5 bomb blasts in Lahore.
I have a dream about an earthquake. I wake up to my friend’s sms “bomb blasts in model town and mall road, everyone ok?”. A few minutes later, i try to figure out was it a dream i had or was that the sound of blast in model town.
My mum’s tired, she feels weak and worried. She says to me “look at your face, you’ll regret later for not taking milk.” Since having heard the blasts this morning she doesnt feel like cooking anything but she tells milk’s good for me. hope.
Along with my family i stare at that 29 inch box as if watching my favourite show. The more we watch, the more i see my mum’s, dad’s, bhai’s, bhabi’s shoulders stoop low with a burden, their faces grow old, and yet we stare.
there is no tomorrow. yet i open my books to absorb everything for the next exam.
a ruined demolished building, injured or dead people buried under the debris, burning cars, a dead bird, shattered window glass and Quaid’s picture still hanging from the wall- target FIA. mission accomplished? the news channels rerun all the clips they managed to get and display them somewhat proudly. we watch.
we watch as the names of the victims are soon reduced to numerical figures. the figure tolls from single digit to double and the once alive are now only recognized by numbers. 24 died.
news scroll reads: “…….. nay is wakiay ki muzzamat ki hai. ” dont these people get tired of repeating the same lines? who did they sell their conscience to? how short is their memory?
how many deaths will it take till he knows
that too many people have died?