By Ovais Obowath
You ask me , why do I whine , why do I cry day in day out in front of these deaf ears where pin drop silence prevail. disillusioned youth, disloyal leaders , no unity and yet still somehow there is glucose in my vein , there is some life left in me , there is some hope in me . Yes I am in my death bed but there is a slight hope a surgery that can save my life. Save me from this abyss and make me the great that I was meant to be .
I am Pakistan and I am dying . Dying at every single mothers cry for help for his bullet drilled son , dying at every single tear on the eyes of a drone victum , dying at the apathy for me by a Baluchi Youth , dying at every single foreigner ridiculing my sovereignty , dying at every step this democratically elected government takes to shroud my dignity to bits and pieces , dying at every gasp of last breath my brave son takes giving his life for my cause , dying at every single new province chant , dying at every single barely dressed women, dying at every single hunger driven youth , dying at every single hand that is raised for begging , dying at every single child that is murdered in the name of karo kari, dying at every single rape victim’s cry for help , dying at every single peer or baba that tricks women in to unspeakable things , dying at every time a feudal lord slaps his forced slave , dying at every son that leaves me for better opportunities abroad . I have many reasons to die and believe me they are too many yet still somehow I live, some how I survive.
One must wonder where I live , where I still survive . I still live in the heart of that brave soldier that forsakes his life for my cause , of every strict professor that spends years teaching my youth , of every hardworking government officer that refuses bribe no matter how less his salary is , of every businessman that despite all odds still does business here if he has to incur losses , of every hard-working student that studies from dawn till dusk so that one day he/she can serve me , of every political worker that entered politics for my cause rather than provincial or ethnic reason , of every artist that paints a picture of me , of every teacher that is honest to their profession , of every engineer that is proud of the product he made in my land , of every chartered accountant who is honest and true . There are many individuals in Pakistan who still care for me , still love me .
On my death bed , I only plead to them for the last time , to forgo provincial and ethnic benefits and work for ur land , Pakistan . I am too sick to even speak , so please speak for me , so please become my voice, because if you will not protect me from this cancer of provincialism and ethnic-ism, the day is not far that I won’t be able to breathe. The doctors have already given up on me but it’s you that still give me hope ,still drive me , please don’t let me go , don’t demand provincial or ethnic rights , demand Pakistani Rights .