Let me tell you of a Pakistan

Let me tell you of a Pakistan that s gasping for breath. Pakistan is the beggar that dies due to rabies the beggar that no one knows about. It is poor slums beside schools for rich kids. It is ignorance being cultivated in he name of agriculture. It is homeless people waiting for an endless oblivion to swallow them whole. It is abandoned stadiums where drug addicts find sanctuary. It is our future blown up because of a tiring never ceasing war that we had nothing to do with. It is drunk men and tortured wives.It is a dark and obsolete place which burns both due to rays of the sun and illiteracy. It is narrow mindedness. It is blood shed. It is chaos. And that is why I relate to it. In it’s imperfection, in it’s grazed image, in it’s sorrow and in it’s chaos I find me. A lost forgotten girl who got a chance to screw her life and she availed it. I am tired eyes at 3 in the morning. I am tears on a pillow. A future molested by events I had no power over and things I had nothing to do with. My body aches with wars I have been forced to fight by and against both my society, my parents and inevitably myself. Their burden stacked on my wavering shoulders. I am a minor purgatory as well. Pakistan is the dark side of me Not the one you love, not the one you can love, no the one you care about but the one that you pity without knowing it fully Let me tell you of the Pakistan you so deeply admire. The one you love. It is the limited vision of the true story. It talks of a few lucky people who have gotten a chance in a country where people do not get a chance. It talks about the privileged minority. When you look at it you see it through a green and white filter called patriotism. It blurs out your peripheral vision and blurs out our stereoscopic one. Pakistan is not terrorism but a blown up future. It does not bombard it is bombarded. It is heroes portrayed as villains and vice versa. It is either too glossed with upper class vanity or lower class distress. It is the Pakistan we wont get anything from. It is the Pakistan you want to leave. And in that I find my soul. It too bleeds. It too is misunderstood. It too has to put up a facade of apathy. It is bombarded on and it is blamed. It is poor It’s not the one you love-it is the one you leave.


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