What to wait for?

On the way back to my land,
Walking over what remained - debris of the past
I saw hundreds of people
All going eastward......
Offering Jinaza of a 12 years old boy, Killed in a bomb blast
Fitted at his school....
People reciting Istaghfar (forgiveness)
Dust following the procession.

I couldn’t find any one to ask: who killed my Pashtun brother?
What wrong did he do?!!!!!!!
Or was he just one of the many to suffer?
I have no answer from anyone...
I am on my way towards what I don’t know!
Shouldering his dead body to the graveyard.....
Shouldering his past, present and future
O my self: O my poor self where are we now?
O our fate what else will you bring for us?

Grieved as I was,
I saw his father in his mid-40s, looking older than his age...
His black shawl around his body,
His head downward, trying to hide his tears
His dried hands on his daughter’s head, who came to see her brother’s body too
Why me, why him, why us? she was crying
Brother, brother, come brother, take my toys, my pencil, my notebook!!!!
Take everything from me,
Fight with me but come brother!!!

Her eyes were asking for answers
I too was looking for answer
I was hoping, I may get one....
I saw a Mullah standing up
Long hennaed beard, Kajal in his eyes
Starts reciting the holy verses!
From the Holy Book!
Waqatilo fe sabi-lil- lahi (And kill in the way of God).
and I got the answer....

A devilish smile in his eyes
Heaven within reach......
Feeding his dying embers
With the blood of a 12 years old child!
Poor God knows, how many to follow?

I was helpless and shocked
Our Almighty God, who is everything – as the Mulla of my Mosque once said
was powerless then....
Never saw it happened or felt that before
Was I becoming a non-believer?
Or lost faith in God?
Or his justice?

The hands that were stained with my brother’s blood
Will be washed in the river soon
Sacred River....
when people will go back to their houses...
Through their windows in the midnight
The dark sky will soon shine with fire
Another story will begin
Another story will be witnessed...
People will get killed in dozens, young and old, women and children
Songs of drunken soldiers
Showing their bravery
Waving their bloody flags

And my leaders in a moment of generosity
Bestowing them with Medals!
And I am wondering!
What to wait for?
Who to hear then?
when everything turned out well in the end!



(Farid Gul, 25th March, 2009, London)
(In memory of a 12 years boy who lost his life in a bomb blast in Waziristan. His only sin - that he was a Pashtun and born in a region which is part of a great game since long)