Waziristan

As Waziris roam in mountains and its steppes,
With companions, the rivers gomal and tolchi
Hear them those blushing meadows in trance
As history whispers its lessons in Wazirwola
As the women recite to their children in music
The old tales of freedom and their valor
On their door steps again, the new threat
Created and fabricated, thousands miles away
Woven in fear and conspiracy, snakes and its poison
As moments brings them closer to injustice
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

As the story begins of this place and its people
With thunders and applause, we resume
As we play our cards in devil’s hand,
As we throw these women and children in fire
For not of their own creation, displaced tribes
From one corner to another, from south to north
As we pay the price, with missing hands and faces
Committed we have ourselves to this disdain
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

Discover they all to their surprise
The old pact to protect, as they vowed
The warriors of this land, men and women
With their blood and lives, with gomal and tolchi
The old folklores, all what possession can hold?
To fight and protect, the land, Pakistan
Here we are now, its women and children
As decimation begins, as destruction rains
For being what they are, for seeing what they see
Hear these mountains, hear these rivers
Our plight, our fall, but you not,
To no effect, to no use, our history
Only in shame, you witness, our demise
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!


They say “not important this place and its people”
The rivers gomal and tolchi and blushing meadows
The old peace now broken, with absent serenity
As we play fools and have become devil’s advocate
The old uprisings we have forgotten,
At our own peril, no one returns once you have broken
The old vows and traditions, as they whisper
Remain it will in their hearts, these tales of torture
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

As these snows drifts into horizon and its story
With old tales of my place and of my ancestors
As the fire drifts out, as the day filled with noise
Strange and ugly, the ways to serve this injustice
Lay there the bodies and limbs, in questions
The old houses, lives and traditions and hate
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

Carry they the burden of this pain and grief
On our backs and on our minds, as they torch
Village after village, life after life, and we watch
In silence they protest, in death they protest
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

The old rivers, of life and peace, now broken
Only the blood flows out now and the tears
As we lose our own, through days and nights
Displaced and tortured, our minds and souls
In unmarked graves, in its rivers and steppes
As Waziris roam in mountains of their own
In time and in history, teaches it them not
The old lessons, of revenge and hate
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

I am the women, I am the children
Of this land, not many left to grieve
All gone now, and you say you promise
To build our lives and our homes
Hear these voices from the unmarked graves
As passion grows, as those tales reenacted
Still present here I am, death alone not enough
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

Cannot kill us with your lies and fears,
As life will bloom in those paths,
Deserted and torn in its awake
Never will we surrender our past and present
Never will we surrender those blushing meadows
Whispers of gomal and tolchi close to us
Witness these mountains, whispers these rivers
Those painful moments of separation from its past
Hear these mountains and rivers, echoes of suffering
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise!

Hear these rivers and mountains our echoes
Death alone not enough, like those mists we rise
Besides those blushing rivers gomal and tolchi
Death alone not enough, like those rivers we flow
Hear these rivers and mountain those echoes
Death alone not enough, as chants begin to rise
Hear those mountains and rivers in its awake
Death alone not enough, we are more
Hear these mountain and rivers, in roar
Those voices from unmarked graves
Hear those mountains and rivers in its path
Those torrents of spring, death alone not enough!

Kashkin

"Dedicated to my very own in Waziristan- men, women and children whose lives have been shattered beyond comprehension and without any reason"