“Well, it’s over.”
They’re going to go away. Most of them anyway. The ones I care about actually. And when they leave, it’ll be hard. It’ll be hard swallowing their absence which become poisonous for no one but me. Sure they’ll remain Pakistanis at heart. They’ll always love what they’ve left behind. But they’ll be so far away when something happens and I need them here.
Look. There’s one good thing about this. That they’ll be away from the harm. Away from the violence. From the possibility of being hurt by their own people.
It won’t be easy for them, trying to concentrate on their present and future when their past has no intention of letting go of them.
If it were so easy, I could consider going away. But I won’t. Not yet, not now.
Why leave at the zawaal? I want to go at the urooj.
That way you’ll remember me with less of pain and more of joy.
city of lights