WHEN FREEDOM CALLS
Why do you want freedom?
is a question to me you always ask.
Will my words be enough to justify,
the massacre and pain, I may mask?
Azadi, yes we haven't made it yet.
We're struck in moonless night,
with no bulb or light.
From that scarry evil fright,
the boat will lead us to one cosmic bright,
and we'll sing symphony of freedom,
this w'd be our rower our anthem.
The river will flow with us,
the river is nothing,
but our youth's blood.
We being crushed on both sides,
orange leads the genocide,
green lost in its fancy pride,
yes what we want is freedom,
this w'd be our ballad our anthem,
from the cluches of a corrupt cast.
Is it too much to ask?
Where the dogmatic goones murder democracy,
where people are caged without mercy,
we might be kept in the dungeon,
beaten, harassed or damaged,
in war, bloody bath, men dead,
women helplessly caged,
brutally raped, of all the ages,
chained, wired, our doors, our lanes,
in all of us they sparked ire and rage,
and they can't chain our tongues,
and our mouths, they will speak,
against the hatred and greed,
they will speak until we attain peace.
You may find letters that never reached,
never kissed the lover's skin or greeted,
the gifts that have gone to vain,
or a father's corpse decaying in the rain,
or an old amma longing for her only cane,
or a wife protesting for justice in lanes,
no you wouldn't find those kochi or jhelum bathing in blood by your bare eyes,
but you may when in a tub you'll be baptized,
and trying to recall my words said and unsaid.
The place where for bloodshed the sun rises,
where shaheed's blood seeps in and fertilizes,
the penalized ripe crop,
where even the skies,
are agonized, and terrorized,
by the khaki uniformed cops,
where the mosques closed long ago,
by the curfew, they blamed the snow,
and nothing can douse or soothe our rage,
until my land, won't fly out of the cage,
and it w'd be free from the wehshi age,
till then we'll sing symphony of freedom,
until that land of war turns back to eden.
[By Mehreen Syed, 4th Year]
is a question to me you always ask.
Will my words be enough to justify,
the massacre and pain, I may mask?
Azadi, yes we haven't made it yet.
We're struck in moonless night,
with no bulb or light.
From that scarry evil fright,
the boat will lead us to one cosmic bright,
and we'll sing symphony of freedom,
this w'd be our rower our anthem.
The river will flow with us,
the river is nothing,
but our youth's blood.
We being crushed on both sides,
orange leads the genocide,
green lost in its fancy pride,
yes what we want is freedom,
this w'd be our ballad our anthem,
from the cluches of a corrupt cast.
Is it too much to ask?
Where the dogmatic goones murder democracy,
where people are caged without mercy,
we might be kept in the dungeon,
beaten, harassed or damaged,
in war, bloody bath, men dead,
women helplessly caged,
brutally raped, of all the ages,
chained, wired, our doors, our lanes,
in all of us they sparked ire and rage,
and they can't chain our tongues,
and our mouths, they will speak,
against the hatred and greed,
they will speak until we attain peace.
You may find letters that never reached,
never kissed the lover's skin or greeted,
the gifts that have gone to vain,
or a father's corpse decaying in the rain,
or an old amma longing for her only cane,
or a wife protesting for justice in lanes,
no you wouldn't find those kochi or jhelum bathing in blood by your bare eyes,
but you may when in a tub you'll be baptized,
and trying to recall my words said and unsaid.
The place where for bloodshed the sun rises,
where shaheed's blood seeps in and fertilizes,
the penalized ripe crop,
where even the skies,
are agonized, and terrorized,
by the khaki uniformed cops,
where the mosques closed long ago,
by the curfew, they blamed the snow,
and nothing can douse or soothe our rage,
until my land, won't fly out of the cage,
and it w'd be free from the wehshi age,
till then we'll sing symphony of freedom,
until that land of war turns back to eden.
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