I have this known feeling,
When I see my country burning,
When I hear those loud banging,
When I witness the mutilating.

I saw,
I heard,
I witnessed,
Every heart breaking.

A heart-rending feeling, I’d say,
When I hear them wail,
So, I see them weep,
For the beloved lost, indeed.

That boy who lost his father.
Yes, I was aware of his cries,
And that mother’s too,
As her child, in cold blood died.

The tear streaming,
From those sorrowful eyes.
The hearts shattering,
Yes, I did hear that noise.

Beginning with: What? When? And Why?
I found myself trapped inside,
Million questions were left,
Unanswered behind.

Nothing; anyone would say.
Why?
Another question,
Yes, I noticed rising again.

Confusion; to put it to rest,
I searched for light myself.
So, I found the light,
Yes, I see the past highlight.

This explained ‘what?’ and ‘when?’
And maybe even ‘why?’
But wait,
I saw another door unlocking, my.

The door; I followed its lead.
That depressing path haunted me,
All the Coldness and misery,
Throwing one question at me.

The question; as it goes,
Ramshackle; our present is,
Mistaken; our past was,
But tell me what does future hold?

The question; cold enough,
To freeze the hell below.
The question; a crying shame,
Whose answer only God knows.

So this known feeling of mine,
Is “helplessness” along,
Mere distress,
Towards this question; one of a kind.

Helpless I am,
And will I always be?
Towards this mutilation,
That creeps and scares me.

Yes, I have this known feeling,
When I see my country burning,
And those blank hearts and eyes,
That haunts me like this feeling.
Sabeen Yameen, 18, Karachi