Shadow Of Swat Poem by saadat tahir

swat is the restive heavenly valley tucked in northern pakistan where acrid smell of gunpowder mingles with the sweet scent of conifers and aroma of truffles.

My valley once echoed with avian songs;
Now here, are committed dreadful wrongs.
Life itself is trussed with thongs
How for freedom, everyone longs!
Thuds and booms make me shudder.
Gone is the taste of cheese and udder,
or soothing hum of the millers wheels,
all lost in the treachery of so many deals.

Never my father so humbled an lost.
Counting the hours and spiraling cost.
Dutifully the TV was out on the heap.
No meaningful crop did we get to reap.
They order us to listen to their casts;
assaulting harangue that forever lasts.
Mama so vivacious, brimming and blithe,
now miserably glued to baby an crib.

Look mama look, I’ve learned the knot!
my sis, she scoffs at the spreading rot.
My baby’s fingers are nimble an cute,
someday she exults, I’ll reap the fruit.
Kaboom! ! Its east, near where I weave,
Kafkaesque and dark I tremble and heave.
Catch in the window, a billow of clouds.
My dreams an school now rest in shrouds.

Called me a harlot called me a slut.
Threw me slurs and all that smut.
Harsh is the caw of mountain crow,
sliding down roofs are sheets of snow.
what'evr we'v endured of the cruel claw,
we’ll be split and mauled before the thaw.
kids play not in the empty street,
no more lambs in the meadows bleat.

My lil brother now a lanky lad,
plays no more an a shade he’s sad.
The guns he had were knotted roots,
he’s now hid in fatigues and boots.
Tea sippers on corners as ol as caves,
blustering ones and all them naives.
None has a clue what smites their land,
strings to whence and where is the hand.

Bacha, celebrated leader of our clan,
what with the brains but enough of bran.
He had that light in the wizened eyes,
cut through mischief and concocted lies.
Recited the Koran and he said his prayers,
but that wasn’t going to stop his slayers.
Dragged him on the path up that slope.
Pastiche of months an we’ve lost all hope

My aunt’s hubby, mowed by the bear.
With our family she lived sans any fear.
Pretty an brave and untiring woman,
Chopped an moped and tended the oven.
Resilient, resourceful she kept up her head.
Never saw her grimace or glued to bed.
Angels could swear by her an the kid.
They raked her room for the alien she hid.


Papa trudged the dunes to help us thrive.
From abject poverty he tried to survive.
Fond memories of the last time he came,
I’d climb on his back to play a game.
Brought me a doll we kept on the sill,
stares me vacant like ma papa’s till.
Who slit him up at the dread barricade?
where once stood our hearts serenade.

I'd gone to the hub far down south.
My room back home had hungry mouths.
twas kinda strange and frigid for me,
the hills and streams I’d miss to see.
Foreman barked and gave us hell,
din’t like the noise and acrid smell.
nope! no chance, gotta head back home,
where free the dogs and banshees roam.

O posterity! wasn’t it apt, that I be wed?
Yanked me to the square an shot me dead.
My cheeks were rosy, like a lark I sang.
Why then why must from the pole I hang?
Fear an foreboding in the end was my lot.
I cried an implored, in the head to be shot.
Never ever thought it would end like this.
The death of a valley and a niche of bliss.

As a child I pranced the mountain path.
What had I done to incur this wrath?
Up this creek and beyond that cliff.
Those gnashing eyes they had a tiff.
There I’d learned an there I taught.
Unaware of the ordeal that had me bought.
My desires and dreams are all but done.
Gone are the days of frolic and fun.

Three generations in this tourist hub,
never had a reason for a tiny snub.
My tiny shop tucked in friend an chum,
now we sit starving, silent an glum.
all I ever learned was snip and slick.
Flat nosed one, he landed me a kick.
The more I think the more I craze,
absurd an bizarre, why do I shave?

O people o’my heartland! my city’s a waste!
where everyone shuffles in crouching haste.
Blighted and broken to endure this pain?
why our rancor’s lost in vain?
will someone act or raise his voice?
or sleep you comfy, an silent by choice.
Bane an scourged, we are trapped in murk,
Don’t we see, that in the shadows lurk?

(Islamabad)
(Sunday, February 01,2009)