The Rise From Ashes: A Tale Of One Country

A poem about the recalling of our past, the narration of our present, and the hope for our future. #pakistanzindabad #14thaugust #independenceday#therisefromashes

Let me tell you a story,
Let me tell you a tale,
It is all but true,
It is old, but will be told anew,
Of people made of flesh and bone
Like you and I,
Of people, who fought for their throne,
On whom you could rely.

Rising from the flowing bloodstream,
An ocean of courage, zest, and bravery,
Bobbing in the hope of a new spring
That would blossom their buds to openly sing
In a land that they will call their own,
In a land where they have an identity of their own
In a land where they are free to:
Practice their beliefs
Enlighten their minds
Advance their progress
And give back to the identity they achieved
And carry forth the heritage they received
From those who sacrificed all and breathed
Of air that ringed with freedom and pride perceived.

And they gathered under a flag as one,
With honour and life running in their blood as one,
They were now a force to be reckoned with like no other, my son
It was their unity that held them through what had begun.

Let me tell you a story,
Let me tell you a tale,
It is all but true,
It is not old, and is well-known to you,
Of people made of flesh and bone
Like you and I,
Of people who have left us to moan,
On whom you could never rely.

Growing in the flowing bloodstream,
An ocean of deceit, wiles, and yellow-belly,
Bouncing with the jangle of looting
Taken from the vaults of our nation, leaving nothing,
From a land that they call their own;
From a land that gave them an identity of their own;
From a land where they foster:
Creating rifts among the people,
Subjugating the minds of the people,
Hurdling the progress of the people,
Maligning the sanctity of the identity they were granted,
Discarding the heritage of sacrifice, wholly recanted
Ideologies promoting honesty caught oft-times in disgrace red-handed,
Where is the freedom, where is the pride, they are all but stranded…

And now we gather under different flags, never as one,
The friction between honour and life is eroding all as one,
When the system is reeked of corruption, such that none can shun,
Promises to undo it all are heard – if only less was said and more was done!

Yet, the hope of a new spring
That would blossom our buds to openly sing
Not just of their soaring past, but the present’s elevating wing,
And to the future, you will then
Tell them a story,
Tell them a tale,
It will all be but true,
It will be new, but reminiscent of a past view,
Of people made of flesh and bone,
Like you and I,
Of people who would restore our throne,
And revive our trust, by and by.

Reassembling from the flowing bloodstream
A high tide of grit, spunk and bruised self-esteem,
That would make their fire fierier than a dragon’s fire,
Sparkling the glory of the nation, bringing their passion to boil,
While their bruises would sting and burn them as they heal,
It would also be the force to ignite their drive to turn their dreams real,
They will regain their lost strength to regain their:
Rights to embrace their deen,
Spark their minds’ lanterns,
March towards their long-due progress,
And give back to the identity they had achieved,
And carry forth the forgotten heritage they had received,
From those who had sacrificed all and had breathed
Of air that ringed with freedom and pride, perceived.

And they would re-gather under the flag as one,
Once again, with honour and life running in their blood as one,
They will be a force to be reckoned with like no other, my son
It will, again, be their unity that would hold them through what had begun.

Oh, and how I wish to live that moment
That would create a history for aeons to come,
And tell them a story
Of hope and faith,
And tell them a tale
Of what was once lost, was then regained.
©Seemeen Khan Yousufzai