My Pakistan

Written By: Shanzay Khan

The tinkling bangles, the bright dupattas.

The bumpy roads, the deep khaddas.

The smell of the food street,

Of chicken and meat,

Of charges and biryani,

Of tikkas and nihari.

The beautiful sounds

Of children playing in the merry-go round.

This is my Pakistan, this is my Pakistan.

The city lights,

The rush hour fights

The boys on every street busy at cricket

Their joyous screams at every wicket

The girls that gossip huddled together

Gathered in the country yard they can talk forever.

The bubbling laughter, the victorious shouts.

This is my Pakistan, this is my Pakistan.

The crowd at seaview, enjoying the most glorious shore.

The kebabs at Burns Road, I always want more.

The bunkebabs from hawkers, Flamingo’s chana chat

The sweetness of kulfi, warm Kashmiri chai on a wintery raat.

The sights, the smells

The sounds, the ringing bells.

This is my Pakistan, this is my Pakistan.

But what is this I hear, a bloodcurdling scream?

Is this is nightmare or was that a dream?

Sons are dying, mothers are crying.

There is little hope, yet we are trying.

Is this my Pakistan? Is this my Pakistan?

The ambulance sirens ringing in my ears,

What has happened while I was away all those years.

Two more bomb blasts, a hundred more die.

How long will this last, how many more will cry.

Is this my Pakistan? Is this my Pakistan?

The homeless, the orphans, the poor

Are all shown out of the door.

It’s a vicious cycle

Who will end this? Ali, Pooja or Michael?

Is this my Pakistan? Is this my Pakistan?

It’s hopeless state, filled with despair.

How much more? How much more will we bear?

The laughter dies

Now all I hear cries

This is not Quaid’s Pakistan. This is not my Pakistan.