WHERE IN A WHITE BUILDING LAY ALL THE PARABLES OF RED – By Saria Benazir

Moments too spiteful,
I gaze back three years,
I stumble on blood everywhere,
God! Ain’t it a nightmare,
I catch an austere glower,
Is that all fair?
Nothing sounds fine to ears,
Eyes show nothing, but tears,
I lost nothing, but my verve,
I don’t cleave to that nerve,
For in incidents is a giant camber,
Heaving a sigh here isn’t even plausible……

The crowds too massive,
But the fortune staring,
There stood a leader, too audacious,
For who had an unparalleled individuality,
For in every aspect of her personality,
There was no one in her similarity,
The sky that day was crimson,
So was the boulevard,
This in minutes was sluiced away,
To conceal that blood, too viciously…

The connive was ferocious,
They thought too malicious,
The one they snatched was too precious,
Her gallantry was too conspicuous,
It was a chronicle,
Aching every compassion,
My Benazir had denied every sumptuousness,
To put an end to the coercion,
The rule of the persecutors,
Who had executed her father,
And two young brothers….

The prompts are too throbbing,
Can’t watch the people ailing,
Who lost their redeemer,
Their only expectation,
Nothing else could cope,
The heart ceases to beat,
The expressions get trapped in the larynx,
For she is my fanaticism,
Today and forever…
The eyes desire to catch the scrutiny,
Of the dauntless Daughter of Destiny,
Loaded with flowers,
With a white scarf, hovering on her head,
She had been an icon of power,
An emblem of democracy,
Who was always prepared to defy tyranny,
Fight for her cause,
Not by bullets, but by ballet…..

I’d crave to hear the same words,
Which spoke to save Pakistan,
A land, in whose edifice was her father’s hand,
For she’d struggled a lot,
The words for it exist not,
Trying to portray her person,
That is not at all feasible,
To write, worth her exertions,
She’s my ideal,
My motivation…

I hear the voice of the bullets, too loud,
In her support was standing a huge crowd,
And the firmament, loaded with red, green and black,
It was a symbol of triumph,
Of an eternal victory for Benazir,
It was a scrutiny, too Benazir,
One, which I’d never, wondered of….
My heart thaws,
I hear her words filled with valor,
Yai Bazi Khoon Ki Bazi Hay,
Yai Bazi Tum Hi Haro Gay,
Har Gar Say Bhutto Niklay Ga,
Tum Kitnay Bhutto Maro Gay…

I hear the songs “Live Live Benazir”,
But was the time too ruthless,
She was the reason of my subsistence,
The realism was what my eyes couldn’t trust,
Or the empathy ready to recognize,
She had left us too soon,
She was taken so harshly,
Was the universe at a halt then,



For it lost its fascination,
The exquisiteness of the world,
Who was only Benazir…

I’d lost my gravel,
Lost my audacity,
My willpower,
My only anticipate…….
The heartrending instants,
That I’d never forget,
The journey from Islamabad,
To the soil of Garhi Khuda Bux Bhutto,
Where in a white building,
Lay all the parables of red…..

To this day too,
Her assassins never goad to consider her dead,
She’s still alive,
And rules everyone’s compassion and psyche….
She’s today too, Saria’s brainwave,
Her mentor, her courage, her fervor,
For she lived all her life as a candle,
That glows itself & Gives light to others…..

JEAY BHUTTO!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

SHE LAID IN THE DIVAN OF ROSES – By Saria Benazir

An daylight of December 27, 2007, I perceived the alteration in the shade of the blue _ Then, the world gives a vision of the mountains, stooping in veneration and in admiration of someone, later, all the gesticulates of the oceans stood tranquil_ The marvels were quite conspicuous, though, the day was bringing something too ruthless, yes, too hard to acknowledge _ It was all but a ghastly instant, as the timer touched 5 but Gosh! What is that all going…??? Yes!!! It was the day, when my Benazir was snatched from the world _ The world lost its Champion of Democracy _ and the people of Pakistan lost their anticipate _ and Saria lost her intact world, that laid with her. Those minutes of my existence are too horrific to evoke, but after too many days, my hands can’t discontinue to engrave about her, eyes can’t stop to squirt tears in her dearth, mentality can’t impede to imagine about her and of course, my statements and the planet remains curtailed without her.
The tone of Jeay Bhutto rang in every ear and engaged the ambiance. The prospect became crammed with the red, green and black pennons of the Pakistan Peoples Party and every flash held with it, an inimitable facet in the cosmos. The world, for that time, forgot everything to the heroism of the Daughter of Destiny Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto_
Benazir, who was entirely Benazir in verve, Benazir in valor, Benazir in the final moments of her life as well. The ocean of support for Peoples Party and Benazir _ for the Bhutto bequest was too unfathomable enough to sink the whole world in it _ the world of democracy aficionados _ the world of peace and justice _ the world free from altercation, but democracy and reconciliation _ yes! The world free from starvation, scarcity and malady_ the world, free from redundancy _ the world of Benazir’s apparition_ Yes. A Benazir world!

My existence had taken a new twirl, when I witnessed my leader _ full of optimism and audacity -anticipate of accomplishing the delirium of her father and guts of fighting every encumbrance in her way .A sudden distress got me paralyzed, as soon as I heard the voice of pellets after such a gargantuan public support for Benazir and then, blood _ O No!!! Later, too shoddier a catastrophe .A tragedy _ the greatest adversity, had I ever observed _ My Benazir, who had lain down her life.

The day had brought with it, lots of anguishes _ torments for democracy , for humanity, for impartiality, for true depiction of Pakistan and Islam, for Benazir was certainly, an incarnation of high virtues,.! The next instant, I do see the roads being freshened, hiding my Bibi’s blood and later, adding offense to the injuries, alteration in statements, about the reason of death……..The second day, even averring people accountable for the assassination and the other, considering themselves, extremely untainted beings .This was their realism, who even failed to grant security to the former Prime Minister of a state _ mercy on them and their disreputable misdemeanors.

My eyes do hold back to the bereavement _ yes! I see December 28, when I screech out my Benazir is alive _ Thereby, I see the soil of Garhi Khuda Bux Bhutto, taking in itself , another Bhutto, who had been martyred _ Whose life had been grabbed in pursuit of providing Bread, Clothing and Shelter to the natives of her state _ I too, can’t rebuff this very remarkable moment _ Benazir was not buried under mud, but she laid in the divan of roses _ she rules the world _ yes! She rules the essence of her people, this day too from her grave.

Benazir-ism _ an everlasting rule _ an enduring inheritance! To this day, I see my favorite Benazir in President Asif Ali Zardari. When I look at Bilawal, Aseefa and Bakhtawar, my heart coerces me to acknowledge that Benazir Bhutto is at all times with me in their appearance, she’s always with us and directs us. Her phantasm is always with us and we can even peril our own lives to realize it.

Har gar say Bhutto niklay gaa,
Tum kitnay Bhutto maro gay…..

Zinda Hai Bibi, Zinda Hai…!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

And endeavor hard to reach your objective…. – By Saria Benazir

My fellows,
That’s the time,
To assemble under the red, green & Black flag,
An Emblem of peoples’ Power,
A point to give your antagonists a note,
That your leaders are still alive,
Though, your exertions are still in progress,
And Yes!
You all have to scuffle,
Against the transgressors and tormenters,
And secure your land!

A time,
When we all have to raise loud this jingle,
A say, stretching in every curve,
Every chunk of the space,
Stroking the sky,
Getting to the unfathomable oceans,
As the space invaders & deceased even may hear,
The utterance of our martyred leader,
“Democracy is the greatest Revenge”…

That’s the bona fide time,
To collect at the soil of Naudero,
And take an expletive,
To brawl for our Bibi’s cause,
And struggle to accomplish her hallucination,
And preserve her bequest,
A time,
To bellow out,
In front of the residences of the authoritarians,
To make them comprehend,
“Kal Bi Bhutto Zinda Tha,
Aj Bi Bhutto Zinda Hay”…
Illustrating them the greatest authenticity,
Removing the mysterious drapes, encasing their eyes,
And cleansing the buff, engaging their ears….

We all have to meet,
And that’s the occasion,
To reiterate the Daughter of Destiny’s words,
Yai Bazi Khoon Ki Bazi Hay,
Yai Bazi Tum Hi Haro Gay,
Har Gar Say Bhutto Niklay Ga,
Tum Kitnay Bhutto Maro Gay….

After all,
It’s time for you to divulge,
Politics is our prayer,
A mean to worship God,
By helping His Beings….

The Best second,
Waiting for your consciousness,
Islam is our religion,
Democracy is our policy,
Socialism is our Economy,
And All Power to the People…
An Instant,
Reminding you of a marvel,
Who saved Pakistan,
Following in the footprints of his precursors,
By Calling out PAKISTAN KHAPPAY
Certainly, you need to idealize it…

A time to stand up,
And begin your passage,
To materialize the visualization of your beloved leader,
And endeavor hard to reach your objective….

Live Live Pakistan Peoples Party…!


Regards,
Saria Benazir.

She Gave Her Blood For It – By Saria Benazir

O’ My Countrymen,
May you know or nay,
But I do keep it in mind well,
The Footmarks on this soil,
The tears, glistening from her eyes,
Indeed, three years back,
My delight paced here…..

For I’d been a parched land for many years,
But as Benazir patted the ground,
She brought optimism for my people,
So as she gave potency to the crippled,
As she was here to confiscate the disenchantments,
Fretfulness of the disheartened ones….

Today, I’m in look for of the same,
The analogous Princess of Fortune,
Fidgety for the same scrutiny,
Moving every sensitivity,
Provoking every malicious soul,
Captivating every mentality,
Removing all suspicions,
Paying every obligation to the nation,
I’m in need of the Same One…..

Her words and deliberations,
Touching the utmost mountain peaks,
Reaching the farthest awning of the sky,
Being heard in the deepest wave of the ocean,
I need the same fortitude back…

Her graciousness was example less,
The individuality was unparalleled,
The temperament was Reach less,
An stab to swerve her from her struggle,
All of those exertions were worthless,
Her adversaries in this regards,
They were enormously feeble…..

For she sought to help the shelter less,
Assist the cloth less,
Aid the ravenous,
To place an ending to the rule of autocrats,
No misgiving!!! Was a vicious one!!
The chore to place it to the closing stages,
Was too intricate,
I need the love back,
She gave to the impoverished,
Gave to the down in the dumps and browbeaten…..

I need that luminary back,
Which while shinning,
Blanched the entire sphere,
I certainly, need the same dawn back,
That brought a beam of anticipation,
I’m in need of the same marvels,
That occurred three years back….

May the folios of history roll back,
And bring me the Daughter of the East….

For this is the say of a land,
Memorizing the one,
Who gave her blood for it…

Live Live Benazir-ism!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

Happy 22nd Wedding Anniversary - Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto & President Asif Ali Zardari - By Saria Benazir

A Very Cheery Wedding Anniversary to Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto & President Asif Ali Zardari! Bhutto-ism Forever!!!

Extracts from the Daughter Of Destiny about the golden instant of her existence:-

The crowds began gathering outside of 70 Clifton a week before the
wedding in December 1987. Presents began to be delivered to the gate, simple
handmade shalwar khameez from Sindh, embroidered dupattas from Punjab,
candy, fruit, and wedding dolls made to look like Asif and me. At times my
relatives went out and joined the people dancing with happiness. Women and
children came in and sat in the garden.
It is traditional for a prospective bride to remain in seclusion for one or two
weeks before the wedding, wearing yellow clothes and no makeup so as not to
attract the evil eye. But I didn't have time for this ancient custom called mayoon. I
couldn't afford to take two weeks off from work before the wedding. We weren't
even going to take a honeymoon.
We broke with other traditions as well, trying to set an example for the rest
of the country. The wedding was to be dignified and simple, not the weeklong
lavish affairs many families in Pakistan feel compelled to hold, often draining
their life savings and sending them into debt. Instead of the twenty-one to fiftyone
elaborate sets of clothes traditionally presented to the bride by the groom's
family, I set the limit at two, one for the wedding and one for the reception the
Zardaris would give two days after the wedding. The bride's wedding clothes are
usually sequined and embroidered throughout with gold thread, but I requested
that my dress have gold either on the top or bottom, but not both.
Presents of jewelry, too, are part of the tradition, the bride often wearing
seven sets of jewelry running from a choker around her neck to necklaces
reaching her waist. I asked Asif to give me only two simple sets, one for the
wedding ceremony and the other for the reception given by the groom's family. I
don't live a life that calls for jewelry. How many necklaces can you wear to the
office? "You have your whole life to give me jewelry," I consoled Asif, who
wanted to give me the best. I even eschewed the traditional gold bangles that
brides wear on each arm from elbow to wrist, planning to wear a few of pure gold
and many of glass on each arm. I wanted people to say that if Benazir can wear
glass bangles on her wedding day, so can my daughter. I also chose to keep my
own name. "On my beloved's forehead, his hair is shining. On my beloved's forehead,
his hair is shining. Bring, bring the henna, the henna which will color my
beloved's hands." For three days before the henna ceremony on December 17th,
my sister, my cousins, and my friends gathered at 71 Clifton, the annex we use
for receptions and offices, to practice for the friendly song and dance
competitions with the groom's family at the mehndi. Samiya, Salma, Putchie, and
Amina were there, as was Yasmin, who had flown in from London. Every day
more old friends arrived from England: Connie Seifert, who had been highly
instrumental in pressuring Zia into letting my mother leave Pakistan on medical
grounds; David Soskin, Keith Gregory, and others from my Oxford days; Victoria
Schofield, whose visa was withheld by the regime until the very last moment.
Anne Fadiman and my former roommate, Yolanda Kodrzycki, came all the way
from America, Anne to do a story on the wedding for Life. "You came here to get
teargassed in 1986," I laughed with Anne. "It's good that you've come here now
to laugh and dance."
The wedding was a miraculous reunion of sorts, relationships that had not
only endured but grown stronger through all the tyranny of Martial Law. My
father's lawyers came, as did many former political prisoners. There was a stir
when Dr. Niazi arrived at 70 Clifton. Even though my father's dentist still faced
serious charges in Islamabad, he had returned for my wedding after six lonely
years in exile. He was safe enough in Karachi, but no one knew what he would
face when he returned to Islamabad to try to resume his dental practice. Through
it all moved my mother, anxiously checking on the details like any mother of a
bride. She had not been in Pakistan since her medical release in 1982 and, not
surprisingly, was having difficulty sleeping.
While friends and family were gathering inside 70 Clifton, thousands were
pressing toward Lyari in the center of Karachi. We were going to have two
receptions after the wedding ceremony, one in the presence of family and
friends, the other, a few hours later, among the people in the poorest section of
Karachi and a stronghold of the PPP. We had sent fifteen thousand invitations to
party supporters who had been imprisoned during the years of Martial Law and to
the families of the martyrs for the Awami or "people's" reception. The Awami
reception was to be held at Kakri Ground, the large sports field in Lyari where my
father had been the first politician to speak to and for the underprivileged and
where six people had been killed and others beaten and teargassed by the police
in the August 14, 1986, demonstrations. Sections of Kakri Ground were also set
aside for the public to join in the celebration.
The night before the henna ceremony I slipped off to Lyari wearing a
burqa to check on the preparations. Members of the Maritime Union and
members of other unions were putting the finishing touches on the fifty by forty
foot main stage at Kakri Ground, solidly constructed out of wood and eighty tons
of steel. Emergency generators were in place to light the grounds if the regime
decided to cut off electricity, as were twenty big-screen television sets placed
around the grounds to show the proceedings over closed circuit. Bowers of jasmine, marigolds, and roses were being put up around the seating areas on
either side of the carpeted stage for our two families and chairs were placed in
between for Asif and me.
Hundreds of strings of lights, red and green in the PPP colors, and white,
hung the length of the two-story buildings surrounding the grounds, and
spotlights shone on a huge painting of my father putting his hand on my head in
blessing. We were expecting one hundred thousand people to come to Kakri
Ground for the people's reception. At least ten thousand were already camped
there, some having walked or bicycled from interior Sindh. As my brothers and
sisters, they felt they didn't need invitations. They had come to a family wedding.
The sound of drums and wooden sticks. Women singing. Ululations of
greeting from my relatives. The groom's procession arrived at 70 Clifton on
December 17th for the mehndi, Asif's relatives bearing a platter of henna carved
in the shape of a peacock, complete with real tail feathers. My female relatives
placed garlands of roses around the necks of the Zardari entourage as they
moved into the garden. Asif was in the middle of the procession, his sisters
holding a shawl over his head. I was relieved that he had arrived on foot. He had
threatened to ride in on his polo pony.
We sat together on a bench with a mirrored back and inlaid with mother of
pearl at the top of the steps to 71 Clifton. I looked out through my veil at my
family and friends clustered below me on the side of the carpeted steps, Asif's
family contingent on the other. I doubt anyone had heard the likes of the lyrics
from my side as the singing began. Asif must look after the children while I am
out campaigning and not prevent me from going to jail, Yasmin, Sanam, and
Laleh, and other friends sang. "You must agree that Benazir will serve the
nation," they warbled in Urdu, then responded for Asif: "That is all right with me,
for I will serve the nation by serving my wife."
The guests, two hundred close friends, clapped and talked under the
colorful tent set up in the garden before moving on to the buffet tables. I saw
tears on my mother's face. I didn't know whether they were tears of happiness or
frustration over the number of foreign photographers who had somehow gotten
past security and were crowding around Asif and me. The mehndi was supposed
to be a family affair, but the press billing of the two-day celebration as the
wedding of the century on the subcontinent had brought press from the Arab
states, Germany, France, India, the United States, and England as well as the
wire services and, of course, members of the local press.
"Don't walk so fast. You're not late for a public meeting," Sunny whispered
to me through the pink veil covering my face as she and Mummy led me to the
wedding stage in the garden.
"Brides walk sedately," echoed Auntie Behjat as she held the Holy Quran
over my head and tried to keep up.
I tried to look demurely down at the ground as I took my place on the
wedding dais. My cousin Shad came up, smiling.
"What's taking the men so long?" I asked, wondering what was happening
on Asif's side, where the maulvi from our family mosque was reading the
marriage vows.
"Manzoor ah-hay? Do you accept?" Shad asked me in Sindhi. I thought he
was jokingly asking me if I was ready.
"Ah-hay," I replied. "Yes. But where are they?" He only smiled and asked
me the question twice more. "Ah-hay. Ah-hay," I repeated. Before I realized it, I
had consented to the three questions of the male witness, and was a married
woman.
Seven items beginning with the letter "s" surrounded me, as well as plates
of sweetmeats, nuts dipped in silver and gold, silver candles in silver candelabra.
Thousands of white lights spangled the garden, the light dancing off the silver
tinsel encrusting the dais. My female relatives held a green-and-gold diaphanous
shawl over my head when Asif joined me. Together, we looked into the mirror
placed in front of us, seeing each other as partners for the first time. Ululations
filled the air as my mother and aunts ground sugar cones over our heads so our
lives together would be sweet, then knocked our heads together to signify our
union.
Karachi went wild with celebration last night. Thousands pressed together
outside 70 Clifton for a glimpse of Asif and me when we moved to Clifton
Gardens for the private reception just a block away. PPP volunteer guards had to
struggle to keep a path open for our guests, who walked the few hundred yards
from 70 Clifton. When we left for the Awami reception in Lyari an hour later, the
streets on the way were just as crowded with well-wishers, jeeps blasting the
wedding songs which had popped up all over Pakistan to commemorate our
marriage. There were strings of PPP lights everywhere, festooning the center of
the roundabout where so many had been teargassed the year before, draped
from buildings along the route.
The crowds at Kakri Ground swelled to over two hundred thousand,
spilling into the streets. This was Asif's first taste of the love and support of the
masses for the PPP and he looked worried as the security guards urged the
crowds to open a passageway for the Pajero. There wasn't an inch of space on
the sports field, or room for one other person on the balconies of the buildings that rimmed the field. For days women members of the PPP had been wrapping
wedding sweets into PPP colored boxes to distribute among the crowd at Lyari.
Forty thousand were gone in an hour.
Jiye Bhutto! Jiye Bhutto! Folk music floated out over the crowd. People
danced, cheered. Miniature hot air balloons were released, trailing streamers of
fire. A display of fireworks sent rockets soaring into the night air, while fountains
of silver and gold erupted on the ground. I waved to the crowd. They waved
back. It made no difference to their hopes and dreams whether I was married or
single.
"Today, on an occasion so personal and solemn for me, I want to reaffirm
my public pledge to the people of Pakistan, and restate my most solemn vow to
devote my life toward the welfare of each citizen and the freedom of this great
nation of ours from dictatorship," I'd written in a statement released the morning
of my wedding. "I will not hesitate to make any sacrifice, be it large or small, as in the past. I will work shoulder to shoulder with my brothers and sisters—the
people of Pakistan—to create an egalitarian society that is free from tyranny,
from corruption, and from violent tensions. This was my goal yesterday, this is
the dream I share with you, and this will remain our unwavering commitment
forever."

It was a vindictive December – By Saria Benazir

The month of December initiates,
And fetches with,
A saga of struggle,
Of inimitable dedication to the land,
Of consummate binder to the earth,
Of a gallantry, as “Benazir” as she was,
A throbbing keepsake of a “Benazir” leader,
Who returned to her land with a “Benazir” hallucination,
With a “Benazir” concern for the underprivileged,
With a “Benazir” mettle & Person,
For she is the “Benazir” of Pakistan,
A “Benazir” Daughter,
A “Benazir” Sister,
A “Benazir” wife,
A “Benazir” mother…..

December! Ah! Appalling December,
It begins with the cries of disheartened,
And the rumbles of the scavengers,
It begins with the anecdote of vampires,
Eager to suck the blood of a great bequest,
Intending to shield the land from the rule of autocrats,
And bring a rule of egalitarianism,
Placing an ending to all the divergences,
And bringing the populations together,
Setting away all the chauvinisms,
And raising one influence,
A Voice, aimed to culminate paucity,
End redundancy and ailments,
To sanction the commons,
To value the girl child,
And to protect humanity,
To give rights to the minorities,
To bring the imperative of the people of Pakistan…….

The red, green and black crest of democracy,
An icon of concord and brotherhood,
For I could hear the throngs chanting,
Benazir – Saray Sobo Ki Zanjeer,
(Benazir- The icon of unison of the Provinces)
I could catch the smirk of same remarks,
Live Live Bhutto…
With every beam of the sun,
Could listen to the same words,
Resting near a bird’s nest,
Or looking at the beckons of the sea,
Where every being cried out,
Benazir will bring a revolution,
A revolution….
That stipulated a long whip,
A colossal amount of blood….

But the initiatives weren’t that feeble,
The daring wasn’t in need of shoulders,
For the heritage was never to closing stages,
My impervious leader stepped ahead to save her motherland,
A land, for which his father had given his life,
Her young brothers were murdered,
And mother – a dupe to the lashes at the hands of a totalitarian,
It was the Benazir of the Sub- Continent,
Too gutsy to meet every challenge,
Responsive of all the perils,
For she belonged to the family of martyrs…

The month of December comes as a prompt,
Of the Daughter of Destiny’s blood,
It brings instants with it to assure,
We’ve to struggle to materialize her apparition,
And never let her blood fritter away….

It was a pitiless December indeed,
We lost our pride, our pearl,
Our splendor, our anticipation…….
The Only Hope “Benazir”….

Live Bhutto-ism!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

For Benazir has come to exist forever………. – By Saria Benazir.

Quiescent at times,
Do you never panic,
After committing a great bloodbath,
After coloring your hands,
With the blood of my dearest leader,
Can you stare at that scarlet,
So plucky enough are you,
Or are diminutive of a heart in the breast,
Or even if own it, it’s not of a human,
But of a wolf,
For your eyes still remain desiccated,
Do you never even whimper,
For all you did undertake,
For you’re left with no leniency,
For you’re those cold souls,
Who know neither triumph, nor rout,
Who cannot take notice of the millions, sniveling,
Weeping for their beloved one,
Whom you snatched from the world, so viciously,
But I’m still persuaded,
You aren’t at ease till the day,
You still have the same fright,
For what’s a greater peril to you,
Than the name “BHUTTO”…
The legend, unmovable,
The destiny, which isn’t prone to any change,
For to this day too,
My leader rules every heart…..

Though, you can not watch her,
But she’s visible to every adherent of democracy,
Her say can be heard for justice,
And for the veracity of her state,
For the wellbeing of her people,
She’s an crest of people’s power,
For her name can be heard in the songs of nightingales,
And every gesticulate of the ocean,
For she can be felt all around,
For she lives in the continuation of millions,
Benazir’s still,
The exquisiteness of Larkana,
The princess of the Mehran Valley,
The daughter of destiny,
And the title holder of democracy,
And without suspicion, no one,
Not even a single in the world can replace her…
For her life and death,
Both were inimitable,
Her words and character,
Her gallantry and fortitude,
Every facet of her verve was Benazir,
The unforgettable name “Benazir”,
A name “Benazir”,
Written in the golden books…..

To this day as well,
She’s my conviction,
Her words, echoing as a brainwave for today’s world,
“Democracy is the greatest vengeance”,
Her life’s a hope of brightness,
After decades of gloom,
For she’s that luminary,
Who’d continue to guide all, ambushed in the dusk of unawareness,
For her thrash would remain a symbol,
Of bravery, & classlessness,
Her legacy, Her apparition,
Her Struggle & Her destination,
Is the purpose of millions of her followers,
For Benazir has come to exist forever!!

Forever Endure Bhutto-ism!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

The Reason of My Creation…. _ By Saria Benazir

When I was born,
When I treaded on Earth,
I heard someone murmuring in my ears,
Concentrating upon the say,
That appeared to be of a seraph,
I comprehended he’s bringing to me,
The note of a reason,
For what I was born,
For which I’ve to spend my life,
Resist & brawl,
And give my existence……

Someone was still watching me,
Still Staring at me,
Then the one handed me,
A book named “The Daughter Of Destiny”,
I deliberated over this act of the divine creature,
I made up my mind & construed well,
For this is for what My Lord might have formed me…

I started reading the book,
Suddenly, the ogles were filled with tears,
The empathy ricocheted with trepidation,
The voice stopped in the larynx,
And the sentiments ceased,
I then started thinking,
Seeing the angel sparkling,
The word, I could stress on,
Was egalitarianism…
Democracy & struggling for it,
Endeavor with might & Main for bringing this rule,
Never to stop your exertions for the country’s wellbeing,
I thought, thereby this day,
I’ve been sent down for some cause...

I’ve a bequest,
A Philosophy,
For acting in view of that,
I’ve to struggle,
Though, I’d recognized that the lane,
Chosen by me was not that unsophisticated,
Not a portion of cake,
But instead, a long, spiky way,
Where one had to walk,
With the fright of getting wounded,
Or falling a quarry to wild animals,
But Despite that,
The archangel did tell me,
That’s what your fate…is

I see my existence,
Filled with obstacles,
Amidst lots of Vampires,
Parched enough for blood,
The blood of the adherent of a great legacy…
Well, I did make up my mind,
I would assemble under the same ensign,
The same scarlet, emerald and black emblem,
I’ve to darken its ruby scrap,
Adding in it, more blood,
Darken the black one,
Providing my people evenhandedness,
And darken the green strip,
By making my country stronger,
And more affluent….

I thereby, saw the angel contented,
For I’d realized the principle of my creation…

Forever Endure the Bhutto Heritage!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

EVEN AFTER MY ASSASSINATION – By Saria Benazir

Reality can never be shorn of,
Well, nor can you impede,
The ascend of the sun,
Or cease people from its scrutiny,
Nor can you transform,
Whatever is the actuality,
The furthermost of which is,
I won’t pass away,
“If I am Assassinated”….

Life doth not connote,
To live it, merely,
I seek of sustenance,
Or beseeching others for sanctuary,
The charge of which may be,
A murder for a “noble cause”,
For in their lingo,
Graciousness carries an opposed meaning,
For their better undertakings of living are,
To wipe off the people’s power,
From the very visage of the earth…
Hell! Is that branded as “LIFE”,
Better, if you’re buried alive…

Life – A laudable life,
Spending it for an immense reason,
And living it in a manner,
The world recognizes your individuality,
And yearns for you,
For you’re given reverence,
By friends & aliens alike,
And you become their voice,
And a shoulder to cry on,
You’re remembered with that veneration,
And given that much esteem,
That gives you a life,
“EVEN AFTER ASSASSINATION”
And that life’s an eternal one….

You used bullets,
But never won the war of BALLETS,
Despite hanging me,
Taking me afar the human hallucination,
You couldn’t eliminate me from conception…
You couldn’t confiscate the word “BHUTTO” from history,
Or couldn’t expunge the slogan “JEAY BHUTTO” from democracy,
You botched to remove it from the movements,
Which holds its core amongst the people,
Or from wars against corruption & tyranny,
I still am the throb of every empathy,
“EVEN AFTER I AM ASSASSINATED….

You couldn’t veil my accomplishments,
Or my struggle,
Or my attachment with the commons,
“EVEN AFTER I AM ASSASSINATED”

Summing the long relation in a few words,
You couldn’t hide my blood,
“EVEN AFTER MY ASSASSINATION”…

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

WE DID NOT COME THIS FAR TO FAIL – By Saria Benazir.

Those were the incredible instants of the history of Pakistan – At a caucus, held on December 30, 1967, Pakistan Peoples’ Party was founded in Lahore and the “enigmatic” Leader of the People, familiarly “Quaid-e-Awam” Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was unanimously elected as the Chairman of the party. The Party Creed was proclaimed as:-
1. Islam is our religion.
2. Democracy is our policy.
3. Socialism is our economy.
4. All Power To the people.
This merge of Islam and Socialism maneuvered a course away from Secular Dogmatic Marxism and came to be known as Islamic Socialism.

Though, the endeavor of establishing Pakistan was to create a state, where the people had the right to lead their lives according to their preference – where there was no partiality on the basis of faith, race or color – Where people had the right to opt for their delegates & the very rationale of army was to shield the borders, than to preside over the state. It is something of a grave distress that none of the aims was accomplished– The authority passed on to different hands, but all of them were from the “Elite” class. The voice of the commons was censored whether it was a civilian Government or a Martial Law One. There was alteration in the names of the rulers, but not even the least divergence in their conducts. Most of the population lived below the line of scarcity, greater part of the man power, not conversant and unemployed and the peasants and labors, dispossessed of their privileges _ where uttering a word against the master was an Unforgivable Crime – For there was mere power hunger, but no intentions to work for the poor population – the rulers of time, who considered themselves to be the GODS – for they considered themselves powerful enough to snatch someone’s life or property – What a greater curse!!! Where the women were treated as articles of trade and given no opportunity to work for their country’s betterment.

Ever since foundation, Pakistan Peoples Party intended to hand over supremacy to the commons and to give them a fair say in how they were being ruled – unlike other groups, which could never pierce the masses. Pakistan Peoples Party won the support of the poor people of Pakistan, - the purpose of it to provide “BREAD, CLOTHING & SHELTER” to the people of Pakistan. Though, these are the indispensable prerequisites of life, but so many in our country do not get snacks even to endure, have no means to swathe them up or find a situate to live on.
In the wake of the fall of Dacca, Yahya Khan handed over power to Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto as President on 20th December 1971.
“We have to gather pieces – very small pieces & make a new Pakistan- A prosperous Pakistan”.
The First Government of Quaid-e-Awam Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto introduced the Constitution of 1973, which was passed unanimously _ the lasting heritage of the Pakistan Peoples Party to Pakistan.
The first Bhutto administration was an Age of Reform and re-enactment. Bhutto established Pakistan's first Steel Mill, a second Port, commissioned Pakistan's first hydro electric dam on the mighty Indus at Tarbela, and made Pakistan self sufficient in fertilizer, sugar, and cement. He nationalized the Banks and Life Insurance Companies. He also commenced Pakistan's Nuclear Programme. The economical policies of Bhutto were anti-imperialist and base on state socialism following the stack of other Third World leaders such as Gamal Abdel Nasser of Egypt, Ahmad Soekarno of Indonesia, and his own contemporary Salvador Allende of Chile who was elected, over thrown and assassinated during the same period. The Cold War was its most frosty during this epoch. The Neo-Colonialists made a terrible example of Bhutto for his anti-Imperialistic stance, his efforts to unite the World of Islam, and his demarche towards bringing the Third World on one Platform apart from the Nuclear Issue.

5th July , 1977_ The sinister day in the history of Pakistan _ When the Government of the founder Chairman of Pakistan Peoples Party Quaid e Awam Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was eliminated by the then tyrant Zia ul Haq, and thereby, Pakistan , under the longest era of Martial Law ever since its underpinning. Moments were too awful _ Murky nights _ Gosh! The end of a democratic Government, followed by the judicial murder of ZA Bhutto on April 4, 1979 and those three months of elections _ that day never arrived!
The whiplash of the Martial Law fell heavily on the Pakistan Peoples Party from July 5, 1977 when Zia declared Martial Law until December 1985, when Martial Law was lifted. Thousands of the cadre of the Pakistan Peoples Party were incarcerated, hundreds whisked .Others were killed or forced into exile. That was the nerve of Pakistan Peoples Party & only Pakistan Peoples Party, which faced all these obstacles and murders with patience and sagacity, for we deem, neither in prisons, nor in bullets, but DEMOCRACY is our vengeance and that is a fact that the forces of democracy & justice triumph.

Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto then started to work for the rehabilitation of the party, following in the footsteps of her father for the Restoration of Democracy. Though, the dictator of the time was as unswerving to stay in power, but doom twisted to be absolutely diverse from his yearnings and the atrocious rule of Zia came to an end on 17th August, 1988 when the C-130, carrying him crashed in a ball of fire and Zia went from vestiges to vestiges and his system from grime to grime. The destiny took payback of the murders and brutalities he’d committed on the workers of PPP, for the vindictive always comes to conclusion, but leaving behind his calamitous acts and thankfulness of masses to God to swab him from the globe.

Benazir Bhutto rode the apex of the brandish to conquest to become the first Muslim Prime Minister and the youngest women Prime Minister in history at the age of 35. The Government she led immediately marked on an ambitious program of political liberalization, an end to press censorship, legalization of trade unions, and a commitment to the long, neglected social structure with an emphasis on education, health delivery, women’s rights and macroeconomic reforms. Intensely concerned about the problem of child labor in certain areas of our economy, the Government cracked down on child labor and determined to out an end to the dreadful statistics of polio, launched an anti-polio campaign in Pakistan. Throughout her career, she attempted to combine the best of many cultures, the richness of disparate experiences, to build for the people, the ability to compete and thrive in the challenging new technological era. For in the lexis of Mohtarmah Shaheed Benazir Bhutto, she was guided by the philosophy and words of an American President Abraham Lincoln, who said the following words, 100 years before she was born :- “The legitimate object of a government, is to do for a community of people, whatever they need to have done, but cannot do , at all or cannot do so well, for themselves – in their separate and individual capacities.
In all that people can do for themselves, the Government ought not interfere”.

Unfortunately, the camouflage of corruption was always used to put an ending to the elected Government of the people, which has always been the most familiar assertion used to put an end to democratic Governments in Pakistan & in South Asia. But not even one case of sleaze, against her & her family could be proved. The goal of the regime was quite obvious – to establish a one-party dictatorship in Pakistan. According to Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto
“If the goals of those in power, those who supported military dictatorship in the past, is to keep my party out of politics, to keep us from speaking out on issues, that we care strongly about, no amount of intimidation or coercion can shake our commitment to democracy and to our country.
My husband shares my decision.
For those of us, who fought and died for democracy and freedom in Pakistan, the return of a fascist, one-man dictatorship is painful beyond comprehension”.

Though, the ground realities were too vindictive, but Benazir Bhutto returned to her state with a BENAZIR nerve, audacity, that was nowhere else to be found! Copious chanting out for Benazir & of course, the world can never close eyes to the martyrs of Karsaz, who gave up their own lives to shield their leader & so many, who became crippled. Yet, history has never witnessed a day like October 18 _ Knowing all the menaces & BB who returned, when the Damocles’ sword was still hanging on her head! That was a day of carnival _ A day, when the soil of Pakistan gained its life, as BB’s feet touched it! In fact, a day like that can never be elapsed & history’s for sure, going to engrave it in Golden books!! She sustained her thrash about for democracy in Pakistan and lasted with giving her blood to make the hallucination of her father veracity…

With directs, hard-hitting as ever, the Pakistan Peoples Party started its expedition to the manifestation of their leaders’ delusions, under the alluring leadership of the Man of Courage President Asif Ali Zardari & Bilawal Bhutto Zardari. Certainly, we’d be successful to make a Pakistan of our beloved leader’s apparition!

To This day, I hear the adversaries of PPP, questioning “Will the PPP endure”? A single statement is enough, if can be understood:-

A move, my party and I are resisting vigorously,
We did not come this far to be silent,
We did not come this far to fail.

Long Live Pakistan People’ Party.
You can never Execute A Vision.

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

Zalim Dil Par Teer – Benazir - By Saria Benazir

What are you fleeting look for today,
What are you sensing,
Or might be undergoing,
Pity on your deeds,
Ah! They carry huge shame for you,
In spite of using guns,
And blasting bombs,
Making her indiscernible to eyes,
You could not….
You could not murder her,
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer – Benazir”…

Whatever was your objective,
You failed to accomplish,
Whatever was the veracity,
You failed to rebuff,
Whatever was the upshot,
You failed to snub,
Whatever was your destination,
You failed …….
You failed to reach,
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer, Benazir”…

Your aspires would turn down,
You already knew so,
Your efforts would bear no fruit,
You knew so,
For in your decree was written so,
To have the color of a Bhutto’s blood on your hands,
The Blood, Which Gives a Bhutto an eternal life,
And conceal his murderers under tonnes of sludge,
Even if ……
Even if alive,
The fact, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer , Benazir”….

You did want to whittle history,
Record it on dissertations,
Removing the name of “Bhutto”,
But how sorry!
Acrimoniously Sorry to pen,
History threw your own narrations of your face,
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer, Benazir”…

As it doth not need paper to trace on,
But it inscribes itself,
Never overlooks its valiant heroes,
Or let them die,
But instead, makes you die with aggravation,
To see a Bhutto alive,
All the time,
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer, Benazir”….

Despite using armaments,
You could not impede people,
Coming out on roads to gripe,
Even though, you tried all your finest,
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer, Benazir”…..

Well, walking with smugness,
As the Mayors of the Country,
You could not stop people,
From raising this voice,
Jeay Bhutto!
The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer, Benazir”…

By the way,
You may have heard the catchphrase,
“Pakistan Khappay”,
You may also have heard someone speaking,
“My mother always used to say,
Democracy is the greatest Revenge”,
Staggered enough to know,
How your ears had the capacity,
Despite hating to hear so,
It rang in your ears,
But you’d no clout to shun it,
You could not….
And you can never do…..
Ah! A Big Defeat!
Of course, You Met a reprehensible defeat…

The verity, you’d require to realize is,
“Zalim Dil Par Teer – Benazir”….
Regards,
Saria Benazir.

The Daring Daughter Of Destiny….. – By Saria Benazir

Ah! A prodigy,
She made history,
I study her name in golden books,
Printed as the Daughter of Destiny,
Yes! She’s The Champion of Democracy,
There’s no exemplar to her gallantry,
For she gave her blood for her land, so valiantly,
Ah! The Daring Daughter Of Destiny…..

Trying to highlight her struggle,
I move on to pen her life,
But then view her incredible greatness,
And then her meekness,
Her demeanor with the commons,
And her thrash against panic,
Her services for the People,
For her country,
To bring in it democracy,
And put an end to the rule of tyranny,
To bring about the rule of justice,
Of parity for all,
To make this land, that section of world,
Where the world can find harmony,
Can see the doves in the air,
Rather than war aircrafts,
Where the youth is handed books,
And given pens to write,
Instead of bullets,
And guns to slay their fellow men….

Then, I hold on giving a depiction to it,
But all of my effort goes futile,
For I stumble on, no word in evaluation to it…

I watch Benazir speaking for the rights of women,
To make this land, that portion of world,
Where women are given obsequiousness,
Where the girl child is valued,
Where the females are educated,
Where they’ve no fear of “Black Laws”,
Where they can stand up for getting righteousness,
Where there is no gender bigotry,
Where they’re not treated as chattel,
Her dream of a Pakistan,
Where women are bold enough to make choices,
And work for the wellbeing of their state…

I watch her, moving with her aspirations,
And just because of her endeavors to hand over power to the people,
I see her existence,
Packed with hardships,
Occupied with concern,
And Thereby, I view her valor,
Her audacity,
The resilience, with which she faced all obstructions,
Carrying heavy saddles of responsibilities,
And focusing on each of them faultlessly,
I then desire to portray her,
But defining her takes me to a world of “Impossible”…
For I’m too short of words…….

When I watch her,
Returning to her motherland,
The dust of her ancestors,
To vary its malicious system,
And get its natives, free from the vicious rule of totalitarians,
That land,
Which is quite bleak,
Where lies an eccentric fiction,
That it needs not water,
For its flowers to bloom,
Rather, it requires blood….

My leader,
Who even if away from it,
Had her compassion and essence in this soil,
Felt the quandary of its dejected ones,
And wanted to perk up its conditions,
Lighten every house,
With the glow of education,
And bring up the future scientists from this state,
To employ the youth,
And make Bread, Clothing & shelter available to all,
To do politics, not as a business,
But as a means to aid the disheartened ones…
She came with an ever enduring belief,
She strived with an eternal struggle,
And finally, gave her blood,
Got a long-lasting life,
Left deep-seated marks in the annals of history,
For democracy requires the support of her name,
For Pakistan requires its distinctiveness,
Which was granted to it by Benazir….
Aah… My Mentor Benazir…..

Then I crave to describe her,
For the reason,
I go through all the books,
Numerous vocabularies,
And end of tearing all dictionaries,
As are of no use,
For they consist of no words,
To describe her…

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Rules the World. – By Saria Benazir

(An article in the perspective of International Day for the Elimination of Violence against women)


According to the father of Political Science, Aristotle, A state is a “Union of families and villages”. A woman is the architect of a society & her task in the subsistence of families – as a sister, a daughter, a wife and most momentous of all, as a mother can never be dilapidated. Raising up the children in a better manner & making them useful citizens of a country is one of her leading responsibilities and certainly, the phenomenon is not uncomplicated enough to comprehend, so as to inscribe. This day, women form half of the mankind, but still, sadism against women continues in different ways. – It continues through honour killings and genital mutilation as well as domestic violence & sexual assault.
Islam forbids injustice – Injustice against women, against people & against nations. Muslim women have a special responsibility to distinguish between Islamic teachings and social taboos, spun by the traditions of patriarchal society. Moreover, this is an inkling that Muslim women are shorn of rights – That really is wrong. The girl child’s vulnerability subsists – not because of religion, but because of social prejudice. The rights, Islam gave to women have too often been denied and that is a fact that women are denied rights, all over the world, whether it’s a developing country or a developed one.

Islam treats women as beings in their own right, not as a chattel. A woman has the right to take over, divorce, receive alimony and child custody. The Prophet (PBUH) placed an end to the practice of female infanticide in pre-Islamic Arabia. The practice of killing the girl child has been denounced in the Holy Quran as:-
When news is brought to one of them, of the birth of a female child, his face darkens & he’s filled with inward grief, what shame does he hide himself from his people, because of the bad news, he had.
Shall he retain it on sufferance and contempt, or bury it in the dust.
Ah! What an evil choice, they decide on!
The words still sound true & how many women still grow up with emotional scars and burdens, due to being “Retained” in their families on “Sufferance & Contempt”.

Women have been victims of a culture of exclusion, poverty, deprivation and discrimination. In Pakistan too, even after 60 years of self-determination, brutality against women prolongs _ probably, supported by the dictators, who neither apprehend the peoples’ power or the rights, this religion has granted to women. Pakistani women suffered miserably, under the name of the “religious laws” introduced by Zia ul Haq, considering the real place of women to live behind the walls of their houses! Women, who were viciously trampled with lashes in the courts, characterized the General’s Islamization, for in his words, "Men are in charge of women because Allah has made one superior to the other... good women are obedient." What the pre-eminence, when God handed over his own unique attribute of creation (giving birth) to a woman, not a man. Did he- the so- religious scholar disregard that in the world hereafter, a person won’t be called by his father’s name, but by his mother’s name. Women need to be given options to toil for the wellbeing of the civilization. The detractors need to remain alive to the fact that the first convert to Islam was a WORKING WOMAN – Hazrat Khadija.

As history turns its chapter, we see women, working in every field – Today; women have earned names as pilots, professors, scientists, journalists and politicians! The greatest example’s found in our own motherland _ Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, twice elected as the Prime Minister of Pakistan – The first ever Muslim Woman to hold this position & today, we see Pakistan Peoples Party, electing the first ever Muslim woman, as the speaker of Parliament, Dr. Fehmeeda Mirza. We need to put an end to this prejudice & Shaheed Benazir Bhutto deserves special credit for the Empowerment of women in Pakistan. As the Prime Minister of Pakistan, she took numerous steps to facilitate women folk to compete with men, creating Women Bank, guaranteeing small business loans to women entrepreneurs and appointing women as judges in the higher judiciary of the country. She used her office to quash centuries of discrimination against women. The Government, she led instituted a program of hiring women police officers to investigate crimes of domestic violence against the women of Pakistan and condemned those, who’d been raped. Her Government lifted the ban on women taking part in sporting events. One hundred thousand women were trained to reduce Pakistan’s population on growth levels and its newborn mortality levels. – For if the girl child is to be valued, if the wife is to say No to domestic violence, then we owe a particular commitment to creating jobs for women.

The century of ours needs to realize the very importance of women as the building blocks of a nation and to terminate the astringent credence in our societies, which regards bearing children to be the sheer rationale of her life. In the words of Martin Luther King,” A mother's place is inside her home, but she should also make certain, she gets outside that home enough to help worth while crusades and actively mould the country her children will live in. She therefore holds a key position and her role in shaping the fate of the nation must be recognized and respected.” Moreover, we do necessitate recognizing the verity :- “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand, that rules the world”.

Though, confrontation comes from many sectors, but we must be unwavering enough to eliminating every kind of bigotry against women and in moving forward to fulfilling our dream of a Pakistan, where women contribute to their full potential.

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

I gesture your Struggle……… - By Saria Benazir.

In a state,
Where democracy did scarcely live,
A love for emancipation,
But No esteem for it,
Never a consideration to its significance,
Where the deprived were treated,
As articles of trade,
Where a Layman possessed no civil liberties,
Not an even a say in the way,
He was being led,
Not even enough influence,
To converse for what was going on,
His tone stopped in his larynx….
For he was ineffective enough,
To utter a word against the LEADING ones!

It was a state,
Where politics subsisted,
Not in the cottages of the commons,
But its set in the country was,
The lodgings of the Landlords,
Where they had been no manifesto,
But of course, the purposes were well known,
To dominate the weaker ones,
To fill up own treasuries,
Grab the only light,
The light of education from the kids of deprived,
Moreover, that was given the name,
Called “politics” in their idioms,
POLITICS- Without the factual essence of it,
Politicians, who hardly knew the meaning of “Politics”…..

History then changed its segment,
In the same Land,
Was born a hope,
A person, far better than his precursors,
In every facet,
Who couldn’t bear his people’s turbulence,
And tried his best,
To bring about democracy,
To give a voice to the poor & depressed,
To sustain the impoverished,
To lighten the lives of others,
With the ever lasting radiance of education,
To put an end to despotism,
And eradicate scarcity & unemployment,
Illiteracy & wars,
At last, in the same resist,
He gave up his life,
Though, a single – second’s contentment for the foes,
But no! He never died,
But got an endless life,
An existence, which was never to last…..

Z. A Bhutto – The Man of Courage,
I gesture your endeavors,
Jeay Bhutto!

There, eyes catch spectacle of a woman,
Who bore every adversity,
Every chastisement, afflicted on her,
Whatever the course of it may be,
The boldness was unparalleled,
For she lost her husband,
Her young sons,
And Later her beloved “Pinky” as well,
The Daring Woman of the Sub Continent,
The valor, she possessed was so atypical,
None else than the Iron Lady of Pakistan,

Nusrat Bhutto! – I gesture your sacrifices,
Jeay Bhutto.

The greatest exemplar of cheek,
Who else can symbolize,
Than the heroic Daughter of Destiny,
My beloved mentor Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto,
Carrying a heap of huge responsibilities,
The greatest one of materializing her father’s vision,
And to give up the absolute of what he expected from her,
“BENAZIR” in the narrations of Asian Continent,
The lady, who spent her entire life in struggle,
Struggle for egalitarianism & culminating terrorism,
Thrash about against totalitarianism,
Without any trepidation,

Benazir Bhutto _ I truly Gesture you!
Jeay Bhutto!

Seeing the most petrifying results,
Watching with her own eyes,
The judicial murder of father,
And the atrocious killing of brothers,
Malicious treatment of mother,
All at a side,
But she never gave up her struggle,
And finally,
Lasted with giving up her blood,
To strengthen the Peoples’ Power…..

Benazir Bhutto
I gesture you for all you did for the natives of Pakistan…..
JEAY BHUTTO!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

Every plummet of my blood is dedicated to Pakistan Peoples’ Party!!_ By Saria Benazir

18th October, 2007 _ A day, that revolutionized the subsists of millions _ The instants, when my dearly loved leader Shaheed Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto’s feet patted the dust of Pakistan _ her beloved birthplace, after eight years of exile _ the years loaded with anguish and stinging. These were the flashes, that altered my intact track of life and twisted the beckons of my vitality to what is now a mode, escorting towards a struggle to brace egalitarianism in my state_ To deliver Bread, Clothing & Shelter to my every fellow Pakistani, to provide them education and make a Pakistan_ A new Pakistan, free of hunger, paucity, illiteracy, tyranny and malady! The Day, I saw the gargantuan support for my beloved leader_ the scrutiny’s still as spanking new in my eyes, as it was on October 18, 2007 and the throbbing of losing her reaches its culmination, after appraisal of all, what was endeavored for this realm by the dear leader_ my ideal _ my fanaticism_ my mentor and here, empathy can’t impede me from allowing the entire world discern that my life is fanatical to Benazir and the effort_ The cause, for which she laid her life! It is a liaison, that won’t end, even with my essence, under tonnes of sludge.

When the world was still to be born
When Adam was still to receive his form
Then my relationship began

When I heard the Lord's voice
A voice sweet and clear
I said "yes" with all my heart
And formed a bond with the land I love
When all of us were one
My bond then began

An exile now by destiny
I am nearer home than my heart's beat
I wonder: when will I be free
To return to Larkana
From dust to dust
Loved ones return
To what they were
When will I walk home from Arab lands
To my own sweet Motherland.

Waiting for news in dreams and day
Waiting for messengers in dreams and day
When will the message come
Taking me from here to there
I want the answer to my heart
I want to pass God's test
O God, I await the messenger
Taking me to where I belong
Although the tyrants do not care
Strands of white my hair now shows
My face is gaunt with sadness
I to my people want to go
I came in the winter of repression
I pray to return in different times
Like the joy of a seasonal rain
The peoples support I will reclaim.

Almighty God,
Let Mother’s sickness not worsen in exile
Trapped in a mind wanting to forget
A heart weeping for young sons killed
O let Mother first her homeland see
O where is my husband gone?
His life's prime and his grace?
Prison Walls confine him
Court rooms frustrate him
Judges are frightened
Courage has fled
Salaries are more important
Than honor for which men gave lives

Pakistan, my health is worn
My joy is gone
And yet my heart is strong
For the fight
For our people lost rights

Each day I smile for the world,
For my children and my self
They ask: when can we return?
I speak of justice fled
From hearts of men
Into the breasts of beasts
I tell them
We will smile and we will eat
When freedom from chains is freed

I think of the poor people
A better fate they deserve
Than the military conqueror's boots
Yet the lust for land grows
Plazas and Plots for the elite lot
Government homes too
Not one but two

All on starving backs of people robbed
The sweet lands lie parched
For water people pray
The crops perish
The cattle die
The stoves grow cold
As labour is sent home
Fair Pakistan's face is blotted
Mug shots and finger prints are demanded
Worshippers live in fear and dread
Tenants are ejected
Soldiers in snows abandoned

The poets in the mountains and the deserts
Speak of another time
When the country and the individual had respect
Before the Benazir Government left
One pension is too little for some
One state, two jobs, two salaries and two pensions
For retired Khaki specials
Democracy is for those in Mufti
Dictatorship the dream of Generals in Khaki

The British left last century
Their space the Khaki filled
The Father died too quickly
In an ambulance in Karachi
One day the tyrants will depart
Public opinion will set us free
There will be dancing in the streets,
Music and song
Laughter will fill the air
As people rejoice in their destiny

Larkana, Loved-one, I remember
The sweet scent of roses
Of fresh rain on desert sand
Of trees washed by nature's hand
Away I live in a mansion grand
But I long to campaign
On long and rocky roads
In bumpy jeep rides
With flags and banners
With selfless zeal to change

The sad present
Into a smiling future
I want to breathe the breath
Of home,
a breath both fair and fine
My spirit is in one place
My body in another
My mind torn asunder

The Elections were so Unfair
Made of Broken Promises
Billions spent in marketing
A dictatorship as a democracy
That too unsuccessfully.
The European Union called Foul
So did the Office of the Commonwealth
Boxes were filled
Ballots torn
Peoples verdict shorn
By cowards masquerading as patriots
The presidential palace is ugly
In a land with widespread poverty
Parliament has yet to dress itself
With Constitutional power
The phoenix rises from the ashes
Peoples Power will be born again

Centres of learning
I will build for the children of the poor
Provide the aged and the young
Dignity, hope and security
We will raise buildings
Where there are deserts
And stop the weeping of the women of the land
Cry not
For change is in our hands
To reject wrong and embrace right
These days of despots will soon go
Just as other despots did
Memory forever recalls Quaid e Awam
The sword of truth
Who gave his life
So we could live
With legal rights and economic security
With knowledge and Opportunity
With representation and success
With peace and with progress
His name will forever shine
Who can forget him
That historical memory embraces
Forever in its folds.
He who wore threads of fine gold
Tore them for prison cells
He who slept in silken sheets and fed with silver spoons
Threw them aside for the darkness of the death cell
Defying death
The rulers offer comfort
In return they demand conscience
Don't offer comfort
To history's children
To the brave and the bold
The Kurds fought for decades
The Kashmiris do too
The Palestinians refused to surrender
In every continent
In every era
The brave and the bold
Carved history with their bare hands
One has might
The other right
One has the sword
The other the pen
Guns rust and fall apart
Ideas live forever
Tyrant: do not offer comfort
Comfort leaves me cold
Much dearer do I hold
Marvi's ancestral shawl
Symbol of our Treasure
From Marvi I learnt
From past mystic saints
From my dear brother Shah I learnt
That handsome youth who fought another tyrant

That
Were I to breathe my last, living
Away from the home I loved
My body won’t imprison me.
Shah returned home while his soul went free
No stranger to the soil
Embracing his body in death
Making it part of the legends of our land
When his last breath came
We carried him to the hidden coolness of the desert sand
Pride and sadness mixed in our hearts
Swaying emotions
Knowing that his life was given
For a clear cause of liberation
From a Dictator’s occupation
We buried him lovingly
In the land that was his
In a sea of people
That loved him
For his life
And for his death
Killed and yet the struggle lived

The cranes fly to their native hills
My heart longs to fly with them
Invisible chains
Hold me prisoner
The wounds of the past
Fester again
For my country and me
As I see people denied rights
Denied opportunities
Youth looking for hope
Democracy separated from the polity
Dictatorship cuts cruelly to the bone
Undermining the economy
Undermining the society
Introducing suicide
Economic suicide for those too poor to live
Political suicide for asymmetric warfare
Joy left when the stove turned cold
Joy fled when the church and hospital blew

Some sent messages
To forget about politics
To leave the people
To find happiness
They thought it foolish
That the weight of persecution
Could be borne
With a Mother ill
And children small
With the pain of exile
Of a husband separated by prison walls.
They thought it generous
To offer freedom for abandonment
The abandonment of a people, of a land
Of a struggle, of a dream
Of principles and of conscience
I thought it wrong

I know I will return
On a wave of peoples support
Led by the bravest Party of them all
A Party of martyrs
A Party of struggle
A Party that serves
A Party of the people
My enemies wish I never was born
For them it was a torture and a shame
That I became
The first woman leader of a Muslim State
Crumbling centuries of control
Triumphantly proclaiming
The equality of men and women
The pristine message of Islam
Hidden under prejudice and discrimination

Destiny's hand moves on
Writing its own tale
Of triumph and tragedies,
Of wars and peace,
Of bombs pulverizing houses
Above the stench of death
Life begins again
The tide of sorrow turns
The sea of happiness awaits
The patient pray and persevere
Loved ones parted meet
Prisoners are freed
Fresh ones take their places
Or flee
Destiny's moving finger writes on
Seasons change
Realities change
The rest is a test
Better a life of test
Than a worthless life of rest

The land reclaims its own
When the dead die
They live again
Becoming part of a land
Centuries old
Holding secrets
Of great civilizations
Of heroes and heroines of bygone times
Shaping history and heritage
Shaping culture
Shaping the future
Time begins
Time ends
We decide
What to do with time

Remember the poor and the wretched
Remember the desperate and the hopeful
Remember God's sacred trust
The children of the land
Do not let your conscience die
For Power and Pride
The scent of the homeland
Wafts through the ocean air
Through continents
Its insistent call
A reverberating sound
Through sunset and dawn
Calling
Through walls
Calling
Through mountains
Seeking to reclaim
Its own

To my dear ones I say
Worry not
Shed no tears
Bear no regrets
These days will pass
After night comes day
After sorrow comes joy

The daughters of the desert know
That Destiny
Cannot Chain
The dream of a people free
Of a youth redeemed
Of a land
Where the sweet scent of justice
Fills the air
Where human rights
And economic rights
Break the prisons of poverty
Break the dungeons of disease
The repression of retrenchment
The despair of downsizing
The evil of unemployment

Prisons hold
Those that defy dictators
Those that pay the price for freedom
Knowing the chains holding liberty will break
That the desert men
Will write of desert courage
Of integrity, loyalty and unity
Baptised in suffering
That a desert maid
Will return home
Hear the wind
It carries the message:
Of dictators that came and went
Of tyrants now particles in the sands of times
How many armies came and went
How much blood was shed

Conquests proclaimed
Kingdoms fell; Tyrants too
The desert sands speak
The desert winds whisper
Truth will triumph
The desert maid will return
Travellers travel bringing news
Of political developments,
I hear of miseries
Of families without income
Of fear of hunger
I hear
And my own suffering retreats

Days pass
Life passes
I am shackled
To the dream of democracy
Unhappy are the days
Far from Malir and Multan
Far from Mardan and Makran
My countrymen are far
No one can reproach them
For they stand strong
As the October elections showed

One day I will recall these days
And forget the pain
One day I will recall these days
When political storms roared
When thundering threats filled the air
One day I will recall these days
Knowing my commitment to my land
Was purified and sustained.
I think of those exiled
from their homelands
In Los Angeles, London, Dubai
Of the days they pass
Some in despair,
Some in frustration
Some with determination

The seasons change
My face with them
Theirs too
Will my fellow villagers recognise
A face
Reflecting the seasons of fate
Night falls
The world sleeps
Darkness fills the air
I raise both my hands
And ask my children
To raise their little hands
Marvi, of Maru and Malir,
In the mists of time
She raised her hands
While the world slept
To God
Full of hope
Praying to see her homeland
Marvi,
We raise our hands
As you raised yours
To God
In hope
For the homeland
I was born in
Buried my Father
Buried my brother
Married
Had my children
Served a Nation
Helped a people
Without telephone or electricity
Computers or emails
Polio drops or iodine
Enter the modern age
But the bullets were fired
Piercing my tall and handsome Brother
His precious blood on the pavement fell
Where once we walked
The angels came
And took him away
To my Father and my Brother
As the Martyrs watched
In July we met
His warm embrace I recall
In the chandeliered Prime Minister's Hall
His special goodbye as he left
His voice on the phone
When we talked
As family members do
The phone came
It spoke of bullets fired
Of Murtaza wounded
I took a plane
With Holy Book in Hand
To the Hospital where he lay
God, do not take
The brother that I love
It was too late
He was gone
Again I buried a brother

The killers buried the Government
Husband was imprisoned
Tiny children exiled
With ailing grandmother
Midnight raids and imprisonment
Torture and terror
Perjury and Perversion
Billions spent on false cases
On propaganda
Psy war and special operations
On a Mother
Courts cal liberated
With different orders
Caught flights daily
From one to the other
Lahore to Rawalpindi
Then to Karachi
The persecutors fell
In divine retribution
The military marched In

Hear the wind
It carries the sound
Of horses that galloped
Of caravans that came
Of tanks that rumbled
Of planes that flew
Before the torch of time
Was passed
As history's pendulum swung
The desert wind calls
Marvi calls
A timeless call
A call
The desert wind carries.
Children: Hear the desert wind
Hear it whisper
Have faith
We will win…

Though, it’s terrifically hard to mop off tears from my eyes after reading the chronicle of my infatuation, but of course, it has given me adequate boldness to move towards my purpose and that destination is the same, as was my dearest leader’s. Every plummet of my blood is dedicated to this Blood filled legacy!!! But I cannot stop thinking about October 18 _ one of the most momentous days of my being, which left an unending impact on every phase of my continuation!

Truly miss you BB~!
Long Live Benazir Bhutto!!!!!!!!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

18th October, 2007 _ Benazir’s Homecoming with a Benazir Vision - By Saria Benazir.

Times, going too swift _ roving all around & considering the golden sun glimmers of October 18, 2007 _ Ah! A scrutiny of the ambiance all about _ Either gazing at the sky, were those the crests of Himalayas or the gesticulates of the Arabian _ Were those wolfs in the woods or doves in the air _ Whether that was the soil or the firmament ¬_ All around was dispersed a Hope _ An expect which had likely died off, over a century _ Where the eyes caught spectacle of nothing, but red, green & black flags, casing the scope_ No words, but JEAY BHUTTO & WELCOME BENAZIR! _ O! Then unquestionably, one starts to muse about “Who Benazir?” The rejoinder comes “The same daughter of the East, who was banished, eight years ago” and then probably, the question “Why”? And the answer, I guess it’s what so likely fair in Pakistan’s politics only_ the only rationale following was that she spoke for classlessness, concerned, not for her own luxuries, but for the people of Pakistan! Exactly, she did not hold empathy, too callous enough to see millions starving or reaching the heavens, due to anguish and even greater excruciating is the fact that people who committed suicide, just because they had no means of survival. For these pitiable and distressed people, it was PPP which spoke of “BREAD, CLOTHING & SHELTER”, but who in the world can value that in Pakistan, and according to the commandments of the KING’S Parties, these things are just the chattels of the ruling class_ Not a layman, of course, from their point of view, he does not even acquire the right to take a gasp in the atmosphere of the state or moreover, he’s to reimburse the outlay of the sky as well. Situations like such prevail in the state & still, they speak of Change _ of a Revolution, superior to the FRENCH REVOLUTION, Oh God! It’s they, who address of ECONOMIC STABILITY in the country or they don’t have a little ignominy in uttering such a big lie in front of the world “Only 15% of the country’s total population is beneath the contour of poverty”, but start to knock every door _ The door of a layman’s house and then figure up the number of families, who daily take their meal twice…! You’d get to recognize the facts. Yeah! It is the same politicians, who speak of DEMOCRACY & tot up out the number of political prisoners in every jail of Pakistan! O! What a great democracy?? The leaders of the time, I mean the President or the Prime Minister mistook to declare PAKISTAN as the LARGEST DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC of the world_ oh! Such a Republic, in which the opposition was never even authorized to sit in the Parliament! God!!! When I inscribe this too, the highlighter slithers out of hand & for a while, I think like “Can I _ Who hardly knows the meaning of starvation can subsist in such clauses?” “I _ who’s hardly or assembled out of the well furnished rooms can ever imagine of living in a prison”? That all pinches the peace of mind & thereby, such incidents, & the people conscientious for the crisis _ their shoe doesn’t even hassle _ God! Can a person be such a sick??? Or too arctic to feel anyone else’s pain??? At least, there are people like so in Pakistan’s politics!

No less than a grave was survival hard in Pakistan & in those instants, the homecoming of a trust _ A chronicle too long that if I’m going to start putting the details on a paper, it might take so long or absorb every breath of my life in it_ Still, it would be left incomplete _ A chore, I’d fail to do, for that is a viewpoint and a heritage, filled with blood _ Red, visible all around, but October 18 _ A day, that had never-ending collision on not my being merely, but on the lives of millions! Millions, who on the day altered the purpose of their lives _ It was a day, and the enormity of it is so likely that words if truth be told fall short of its merit…..for the vision was incredible _ The destiny was stupendous _ The return was the yearning of trillions! A dove, flying with the insignia of harmony and egalitarianism _ and the world, waiting frantically to hail her _ yes! It was the return of BENAZIR _ Ah! I epistle it “BENAZIR RETURN” _ I connote INCOMPARABLE RETURN, for the humanity had never witnessed someone, and that too, a leader of the opposition, and in the presence of so many intimidations, a nugget, being welcomed with such enthusiasm! For Benazir’s the ardor of the thousands! A gargantuan sea of support that was with each of its brandish, chanting out WELCOME BENAZIR!! It was the legend of a metropolitan, which failed to house the Bhutto’s daughter’s Supporters! Narrations & Media excerpt the return of Savior, dressed in her country’s national colors _ A Benazir, dressed in emerald with her ashen scarf, hovering on her head! Her eyes, filled with an optimism of making a new Pakistan _ A Benazir Pakistan.

Though, the ground realities were too vindictive, but Benazir returned to her state with a BENAZIR nerve, audacity, that was nowhere else to be found! Copious chanting out for Benazir & of course, the world can never close eyes to the martyrs of Karsaz, who gave up their own lives to shield their leader & so many, who became crippled. Yet, history has never witnessed a day like October 18 _ Knowing all the menaces & BB who returned, when the Damocles’ sword was still hanging on her head! That was a day of carnival _ A day, when the soil of Pakistan gained its life, as BB’s feet touched it! In fact, a day like that can never be elapsed & history’s for sure, going to engrave it in Golden books!!

It was the arrival of a hope _ the come back of Democracy! Without qualm, A “BENAZIR RETURN” for a “BENAZIR” cause!

Jeay Bhutto!
Regards,
Saria Benazir.

October 18 , 2007 - The Homecoming of the Insignia of Democracy _ By Saria Benazir

October 18, 2007,
The Thursday of October,
The day, the sun was too intense,
Bringing with its glimmers, an expect,
A wish of a dazzling prospect,
The breezes,
Murmuring at every direct,
Benazir will come,
Revolution will come,
The brandishes of the Arabian,
Still, as if they couldn’t take a move further,
The Himalayas in prostration to God,
Thanking eternity for the sanction,
It had conferred this nation with….

The eyes grab spectacle of a gigantic sea,
A sea of peoples’ support,
Of their approbation for their leader,
For the Daughter of Destiny,
The Champion of Democracy,
It was Benazir,
And the throng was the Bhutto’s daughter’s admirer,
All it had been waiting for,
The daughter of Indus,
The sister of martyred brothers,
And a woman of nerve….
Whose valor was greater than the perils,
Threats of taking away the life……

The twinkles,
When the redeemer of Pakistan treaded,
Stepped on the soil of her ancestors,
A jiffy, where the world can’t shun slits,
Scrapes appear even in the eyes of beasts,
Of the birds and fish,
Where there was zilch to articulate,
The earth flabbergasted,
Benazir’s hands, heaved in reverence,
And in prayers,
In gratitude,
Of finally being able to perceive her fellows,
Of considering the exquisiteness of her native land,
Of sharing the regrets of her people,
Who had been tormented heartlessly,
Had been dispossessed of their breathes,
Of the pale, who had no means of recuperation,
Of the untaught,
Poor children, without any spring of education,
Of sharing the throbbing of women,
Who had given their husbands and children,
For the sake of egalitarianism….

A day in the existence of Pakistan,
A giant city like Karachi,
Turned dumpy enough to house,
The sea of support for democracy,
For after all, it was the homecoming of Benazir,
The influx of a hope,
Of a daring,
For she was the tone of the pitiable,
Of the shelter less,
Of the dejected,
Of the destitute…..!!!

The loam of Pakistan had been calling for her,
Had been edgy enough to receive her,
For there had been too bias,
Too much despotism,
Nothing else was to be found,
Except murkiness, neighboring every way,
No voice was to be heard,
Except that of the explosions,
No other phenomenon to be known,
Except violence and radicalism……

It was the promise of Benazir,
To peter out the anxieties,
To eradicate the tenderness of her people,
To terminate up all the dreariness,
To end up all the chauvinisms,
To make a new Pakistan,
A brawny and prosperous Pakistan,
A Pakistan,
Which was free of starvation,
Poverty, illiteracy and bug….

Verity, sometimes turn to be to unsympathetic,
The revolutions stipulate so much,
The transform calls for too great,
Sometimes, the charge of it,
Circles to be someone’s life,
But not everybody’s dauntless,
Laudable enough to buy the renovation at this worth,
It was the fearlessness of Benazir and only Benazir,
Who for the purpose of saving her soil,
Returned and thereby, gave her life,
Added her blood in her motherland!!!!

This audacity cannot be found someplace else!!!
Jeay Bhutto!!!!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

THE THROB OF EVERY EMPATHY _BILAWAL BHUTTO ZARDARI _ by Saria Benazir

Unwrapping the eyes, after a sinister night,
A plain scrutiny of heavens,
Birds humming with merriment,
Harmony in the atmosphere,
I heed up to each of the influence,
Then have down pat,
Aah! It’s September 21,
A day, too extraordinary in the life of Pakistan,
In the continuation of Pakistan Peoples Party,
Of course, nothing else than the origin of an anticipate,
So likely, a baby, who was fated to be “Benazir”,
A kid with example less individuality,
An illustration of his beloved mom,
None else than the only one,
The throb of every empathy,
Bilawal Bhutto Zardari….!!!

Moments budge with their swiftness,
Without concern for better or worst,
The specifics, either ruthless or superior,
Life goes on,
The cruel world keeps watching with sprite eyes,
Staring with opened blood filled jowls,
A kid _ No!
He’d been a dupe to anguishes,
With mother, carrying oversize tasks,
Of raising the children,
Proving the incorruptibility of captured husband,
And attending to the ailing mother….
The father,
At the rear of prison gates,
And the relations,
Living in exile,
Far apart on the Arab Lands,
Or in the European Continent,
Millions of miles away,
From their own native land…..

Hardly a year, the family had been together,
The soreness of losing the mother,
That was too hard to stomach,
For the scratches were monster enough to remove,
Life of the precedent years,
Too hard to gain,

Where the universe was bleak,
But the audacity of a teenager,
“My mother always used to say,
Democracy is the greatest revenge”,
From the day,
Thereby started a new-fangled faction,
A new struggle to materialize Bibi’s apparition,
The humankind saw a new Chairman in Bilawal,
Whose words amused every being,
Flair, too atypical to find,
“It was not handed over to me,
Like some piece of furniture,
The party asked me to do it and I did”…!!!

The world heard Bibi Shaheed’s voice,
Whenever he spoke,
Wo sar mangein gey, hum sar dein gey,
Wo khoon mangein gey, hum khoon dein gey,
Wo jan mangein gey, hum jan dein gey.......
Laikin mein apney Nana aur maan key nazriaat ko nahin chor sekta!
The world can’t stop from chanting,
Long Live Bhutto-ism!!

The cadence echoes right of the young Bhutto,
I wish Zia had lived,
I wish he’d lived to witness our revenge..!!!!

Long Live Bilawal Bhutto Zardari _ the True reflection of Shaheed Benazir Bhutto!!!!

Happy Birthday!
Live Long!

Regards,
Saria Benazir!