Sunday, August 14, 2011

A Poem: And So It Happened One Day....

It was a horrible second... but
the truth sunk in that it just happened....
That dark second,
soon a minute
and then, it became an hour.
That hour became many hours
and it soon became a day.
The day stretched into weeks and the weeks into months
Then it became a year.
The year will soon become many
and it will become decades
till it stretches far into oblivion...........

Seeds were planted, watered, and pruned.
There they grew so beautifully in tune.
Then they bloomed and bloomed and more
blooms were to come.
But they were plucked,
No.....they were snatched.
No.....they were torn.
No.....they were crushed and smeared.
Time did not harm them,
They withered in OUR HANDS......

Dedicated to the Sialkot Butt brothers who were murdered in broad daylight  on 8/15/10 in front of a useless and cruel crowd that just stood and watched while some recorded the incident on their cellular phones to put on YouTube. Among the crowd was a policeman who stood and watched like the others.These two young teenagers were not only beaten to death violently but were later hanged upside down in public with hands and feet tied. After some time the brothers were then taken down by the assailants and put on a tractor trailer with their heads hanging down the trailer. The crowd continued to follow the tractor till it stopped in an area that held stagnant waters where the brothers were kicked off the tractor trailer, faces down, into the foul pool of stagnant water. Their hands and feet still tied.
The Pakistani Judicial System has decided on the case and has awarded the death penalty to all the accused.....
May the brothers rest in peace....


  1. Reading this gave me the chills..a moment of pain stretching out to eternity.the way the poem ends ("in our hands") seems to say that we as a society play a direct-role in these tragedies. This is so true. No conscience can be clear when people lose their lives in such a way. These things happen so often in all parts of the world that people seem not to even notice. Not for more than a few minutes anyway.
    Such miscarriage of justice only multiplies the pain of the family.

    the poem, the description of events and the must not have been easy to write this. Experiencing it as a reader is emotional enough, I imagine it was heart-wrenching to write. This is what art should do, though. It should remind us of who we are and the cost.
    August 18, 2011 7:56 AM

  2. How sad...your poem expresses so clearly the method we use when we move past a horrific thing, such as this senseless, cruel, needless and barbaric act. I am frightened for so many...for so many people in the world who live in places where these acts of violence go on, and fear or mindless pack behavior causes onlookers to remain just that--onlookers. I look at their faces and feel the pain. I can't bear to immerse my mind into the answer to: What if they were my sons??? How could anyone watch it happen and not think for even a moment--they are someone's sons? They were just children. :-(
    August 21, 2011 8:06 PM

  3. My heart breaks for the injustice that has been done. I know this must have been extremely difficult to write.
    September 4, 2011 11:11 AM