By Hasan Mujtaba, translated by Khalid Hasan

No courts were in session that day,
No stars fell from the sky
'We did not shout our slogans,
Or march down the street in protest.'
So why then was the sentence of death pronounced
On all those innocent children and women and men,
On this many-splendor earth
Why indeed?

I think of Syed Nasir Jahan, who has since departed
Both Pindi and this world,
And who once wrote,
"The child always carries the warmth of its mother's arms."

The children at Government High School
In the town of Garhi Habibullah
Had hardly finished the chorus they sang each morning,
Iqbal's immortal words.

"A prayer that's my wish rises to my lips,"
When the earth began to heave.

How I wish another Iqbal, son of a humble capmaker,
Were to come this way again
And write another 'Plaint' to God
But no 'Answer to the Plaint,' as he did
He should write,
"We have no place to live, and the whole world is ours."

God is truth, as is his Prophet,
So who then are these men
Who put fear in our hearts?
A Mullah full of hell's fury,
Harangues the people
Though they are pure of heart
Pure as the blue reflection of the moon in a flowing stream,
He thunders, "The wrath of God is upon you all."
But it's he who's the wrath of God
For all mankind.
Every word that leaves his lips is a lie.

The book of love is done,
There're no more pages left,
None at the beginning, none at the end;
And Amrita Pritam is dead
As is Sartre, and his Paris's burning.
Where O' where 's Simone de Beauvoir?
And where is Imroze, Amrita's lover?
But I am digressing
From the Mullah to Sartre,

O Sartre, the world is on fire
And I, who said I'd never die,
Now lie in my grave.

Under the stony soil of Balakot
So does the Chitrali boy,
Who was mild like marijuana;
When I think of him,
I feel like a city that men've fled.
There is so much to cry over
Where do I begin?

There're political workers in prison
"Our morale is higher than the Himalayas," they say;
But the Himalayas have fallen
And killed my children.

O' mother earth, you have devoured your offspring.
"Was mother earth hungry?" the children ask.
O hungry earth, O hungry children,
Weren't we all hungry
For hadn't they snatched our food from us?
To buy their F-16 aircraft..

They are playing a new game now:
It is called 'Helicopter-Helicopter'
They eat helicopters,
They wear helicopters,
They drink helicopters,
They sleep in helicopters,
They even give birth to helicopters
We'll all perish watching them at play
And the snows'll come and cover us..

But look at them,
They are laughing as if on picnic
There they stand to take the salute
As the cavalcade of death goes past.
These "Sir Jees", these burra sahibs
These victors of Kargil
All we want is one single moment,
To embrace the ones we love;
We'll shed just one single tear,
Say no more than a prayer for their souls.
Our loved ones we sent across that line,
Or did they go their own accord?

They are drenching us with tear gas,
Driving us away like cattle;
They'll not let us go across that Line,
The land, they say, is mined.
But who laid those mines in the first place?

There lies the Line of Control,
More cruel than the Berlin Wall.
O Lord and Master of the infinite blue
Yours alone is the truth!

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