You cannot murder a legacy . . . By Saria Benazir

We have to make a "Benazir" Pakistan - By Saria Benazir

There pass decades and experiences inscribe themselves on sections of sheet. Eyes seize back to millions, who in their kick laid down their lives for the cause of liberty - for the sake of a detached home, where the Muslims of the Sub Continent could direct their survives, according to the lessons of their belief. The labors of those legends bore crops and lastly, on August of 14, 1947, the Muslims won a sovereign homeland for themselves. The struggle, the budge, which pinched numerous broods from their mothers, left several waifs and strays -that all appeared nil in analysis of the loyalty of the Muslims and to conclude, there came a day to exult & express thanks to God for the huge consent, He’d bestowed them with. My country, Pakistan -the land of pure , the earth, with which respite anticipates of thousands and plunks as the core of Islamic Power _ The ground, hallowed with copious natural possessions, with beauty, with minerals and with creature clout -with people, so enthusiastic and devoted to their land -such is meant by my adored Pakistan.
A state, which was sanctified with trinkets, the world never got - I hold back to the folios of the country’s history after its establishment & the empathy twinges to realize too much, it lost - Two great leaders, universe ever witnessed. Pakistan,-Which was split up into pieces was saved by the Hero of the Muslim World, Quaid e Awam Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, who spoke out to his nation as “WE HAVE TO GATHER PIECES - VERY SMALL PIECES & MAKE A NEW PAKISTAN - A PROSPEROUS PAKISTAN”. He proved his ardor to this nation, when a dictator got him hanged, just because of his promise to provide Bread, Clothing & Shelter to the people of Pakistan & make it an atomic power. The world cannot close its eyes to the struggle and forfeits of my dearly loved leader Shaheed Benazir Bhutto, who always preferred her country to her personal reassures and returned to her land after years of exile, just to save it, Aware of all the threats, she valiantly fought for her country & at last, gave her blood for it .

This soil of Pakistan is filled with blood of our leaders & it’s we, who need to stride to save this PAKISTAN and make it a Pakistan of Benazir’s dreams - A Pakistan, free of poverty, illiteracy, diseases, unemployment & dictatorship.

Wedged in cavernous slumbers,
I get mislaid in dreams,
I look at a wilt,
Emerald & ashen,
With a falcate & star,
With all its glamour,
Its luminosity,
Greater than that of a sun,
Shimmer,
Immense than the stars,
Its precincts,
Where lies a scrutiny of rapture,
My country’s flurry roofed crests,
And the beckons of its waterways,
The absconds and unadorned,
Lime & russet,
I get lost in the exquisiteness of my motherland!

I heed the birds twittering,
And thereby,
The accent of my beloved leader,
Yes! My mentor Benazir Bhutto,
Thumps my heart,
I feel someone clasping me,
Giving me audacity,
Valor to facilitate my member countrymen,
To move with far getting intentions,
To carry conviction,
Superior enough to defy obstacles,
To save - to shield this land,
Even if my own life’s its cost…

Then, I embrace to her,
The redeemer of this land,
Still with apparition,
Hope in her eyes,
For a Pakistan,
Strong & thriving,
I move on with an endeavor,
We’ve to fulfill our Bibi’s vision,
And make this Pakistan,
A Benazir Pakistan!

A Pakistan,
Which can never be shattered,
By earthquakes, too colossal,
With floods,
Too devastating,
For this terra firma carries in it,
Too much blood,
Blood of the martyrs…

Pakistan has come to exist forever!!!!

LONG LIVE PAKISTAN!
PAKISTAN KHAPPAY!
HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

Without Pakistan, we’re like a body, without soul.

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

“IF YOU WANT TO LIVE LIKE BHUTTO, LEARN TO DIE LIKE HIM” - By Saria Benazir.

“Bhutto” is no longer the name of an individual or of a family, but it is the name of a birthright and is the crest of a crusade, which always elevated its influence against despotism and prejudice, against paucity and bigotry - and against disarray and restiveness. To this day, the BHUTTO has become the name of that family, which stood determinedly against every genus of totalitarianism and regardless of the actuality that they themselves had two diverse conduits to go on- an enormously deluxe and splendid life or the second one- an agonizing death…The disciples of Bhutto-ism always gave predilection to the second alternative and thereby, chose a way to make their lives, an exemplar for the coming generations to tag along and be conceited of.

“TO LIVE ONE DAY LIKE A LION IS BETTER THAN TO LIVE HUNDRED YEARS LIKE A JACKAL”. The originator of Bhutto-ism - the person, who laid the naissance stone of a world wide family known as Pakistan Peoples Party spent his intact life, working for the affluence of his nation and to grant them “Bread, Clothing & Shelter” , which in the face of being the indispensable requirements of life were not accessible to a large number of Pakistani inhabitants. He fought courteously against the military rule of Ayub Khan and tried his best to bring about a genuine democratic system in Pakistan and make his nation, one of the developed ones in the world. It was the time, when the people and especially poor ones had not even a single shoulder to cry on. It was only “Bhutto”, who despite facing such thorny circumstances did not at all care for the skulks. His visualization became a quintessence of clout - people’s power, which merely belonged to the commons of the state. The lay man too, from his point of view held right on the state in much the same way, as the ruler of the country.

Egalitarianism and bringing classlessness, as the result of a resistance is not trouble-free -not undemanding to bring about and more accurately, where every one has power ravenousness, where all are famished before the chair and how can one with wholly different contemplations , much earnest initiatives, more resolute vision endure amongst such brutes. Democracy and the affection of people for their leader after all, overwhelmed dictatorship and yes, it gave it a devastating defeat - an undying and mortifying one.

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 came under the longest era of Martial Law ever since its underpinning. Moments were too awful. Amidst murky nights, the end of a democratic Government, followed by the judicial murder of ZA Bhutto and those three months for the elections, which never existed seemed to strangle every being on the planet. July 5 – That was the black day for dismantling the Constitution of Pakistan. It 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 in the end, it is the forces of democracy & justice, which triumph.


Perceptibly, the 4th of April, 1979 appeared to be the red letter day for the confrontational forces, but that is a verity that some cannot comprehend - Yes, they are too scrawny enough to appreciate divinity’s commands. Reinhold Neibuhr’s words are of course, a fine yearning for them “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things, I cannot change, courage to change the things, I can and the wisdom to know the difference”.

The bereavement statement was a declaration, which nature considered as the time of making Bhutto an immortal and giving him a perpetual life - that existence, which is never to cease. Bhutto was dangled, but not his revelation - he gave up his life and died the death of a martyr, that demise, which not everyone is auspicious to get. Even after his death, his assassins dreaded from the dead “BHUTTO”, for they too believed that despite all, whatever they did, Bhutto is alive, and whatsoever, they may attempt, they cannot murder Bhutto. Today too, not only the adherents of Bhutto, but his rivals too call out Zinda Hai Bhutto, Zinda Hai…Bhutto is the undivided voice of the people of Pakistan. Bhutto is the vanquisher of hearts and lives in every essence.

My Benazir Lives... By Saria Benazir

BENAZIR – I screech out to top of the volume, as much as my larynx could afford. Engraving the name “Benazir” – it fills my eyes with tears & breaks my heart into trillions. I ramble here and there, oblivious, hopeless and comatose in the boulevards packed with blood. Where is my Benazir?? I bellow, but there wasn’t anyone to rejoinder me, I’ve been asking the same from the dismal sun, the shadowy moon and the hushed winds – were they too insensitive enough to overlook a young girl’s cries? I continue to saunter in dimness; no one is there to provide me with a candle to cope with the sinister night. I’ve been listening to the rumbles of the scavengers, but there is no one in the entire world to shield me. Every face appeared to have transformed, for I could scarcely find a smile on the face the most vicious person on the earth. I fall in a deep sea – too unfathomable for me to drown into it. It is blood, and I can feel a perpetual placate in it, but why?? I utter it again and again “Please – take me to my Benazir”, no one is paying any heed to my words. “This blood would not go waste” – It appears the voice of my life’s sole fervor. Again, I hear: “To you, the youth, we pass the torch of leadership, baptized in the sacred blood of our martyrs”. Don’t tell me, it’s your blood; every single breath of mine is associated with you, you can’t be killed. “You can kill a man, but not an idea” – I hear a voice like Benazir’s repeatedly: “You cannot murder a legacy”. – it was the murkiest night of my life, when I lost my leader Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto, but her blood did give me some courage to take a gulp of air.

June 21, 1953 – the sun rose from the East and blessed the world with the Daughter of the East. The baby with “pinky” cheeks was destined to be the “Benazir” of Pakistan and struggle to make a “Benazir” Pakistan. Brought up with immense fondness, no one could ever reckon that “Pinky” would have to battle against so many vultures. Her existence began with optimism. As a student of Harvard and Oxford, her empathy would only pound for Pakistan and she had dedicated her life to making her country a prosperous one. Despite living in deluxe, she had an enormous revere and love for her native land’s mores and rituals. Blessed with amazing qualities of head and heart, Pinky had to materialize the vision of and fulfill the anticipations of her father, from whom she inherited the love and concern for the people. Her struggle from the first female foreigner to win the presidency of the prestigious Oxford Debating Society to the youngest and the first ever Muslim woman to head a Muslim state is a fable of anguishes and bloodshed, and of tortures and exiles. A young girl, whose father was previously murdered by Zia ul Haq, was now the victim of the tyrannies of the same predator, who left no opportunity to harm her, but Benazir did face all with patience and in the end, it is the forces of democracy and justice which triumph. Her endeavor to bring about an egalitarian government in Pakistan was though, filled with thorns, but the December of 1988 gave a fatal trounce to the dictators and proved the authenticity in the words of Quaid e Awam Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto: “My daughter Benazir would become Benazir in the history of the Sub – Continent”.

During her terms as the Prime Minister of Pakistan, Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto worked assiduously to assist the underprivileged of her state and make Pakistan, an exemplary nation for the rest of the Muslim World to follow, but the heirs of Zia ul Haq couldn’t stomach the development of the state and continued to conspire to terminate democracy and ended up making fake corruption charges against her and her husband. Every being is forced to bow in admiration of her courage, who, despite facing grave hardships did not discontinue to fight for democracy and the rights of her people. The days of her exile, during which she had to attend to her ailing mother, look after the kids and prove the innocence of her captured husband ache every heart. Though, the 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. History never witnessed a day like October 18, 2007 – The day, when the soil of Pakistan gained its life, as Benazir’s feet touched it.




“Despite threats of death, I will not acquiesce to tyranny, but rather lead the fight against it” and the cost of this fight was her blood and she willingly gave even the last drop of it for her motherland. To this day, no one can impede the world from chanting out “ZINDA HAI BIBI, ZINDA HAI”, for she dwells in every psyche and rules the humankind from her grave. Those, who assassinated her were too naïve to the fact that Bhutto –ism has come to exist forever & Benazir lives in the form of President Asif Ali Zardari, Bilawal, Bakhtawar and Aseefa Bhutto Zardari. She, indeed, is a source of eternal guidance for us and her struggle and sacrifice sets an instance for the future generations to follow. Whatever I am this day, I owe it to her inspiration and no one can substitute for the vacuum, created by her brutal assassination.
“I know death comes. I’ve seen too much death, young death.”

MY BENAZIR LIVES…….
Happy Birthday :)

THE SEA OF SUPPORT_ FOR DEMOCRACY AND THE OTHER NAME OF DEMOCRACY_ BENAZIR BHUTTO _ By Saria Benazir

“"Jeevay, jeevay, Bhutto jeevay! Live, live, Bhutto live!" the crowds roared
in Punjabi, a sentiment that just three months before would have cost them
rigorous imprisonment and lashes. "Munjhe bhen, thunje bhen, Benazir—My
sister, your sister, Benazir," others called out in Sindhi. There were slogans in
Urdu, in Pashto, in every dialect of every region in Pakistan. "Benazir, ay gi,
Inqilab ly gi—Benazir will come, revolution will come," our supporters had said
before my return. Now they called out loudly, "Benazir ay hai, inqilab ly hai—
Benazir has come, revolution has come." When I waved, the crowds waved.
When I clapped my hands over my head as my father had done, the crowds
clapped back, their upraised arms undulating like ripples on a vast field of wheat.”

The 10th of April, 1986 was a red letter day in the history of Pakistan, so was it in the narration of the world_ when it witnessed the dauntless leader_ the Daughter of Destiny, who had lost her father and young brother _ both of them, who had laid down their lives, fighting for the rights of their people during the Martial Law of Zia ul Haq and this day, the daughter of a martyred father stood on the same grime of Pakistan, aiming to accomplish the delusions of her father and provide “Bread , Clothing and Shelter” to the people of her state_ She returned to provide justice to all_ to hand over the power to her people_ Yes, to give every influence to the commons of her state _ Although, she knew of all possible threats in the way of her aspirations and of course, at this time too, the same Zia ul Haq was ruling Pakistan_ Benazir came and she came with an optimism_ a hope of a vivid and glorious future_ of incredible moments_ of continuing the bequest of her father_ of bringing an era of prosperity in her state_ Yes! It was the valor of Benazir and only Benazir Bhutto.

That great instant_ when Benazir stepped on the soil of her beloved Pakistan were indeed, unforgettable ones _ The titanic sea of support for the woman of century, who was at last, back to her own land, after years of sufferings _ of prison, of exile, of house imprisonment, but one thing remained palpable that Benazir Bhutto was never going to quit_ She was never going to stay back from her commitment to bringing democracy_ The rule of the people, for the people and by the people in Pakistan. The support of the crowds was spectacular_ Every eye was waiting to catch a glimpse of her _ every ear, impatient to listen a few words from her and the soil of Pakistan _ waiting dreadfully to feel the touch of Benazir’s feet on its domain _ that was the day of merriment_ Finally, the people felt a reprieve after their decade of suffering under the government, based on the lame slogan of Narai Haq, Zia ul Haq…This day, even his supporters forgot that slogan and raised their voice with the patriots, Narai Bhutto, Jeay Bhutto….

“Home. I was home. As I stepped onto Pakistani soil, I paused to feel the
earth under my feet, to breathe the air of which I was a part. I had flown into
Lahore many times. I had spent many happy times here. But it was also the city
where my father had been condemned to death. Now I was coming back to
challenge his murderer, the general who had committed high treason by
overthrowing the Constitution.”

Benazir Bhutto _ who was by this time, the crest of democracy . An icon of people’s power and federation _ who by this time had faced all cruelties_ every torment, but stood firm on her manifesto “ Islam is our religion. Democracy is our policy. Socialism is our economy. All power to the people and Martyrdom is our destination”. The world of Pakistan had altered_ the perspective was roofed with the red, green and black flags of Pakistan Peoples Party _ The world was watching the sea of support for democracy _ which could not be failed by the dictator of the time Zia ul Haq, _ who was by the time, too deprived _ Yes….. He was too scrawny to defy the preference and covet of the people_ for every heart, every voice cried out BENAZIR, BENAZIR_ BENAZIR_ SARAY SOBO KI ZANJEER_ PHOLO KI MEHAK BENAZIR, and BULBUL KI CHEHAK BENAZIR……

“There are moments in life which are not possible to describe. My return to
Lahore was one of them. The sea of humanity lining the roads, jammed on
balconies and roofs, wedged in trees and on lampposts, walking alongside the
truck, and stretching back across the fields, was more like an ocean. The eight mile
drive from the airport to the Minar-i-Pakistan in Iqbal Park usually takes
fifteen minutes. On the unbelievable day of April 10, 1986, it took us ten hours.
The figure of one million people at the airport grew to two million, then three
million by the time we reached the Minar-i-Pakistan.
Hundreds of colored balloons soared into the sky as the airport gates
opened. Rose petals, not tear gas, filled the air, showering onto the truck until
they rose above my ankles. Garlands of flowers flew through the air. I saw a girl
whose brother had been hanged and threw a garland to her. More garlands were
thrown onto the truck, as were hundreds of handmade dupattas and shawls. I put
one dupatta after another on my head and slung others on my shoulder. When
we passed former political prisoners I recognized in the throng, I threw flowers
and the embroidered cloths to them as well as to the families of those who had
been hanged or tortured, and the young and very old women who lined the route.
The black, green, and red colors of the PPP seemed the only colors in
Lahore that day. PPP banners and flags billowed in the dry, hot breeze until they
formed an almost continuous canopy. People were wearing red, green, and black
vests, dupattas, shalwar khameez, hats. Donkeys and water buffalo had PPP
ribbons braided into their manes and tails. The same colors rimmed photographs
and posters of my father, my mother, my brothers, me.”

Everything had transformed _ All foes of democracy had gone into sixes and sevens, after seeing the gigantic crowd of millions of people_ waiting for Benazir and giving a warm welcome to Benazir_ Promising to stay with her_ vowing to support her under all circumstances_ The Pakistan Peoples Party became the undisputed voice of the people of Pakistan_ The rivals of Pakistan Peoples Party too were compelled to call out ZINDA HAI BHUTTO ZINDA HAI, seeing that cavernous adoration for Bhutto ism among the hearts of the people.

Long Live Shaheed Mohtarmah Benazir Bhutto.
“YOU CAN’T MURDER A LEGACY”.

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

Blood in the Terrain - By Saria Benazir

Closing the observes to details is though, quite easier than moving forwards and accommodating the certainty and in actuality, most of the people are much used to fancy the first option over the other one. Opposed to it, when ones peeps into the realities, the points of truth, we’d unquestionably come across a tart avowal by our autocrats, who assert egalitarianism to be the “FORBIDDEN” fruit for the residents of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Certainly, democracy has gone through great trials here and of course, one cannot rebuff the implication of the Bhutto family, which has everlastingly played a role in strengthening democracy and handing over the clout to the people of Pakistan. Times have been quite pitiless, undeniably, Pakistan Peoples Party never gave up and continued with its struggle for making Pakistan a prosperous state _ a place, where poor, and under dumped get their rights and do hold nerve to raise their voice for what they necessitate.

Founded on the name of Islam and declaring the state a democratic republic, what did democracy in Pakistan accomplish? The basis of Pakistan Peoples Party which was a mile stone in enlivening the democratic system in Pakistan, but what then happened..?? The founder Chairman, who saved the Pakistan after the episodes of December 1971, who aimed to assemble those wrecked pieces of the state and make a new Pakistan _ a perfect & progressive one, who vowed to provide Bread, Clothing & Shelter and promised to raise the standard of living of the natives and notwithstanding meeting with stiff opposition urged to make Pakistan a nuclear power even if the people had to eat grass and what did he himself get as a compensation to his indefatigable efforts for making Pakistan a world power..??? What incentive did he get for his stupendous courage and vividness? _ Some thing else than prisons _ assassination attempts and finally a judicial murder...
What did we bequeath him with? Merely him, nay! But every worker of Pakistan Peoples Party & every affiliate of the Bhutto family _ the hangers-on of the predator Zia ul Haq, who did not even leave the last hope “BENAZIR BHUTTO” for Pakistan.


Eyes filled with scratches,
The sensitivity slithers on frequent thumps,
For I cannot get the valid connotation,
Of the remark equality,
Or the peoples authority,
That meant in my dust,
In my backdrop,
How can I endure all going around me..
Can’t I avoid this annoyance…
O My God! Help Me….

My terra firma………….
I stagger of a lengthy saga of sufferings,
Of lengthened afflicts,
Far out of psyche,
Not capable of accepting the verities,
All I can see is a void pustule,
Resting in my obverse,
A murky crack in the heart,
All around me,
Wherever I see….
The eyes catch sight of flags,
Red, green and black,
Ears heed slogans,
Voices of democracy,
For justice,
Of course, my beloved party’s manifesto,
Chahta Hai Har Insaan,
Roti, Kapra Aur Makaan…

I stare around,
And see an insurgency,
Transformation in the very face of Pakistan,
The leader of the state,
Determined to make this state a strong one,
Able to shield its territories,
A Pakistan, free of paucity,
Disease and illiteracy….

The heart melts to see,
Gosh! A military coup,
Lead by a dictator,
Opposed to democracy,
Committed to slay it,
For what was its fault..???
Till this day,
I can never get it…
My life, too suffocated,
I’m fed up,
My eyes filled with tears of blood,
For all I can see around me,
This soil is filled with blood….
It never vanished till this day….

FOREVER ENDURE THE BHUTTO LEGACY!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

THE WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE NUSRAT BHUTTO ISPHAHANI… - By Saria Benazir

When one glances into the record of Pakistan Peoples Party, one will stumble on it _ but a long history of struggle and sacrifices and indisputably, unfolding them is not even that unproblematic, but necessitates a lot of audacity as the heart melts to see all, that the party , its workers and its leadership faced from the very first day and when mentioning the individuals’ thrash about, the part of Mohtarma Nusrat Bhutto Isphahani is worth mentioning_ Rolling back the pages of PPP’s history, one will find her manifest part in Pakistani politics, for from the inauguration, she strived against the Martial Law of Ayub Khan and further more, it was the same lady, who played a great part in the reinstatement of egalitarianism in Pakistan, following Zia’s regime.

Indeed, the Pakistani nation owes to the great woman of substance Mohtarma Nusrat Bhutto_ who, _ from the commencement, bore great hardship for the cause of a Pakistan, where there was a self-ruled Government_ a Pakistan, free from unawareness and ailments, a Pakistan_ where women were given respect, a Pakistan_ where the dejected ones got justice, a Pakistan_ where everyone had the basic facilities of life and a Pakistan, where Bread, Clothing and Shelter were accessible to all. Certainly, the same Pakistan_ The same kind of Pakistan was the apparition of our Quaid e Awaam_ our party’s founder Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto and yes!! One cannot refute this verity too that accomplishing this vision requires an extra deal of resistance to every sort of snag, for the way, leading to the purpose of a flourishing Pakistan is not an easy one_ this route is filled with complications and giving up means giving up every likely hope for a vivid future.

The world might not have elapsed the great instants of November 25, 1967 , when the party was formed for the poor and common people of Pakistan_ providing a prospect for all to gather under the flag of PAKISTAN PEOPLES PARTY. The underpinning was not easy too, the leadership suffered a lot in the preliminary stages, but God assists those, who help themselves and He always supports the right_ He’s always with impartiality_ the party succeeded in putting an end to the authoritarianism of Ayub Khan and after the massive triumph of PPP in the upcoming elections, the PPP got an opportunity to make Pakistan, one of the strongest nations of the world, but that wasn’t just to say_ democracy has always faced stern challenges in Pakistan and the government faced a major obstacle in the form of Zia ul Haq , who not only threw up an elected Government, but also snatched from the world, a gleaming leader_ The tiger of Asia_ Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto – “The LEADER of the PEOPLE”.

That April 4 , 1979 transformed the political phase of Pakistan and from there followed great decades of sufferings and catastrophes for the Iron lady of Pakistan Nusrat Bhutto Isphahani , who firstly, lost her husband_ while struggling for Pakistan and thereafter, fighting for righteousness_ that woman_ that wife, who wasn’t even permitted to see her martyred husband at the last moments _ it was the same woman, who valiantly fought for the revival of democracy, along with her young daughter Benazir Bhutto. The trail , leading to this was too unsympathetic_ it was filled with blood and this thrash about made her lose all her valuables_ she lost her vigor_ for during strikes, even the women were beaten viciously on the thoroughfares under the instructions of the so called President – General Zia ul Haq _ Is this called his so- called Islamization that against the verdicts of Islam, women were desecrated, but at last, a point came, when the soldiers rebuffed to recognize his orders, and instead, paid acknowledgment to the greatness of those women, who were struggling for their nation_ what a larger blight is meant for those autocrats than this…???

It was the same audacious woman, who lost her young sons, Shahnawaz and Murtaza, _ the rationale, well known to everybody that democratic system is the outlawed crop for the establishment of Pakistan , which when found no other way to smother it_ went on adding blood to the Bhutto inheritance_ to the bequest of the Pakistan Peoples Party. Later, the PML-N Government, lead by Nawaz Sharif left no effort of adding on her encumbers, more cases of corruption, which were scarcely in her acquaintance_ this day, this lady is a victim of a stroke and Alzheimer’s disease_ that mother, who after losing two young sons has even lost her beloved Benazir_ her Pinky, but is oblivious that she, now dwells under the soil of Garhi Khuda Bux Bhutto.

This day_ My empathy cracks into trillions to say that March 23, 1929 gave birth to a woman_ merely for facing hardships_ losing all her adored ones, but undeniably, she is a LIVING MARTYR and I behold if anyone covets to see a martyr on the surface of Earth_ in this present world, let him gaze at Nusrat Bhutto_ who has lost all_ lost her everything for Pakistan.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE IRON LADY OF PAKISTAN”.
Your struggle & sacrifices would always remain a golden part of PPP’s History of Blood!

Jeay Bhutto.
Sada Jeay Bhutto!

Regards,
Saria Benazir.

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.