My story just ended…. holding on to last breaths!

4 Mar

It was bleeding fiercely, mercilessly…. It has been that way since ages… I have seen tales coming to halt, on roads, in vehicles…. but I never thought my last breaths would be entangled under my own lethal roof.


I know I am not the only one writing to lessen the burdens on my heart. There are plenty, and we do so because it aches. It hurts, and I squirm in misery. I want to extend my arms and wipe out those intense tears of those angelic kids and hopeful mothers, but then I pause, and think. What would I say to them? With what tone, with what hope of ease would I express my baseless faith that they would be granted justice, when I don’t see even a glimpse of a figure who claims to have a job of protecting people? what if I end up shedding tears of helplessness? Would I be strength, hope and faith for them, when I know that I am numb?
I can curl my hands feebly, and collect those tears that reflect wounds which crave for death, yes, they want to hug graves… for them, beauty has faded, life has faded. They want to die, because they know whether they would have enough days before they would witness a similar brutal incident, and they would fall again.

We can’t lapse again and again, we can’t weep in intervals, broken to bits, we have lost sense of happening. We have shed so much tears, that our world is nothing but a black screen. Please, don’t gather our pieces.It’s useless. We would not prick your heart, but in spirit, we would be powdered.

Am I the only one who is devoid of a vibrant teenage? After years, If I stay alive, would I ever be able to tell my grand generation about my blissful, peaceful teenage life? Would I even remember what peace means??

Their is no justification for the lives lost, for your failure.
Quaid, I am sorry, but the Pakistan you fought for, Is a grave yard. I know you never dreamed of it that way, and I know it pinches hard, even I have tried to hold my self back from writing these words, but these wet hands, they can’t write praising compliments any more.

Becoming a doctor, I don’t see a normal life. I see deprivation. Kudos, government of Pakistan, for exhausting my future, my dreams, my respect… most importantly, my Quaids’ aspirations. Thank you!


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