally. The country has never left the limelight of this world’s ramp. By hook or by crook, this stunner has always been the center of attraction. It seems as if this nation’s creation was for a purpose. The mere inception of this nation is nothing less than a miracle. Its endurance and escalation has amazed many. Disappointing is the fact that, over and over again, it has been attempted to suppress and demolish this nation. Nevertheless, this nation has survived all these endeavors. Which has mesmerized one and all, and I hope it will continue to do so.

The Cry of a War Tot

Dedicated to the children of all war affected areas...

Why is it so dim?
Why is it so gloomy?
Why isn’t anyone cheerful;
To sight me smile?

My abode is dark;
My glee masked;
I heard there’s a sun;
Somewhere shining bright.

What is that noise?
What is that sound?
Why do I heed;
People blaring outside?

I screamed, I cried;
The tears have now dried;
I heard love existed;
Somewhere outside.

We Are All Hypocrites

Standing in front of the mirror, I wonder, if that is really me or something I wanted to be. Somehow, the reflection did not bequeath a true depiction of the soul inside. It is a conflict and war, that mankind has fought for centuries- ‘The war of heart and soul’. A war that few have won; a conflict that few have resolved. It’s an art that few have mastered, the art of taming the heart. Save a few herculean beings, we are all hypocrites.

We tend to be what we are not, we preach what we do not practice and we practice what we do not believe. It’s an enigma that I truly despise; it’s a sin that I want to believe I do not commit. Yet, the reflection portrays a different image. The image of a person infected by the germs of this vicious disease. The image of a dying soul empowered by decadence and crime. The image of a ‘human race’ being engulfed by its own greed and lust for power.

Our characters are molded to the instance, defying our inner beliefs. Even the chameleon is awed by the changing colors. This constant change of wavelength along the spectrum often makes us forget our true self. The reflection I seek in the mirror is a mere mirage. The true self hidden deep inside, buried in the heap of fabrication and pretense.

A voice inside me keeps calling, striving hard to stir my conscious. But the voice is too weak, unable to pierce the tomb it is obscured in. Or perhaps I do not want to hear it, for the reflection says it all. I cherish the pleasures of being a hypocrite.