Martyrs.

“I dream.. I find myself leaning against the window of my room. This is home, I realize with a smile. I hear footsteps, hurried ones. I look outside, its them. Its the Security Forces. Who’re they going to kill this time? Who’ll be taken away? Who’ll be tortured? Who’ll disappear? My mind is bombarded with questions. I try to block out the footsteps, I look out in wilderness. There’s a dream within a dream. I see your mother, looking outside through her window. Is she waiting for you to come back? Or like me, is she watching the tyrants walk freely and wondering why! Or is she waiting for people to stand up and demand justice for you? And then I hear laughter- a child’s soft chuckles. Oh, that’s your daughter. Is she laughing sarcastically at her situation or are her beaming smiles her way of showing how proud she is of her Baba? A young woman comes to feed the child. I see she’s your wife! Dark circles show on her face but even then she looks pretty. Has she spent sleepless nights waiting for you or has she been thinking of what to do next? Does she feel defeated now or is she ready to fight for you? She looks upset, yet hopeful..weak, yet strong. Her face shows mixed emotions. It’s like she’s hidden her feelings behind a veil. I see your brother in the distance, quietly observing things. He has too much to take care of but he hides his pain too well. Your friends are sitting together where you all often would but they feel your absence. Nothing appeals to them anymore. Amidst all these feelings, there’s one common thing. The way they think of you, it shows in their eyes. It shows pride. They’re all proud of what you’ve done for the nation. They die everyday in your memories. But they live everyday for your memories.

I find similar things here and there. Love, loss and longing. Your nation has failed you. We have failed our martyrs too. We are all too deep in slumber to stand up for our martyrs and demand justice. They kill, we watch! The game is on.
I find differences too. You, an army captain, got martyred for your people. And here, people are killed by armymen. I leave your house and again focus on the voices around.

Suddenly I am shaken awake. I try to stand up but fail. I lift my hands and see blood dripping.Oh, they shot me. It wasn’t a dream.”

From the pen of Bint-e-Chinar(A Kashmiri freedom fighter, fighting against the “largest democracy of the world” with her pen). A tribute to Captain Usman Ali Shaheed.

Still trying to figure out.
Like
Like Love Haha Wow Sad Angry
Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply