And there it rained down, the love left in mankind. A bang! Then dispersion… then disorder. Men ran, men fell, men blasted into pieces. Injuries proclaimed the breaking of a few dozen legs, a few dozen arms, though their torsos still breathed. The glass was not half empty but half full.
My organ called a Heart, ached at first. I can’t recall why. It was probably oblivious to the fact that this was to become an everyday scenario in this land. A land many miles away. A land that had a ring of memories attached to it.
The memories began at the balcony of a rising sun, ablaze with spectrum of yellows and reds. The break of dawn was followed by the racket caused by external cues. Such as those birds that twittered so loud like they were about to party. They had so much to talk about.
Maybe they planned to travel all around the land, and explore its magnificence. Maybe they wanted to hum on top of the tall minaret in Iqbal Park, called the Minar-e-Pakistan and celebrate their independence. Or they probably were up to no good and had planned to sneak into a picnic party in Jinnah Park.
Or were they just thanking God to have provided them with a land, full of wonders to ponder upon, of valleys to praise, of bounties to discover.
The curtain of nightfall draped over this land unusually late, bringing with it a star-strewn sky. There was never much time to sleep whilst the cities glittered with artificial lights, smelt of aroma of spices and echoed with the sounds of celebration. I headed into the malls, which were even more packed with people, with families, with friends, ready to have another great night out.
It was alive, whether night or day.

The memories blur out now, and I am forced back on to the present grounds. It hits me hard. Breaking news flashes across the television again. Another blast! More dispersion… more disorder. Another mastermind behind the hatred that slaps my face and is suffered unjustifiably by others.
My mind becomes a chaos of emotions. My eyes become moist and my throat aches in hope of keeping those tears hidden. But my soul knows.
My beloved land, so bruised and bleeding, screaming out to me of why I can’t feel its pain. After all that it has given me. A ring of magnificent memories, so strong that they overshadowed all others. Why can’t I feel the shame when its sovereignty is being attacked by every possible corner?

My motherland. My Pakistan. You are a part of me. May God provide me with the chance to serve you, to heal you, to embrace your pain and to share with you of what God has given to me. Because without you, I can only be a heart broken refugee, in this world.

Pakistan.

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