Nevertheless, instants are too sturdy,
Circumstances, more than unsympathetic,
I slam my ogles,
But unquestionably, details cannot be starved of,
Or is that unfeasible to rebuff realities,
And yet, too durable,
Even pungent to facade them,
And acknowledge in their occurrence…
Alike is my allegory…
A day, taking away my inhalation,
I see a wonderful audacity at a consign,
I perceive sound of hope,
Applauds and screeches of support,
Catchphrases of change,
And of course, perils were palpable too,
Still, things went right,
The day, which led me undergo,
Sense nature for the foremost time,
Though, I’d read in novels,
And in tales of the past,
This day, perpetuity was showing me…
The clock walloped a point,
A minute of living,
Which transformed it..
Aah! A throbbing memento,
O No! Life’s not viable,
The beginning was sever off from neck,
A single more gulp of air,
That appeared out of my potency,
Left without expect,
Without a single to cope,
To even utter a word of heroism,
To leave a hand on shoulder,
Was left alone in the world,
A world of extremists,
Of people, who’re sightless to realities,
Deaf to the truth,
Dumb to articulate for the right,
And classlessness,
It was their forbidden fruit….
Eyes thump to a massive sea,
Numerous, showing their love,
Copious like me,
Who bore no compassion,
Nor wits to recognize this mourning,
The angst of losing the prettiest seraph,
God had ever hallowed this nation…
Ah! Moments…they went indignant,
And time, It was never to stop,
Though, death’s inevitable,
But that was not death,
It was a woman martyred,
The Daughter of Destiny,
Taken too brutally,…
But still, genuineness holds,
And martyrs by no means die…
Empathy, not too burly,
Vocabulary, not too enormous,
Feelings, far out of perceptive,
Expressing them…
Out of attain….
The day, the firmament wept,
Birds lost their appealing voices,
Still, heart strikes to see a grave,
A martyred buried,
Not under mire,
But a bed of roses…
The day, which revolutionized my life,
Gave me a hallucination to struggle for,
A target to accomplish,
As life has got nothing to do,
Nothing in her nonexistence,
Still, her charisma can be felt,
In the aroma of roses,
In the songs of birds,
In the beckons of the sea,
In every stir of air,
This always speaks,
Benazir is alive…
Benazir is alive….
Regards,
Saria Bhutto Benazir.
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