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and hope in weak and I could not bear it anymore. I asked the wind to tell me whose story it whispered. It blew around me in mocking; playing for it finally got my attention. I pleaded begged and wiped tears that flowed down my face. I asked the wind to tell the story it whispered for it was too new, its greed tainting, its anguish cutting, its hope burning, its despair slicing, its hate scorching and its pity insulting. It was too new to be a story of the old, too entangled to be of simple mortals, too narrow to be of progressive, too wide to be of zealots. It was tiny as pin and wide as a mountain. It was a story of sweetness of the greatest scent and bitterness of the foulest medicine. It was of valour and heroics, of cowardice and backstabbing. It had believers of Islam and liars with the hands on Quran. It had fathers seeing their daughters leave with husbands after marriage and it had brothers pimping to their sisters away without an ounce of shame. It was a story of construction and destruction, of falling sky and cracking earth and it was all searing my soul away. I asked the wind where the story happened. It blew silently around me. It did not say anything for a long time. I kept on waiting; it kept on blowing. Finally, it whispered… I tell the story of love and despair, of hope and anguish, of rose and thorn, of life and death, valour and cowardice not of forgotten times but present. I tell of thieves becoming lords and lords vanishing in abyss. I tell of nameless enemies and unknown friends. I tell of legends and myths, of right and wrong, justice
followers of Islam kill each other without an ounce of remorse. You dance like flowing water when devastation of water submerged half the nation. You dance for power when Lords of the land ignored the plight of the weak, left them like vulture feed and buried their women alive like the Pagan customs before Islam.
and injustice … I tell you of Pakistan. You cannot dance Sufi; you cannot dance. You dance for the joy of your Lord when Sufi shrines in Pakistan are destroyed by nameless enemies. You dance for love when woman is rendered as a commodity than a human being. You dance for the sky when fire falls from it to kill Muslims daily. You dance for freedom when countless mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters cry, wait and plead with lords of the land asking about the whereabouts of their loved ones. You dance for your Lord Almighty when
wait. They have strength of Quran in the soul yet lies and deceit guide their lives. They have Iqbal’s guidance but rolls off to opposite path. They have words of Jinnah they heed of utters of foreign lords. They have role model of Prophet Mohammed yet they bow down to thieves. They are beggars waiting for pity and pittance.Theyhavetoriseandbewhattheyaremeanttobe. Until then, you cannot dance Sufi. You cannot dance.
You cannot dance Sufi, you cannot dance. You dance for the joy of your Lord when Sufi shrines in Pakistan are destroyed by nameless enemies. You cannot dance Sufi, for while you dance the destruction continues and it will soon devour the whole humanity of the nation. For while there is hope, there is possibility of light in the darkest corner. Then what should I do if not dance. How can I bear this anguish you whispered me? How can remove these poisonous clouds off my brethren? You cannot do anything except pray, whispered the wind. They are beggars, made this way through decades. Let them find the strength in their feet, the iron in their will, the rod in their spine, the height in their spirits, the truth in their hearts and destiny in their hands. Let them find their way of which they went astray. They have the strength of Maula Ali in their arms yet they feel not. They have the knowledge of Abbasi caliphate but they are clueless. They have poetry of Rumi in the hearts yet they find darkness in
Wasio Abbasi is a Business Graduate and currently pursuing MBA in Marketing, hoping to be an academic and a scholar in future. Wasio is a Sufi at heart, member of Students of Pakistan and a winner of Brit-Idol and Commonwealth essay competitions. He blogs at wasioabbasi.wordpress.com and Express Tribune. read it on our website