Monday, March 30, 2009

What Bothers Me?


Aggression is in the name of Salvation,
False is leading the world,
Rights of poor violated and trampled,
Down is the dark despair and above is the Supreme forgotten.

This is what bothers me.

Little hands toiling hard in the sun,
Children are suffering dreadful starvation,
You call it cruelty and it is true,
But there is nothing we will do.

This is what bothers me.

Life is short and time is running out,
Lofty expectations pinned to me,
The hidden face behind the mask,
And the procrastination before the last mile.

This is what bothers me.

Destructive criticisms are dampening my spirit.
The sacrifices that went in vain,
If you were made my Protector,
Then why did I suffer the most by you?

This is what bothers me

Our silence is tyranny,
Our faith is hypocrisy,
With it, the realization that nothing will change,
The scattered glass marbles reflecting my life!

This is what bothers me.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Hushed Melody


The strings plucked, the lyrics of our hearts in symphony,
Rhapsody in our thoughts, scraping the repressed memories,
The unfilled space in the canvas of my life,
Screaming for more strokes, some permanence in forms,
The palettes in our eyes still to be painted,
But, the bow soon fades the ecstasy away….
The melody dies on the altar of compromise with times.

The curious eyes glaring at the split shadows,
The silhouette of broken love, secrets and promises,
Now, the sword is dropped, and the hues are diluted,
Roaring laughter, resounding applauds, scathing the wall,
The questions forming ripples in my eyes,
The head bowed down, wishing the sky blushes,
It was never so hard to admit I am crying!

Monday, February 23, 2009

Quakes and Hopes


An apocalyptic roar,
And the rebellious earth,
Laid in front of me,
My past shattered,
My dreams in debris.


Am I alive? Why this agonizing pain?
Is it the pain that the cries are distant,
But only dead silence at home
Or is it my hand disfigured?
Vanquished with it the fate engraved on them.


The dwellings turned into graves,
The jewels forsaken, the shops abandoned,
No buyers, no sellers,
Just the bargain for life,
………….A lose-win deal.


Wish I was on my amma’s lap
But, maybe she was a dazzling star in the sky,
The Ultimate grief,
The Wounded soul,
And the Paradise lost.


A cutting pain, tears streaming down
Isolated from my hand,
Reckoned as worthless,
I felt Handicapped.
Now who will caress the lost loved ones?


But, I will survive,
I will put together the debris,
And build a castle
The paradise of my fathers,
Wherein will prosper generations.


If the tectonic plates had an extra aggression,
There is an extreme verve in me
If a moment can ruin it all,
The Moments together can turn it into a Paradise,
From the ashes, shall rise the Phoenix.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

What is Red?


I see thrill in the eyes. I hear people discussing different spots to hangout. Suddenly from the talk of Gaza war, we are wondering about love. From the scenes of dead bodies in Al-Jazeera, we are talking about movies pictured in Cinepax. Baffled……..Oh it’s the Valentine’s Day, that has yet again brought us in the midst of red. Red dress, red lips, red rose, red cards, red hearts, red candies and red balloons. Red continues to be in the air, from the gore red to the joyous red.

Red which stained the concrete, a remnant of a frightened kid who hid behind his mother in vain to shield himself from the air raid. Red, that is proudly worn by a damsel experiencing life. Red was once carcasses, counted and callously overlooked. Red is now endeared and prized. Red was depicting silence and fatality. Red is in the midst of noise and laughter. Red was bleeding profusely. Red is being painted happily. Red was causing tears and wrenched hearts. Red is worn to be envied and appreciated. Red signified the end of life. Red is flaunting life.

This gamut of red shows the stark incoherence among us. How indifferently can we enjoy without our thoughts fleeting on the wretched fraternity across the globe. In this day of love, care and admiration, we are sure to be stripped off Humanity.

This time we are entangled in the different threads of red. While some are mourning red, the others will be celebrating red. The paradox haunts me.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Dimunitive Labor



We have always sympathized with the miserable characters of Oliver Twist and Pip, working in gruesome conditions. Today, we can see this bleak picture prevalent in our society too. The plight of small hands toiling in dark congestion, under dead silence……the children, who like others, should be given love, color pencils and toys…

According to Wikipedia, Child Labor is the employment of children at regular and sustained labor and is usually exploitative. It can be factory work, mining, prostitution, quarrying, and agriculture, helping in the parent’s business and doing odd jobs. And all the work that they do is in all types of weather and at very minimal pays.

Child Labor has reached epidemic proportions in Pakistan. According to HRCP (Human Rights Commission of Pakistan) there are about 15 million working children in Pakistan. The children make a quarter of the skilled force. In our Third World Country, where the population rate is the highest among the world and the education system poorest, the child labor pool is anything but inexhaustible. It has become an institution in Third World countries; however, the incidences of it are also increasing in advanced countries.

The median age of children now entering the workforce is seven, which is likely to decrease owing to the increase in population as well as sky rocketing inflation and food shortage. Another cause of this epidemic are the recruitment by large factory owners voluntarily or forceful by chaining the children’s parents in debt. The owners are particularly aggressive in courting boys of age five to seven, where their dexterity and endurance are at is peak. And most of all they are economical, as they are paid slighter than one third of the pay of the adults. As one Rawalpindi land owner states “Children are cheaper to run than tractors and smarter than oxen. He prefers field hands as they have the most energy but lack discipline.

The children in rural areas are deprived of all sorts of facilities, education health. They are as starved of love as they are of food. A young mother Asma from Sheikhupura says “When my children were of three years, I told them that should pay their way and get ready to make sacrifices for the families and to be sent away from home”. She bonded her five children to the masters in distant villages.

The children work under most brutal conditions imaginable. In sports equipment factories, they sit slumped in large numbers under eerie silence giving full concentration to their work. If they speak or sleep, they are reprimanded. Once they make a mistake, their pay is withheld and punished most severely on the rear of the factory where they are hung upside down, caned, lashed and starved. The boys are frequently beaten and the girls violated. A girl tells the story of her friend who was raped by the owner and when she got ill and could work no more, she was sold off to someone else and her parents never got to know about it. For the masters, the bonded children are commodity whom they trade like livestock, bartering away their respect and everything they own.

There has been many child laws enacted in Pakistan but the problem remains lack of political will and greed. The Employment of Children Act of 1991 prohibited the use of children in hazardous occupation and environments. The Bonded Labor Act of 1992 abolished indentured servitude and the peshgi system. Though the laws are progressive, however, the government failed to provide the implementation and enforcement. The steps taken had always been cosmetic. As a Ministry of Labor Official says “We leave enforcement on the discretion of the police officers” as they understand the need of the community well.”

Behind this is an unpleasant truth about feudal system in Pakistan which hinders any reform that might weaken their authority, lower their profit margins or enfranchise the workers. They argue that such laws do not help in the development of the country. If the government imposes these laws, they would shut down the factory crippling the economy.

The need of the hour is not to eradicate but to limit the working age of children and make the working conditions humane. Also, the media along with the NGOs can play a significant role in bringing out such issues and meting out justice to those god forsaken children.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

My Sin


All I hankered was to study and teach,
Thus waited for you, my father, to share this dream,
How I wished you would relent this time,
But now you threatened to smolder me alive,
Do you abhor those lessons of humanity that I aim to propagate?
Or whom you call your pride should have no worth of own
O God, what sin did I commit?
That I don’t even have the right to dream!

You always got a better share than I, my brother,
Parents love, freedom and praise has always been your prerogative,
I promise I tried my best to preserve your respect in the village,
But it was those vicious hooligans who raped your respect.
Then you deemed me distrustful and slashed my nose
Left me in the fields where I writhed and wriggled,
O God, what sin did I commit?
Who to ask for justice? Where to look for hope?

In my fancy, my companion, I wished you will be the elixir of my pains
Wrenched heart, haggard face, wrinkled strength, torn clothes,
I toiled hard in the sun doing your part, not coveting your comfort,
Our children wailing kept me on my toes, to allay their hunger,
A battered slave at your whims, but you blamed me of insolence, while I never protested,
In your outburst, threw acid on me, burning all my hopes, scathing my fantasy,
O God, what sin did I commit?
Will these wounds on the soul ever heal?

O God, what sin did I commit?
Why do the courts always decree against the innocent?
O God, what sin did I commit?
My innocent sin that I yearned for life!




Zainab Belal

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Amma,I could not...

The icy water trickled down the tap. I washed my face quickly before the water runs out. I tried to smile at myself in the mirror, but could not in that utter gloominess.

Amma, I could not look, and I did not want to, lest the smile fades away.

Somewhere in the house, the tiny candle illuminated my sister’s forehead. You sat beside her, as she curled up herself under the blanket, sobbing in pain. I wore the chappal you gave me last year on my seventh birthday. Abba was screaming, threatening me to come quickly or he would leave me .I wished to embrace you, to touch your cold hands. But, I dashed out.

Amma, I could not, oh I so wanted to.

There was a colossal mass of people. It was an experience of lifetime. I reminisced the time when we came here once. My sister and I had ice-lollies as you sat beside abba with all lovely and attractive smiles. I wish we had the time machine and reverse it to the good old days.

But Amma we are not so fortunate, the time is running out, against our wish.

Abba raised me up on his shoulder to cheer the leader. I saw really dazzling, hopeful and gleeful faces. Suddenly there was a conflagration and the world fell into silence. The next moment it was filled with hue and cry.

Amma, I searched around for father, but I did not find him.

I struggled to wail and scream. But the stone in my throat wouldn’t sink down. There were limbs and blood around me. Flames were raging around me. I was afraid the men in uniform would throw me in the ambulance. I was sprinting, but there was no escape. My feet declined and I fell to the ground. I was convulsing due to excruciating pain. In that icy night, my body was scorched, alas frozen.

Amma, I could not come home, and maybe I didn’t want to……