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.
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