Visit our new British Pakistani Christians website

Visit our new British Pakistani Christians website
This site will no longer publish new material. Please join our new website www.britishpakistanichristians.org

Sunday, 25 September 2011

Swat Valley

I wrote this poem in remembrance of the beautiful Swat Valley

I left behind…

Because Talibans
With the religiousness
 Of Kalashnikovs

Are purifying
Pakistan
For their self-made deity:

Who hates
Cricket;
Women and girls;
Artists and
Apostates.

Valley
Of death;
Backwardness.

Over the hills
I hear the shells.

Nature is in pain.
Pine-needles are falling.
Blood drops
Are blotting
The snow-swathed hills—
Upsetting
The blue-silver-spread lakes.


I left my heart
In the Swat
As I lay
In the blue plastic
Refugee tent.

My mother is dead.
My father has disappeared.
My brother taken by force
To be a next-generation
Taliban.

I close my eyes,
Pining.

The birds are singing.
The lake is still.
The white-blue pebbles
Shine with glorious shyness.

The air is pure
As the wind
Tousles
The introverted pines
That grace
The ancient footpath.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Post a Comment