In the Name of the Forgotten: A Lament, a Call, and a Covenant
They build towers from taxes paid by the hungry.
They drape their feasts in flags, while the barefoot line up for rationed flour.
In marble halls, they debate the fate of a nation whose children read by candlelight, whose mothers barter dignity for bread.
This is not what we dreamed.
This is not what Jinnah’s shadow whispered into history.
The republic was not meant to be a cage—where voices are muffled beneath boots and prayers for justice echo unanswered in the void. It was not meant to be a theatre where the elite play rulers and the masses play ruins. Yet that is what we have become.
I weep—not from weakness—but from knowing too much.
I weep for the farmer buried beneath debt.
For the girl child sold to settle honor.
For the poet whose pen was broken mid-thought.
For the boy who sleeps on the pavement and calls the stars his ceiling.
For the brave who speak truth and are swallowed by silence.
How long shall rulers feast on borrowed time?
How long shall they turn patriotism into profit, and statecraft into plunder?
Let this not be a lament alone.
Let these tears become rivers of reckoning—
To wash away the lies, the portraits, the polished speeches, the stolen loans, the empty promises that never fed a soul.
Let us write a new anthem—
Not in orchestras, but in open schools.
Not in tanks, but in textbooks.
Not in chants of war, but in vows of care.
Let Article 25 of the Constitution be spoken in the same breath as Bismillah—because equality is sacred too.
Let the Constitution rise from the dust and be read not just by lawyers, but by laborers, street vendors, and the youth who inherit this fractured republic.
And yes—this is also about Imran Khan.
Not because he is a messiah. But because his incarceration is a mirror to our national condition.
A man sits behind bars.
But in truth, it is justice that is imprisoned.
His trial is not merely political—it is philosophical.
For when a leader is caged without conviction, a country convicts itself.
But let us be clear: Imran Khan must not be freed by mobs or microphones.
He must be freed by courts.
By the constitution.
By law—not legend.
By reform—not revenge.
PTI—Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf—must now remember its name.
It was not born to shout. It was born to serve justice.
Let it file writs instead of waving fists.
Let it become not the voice of one man, but the legal voice of millions.
Let it fight for the widow, the whistleblower, the worker, and the child whose only inheritance is hunger.
Because Pakistan’s tragedy is older than any election.
It is the story of a man waiting twenty years for a hearing.
Of a woman silenced by shame and system.
Of a people told to suffer—and call it sacrifice.
We do not need vengeance.
We need vision.
We do not need heroes.
We need institutions.
We do not need one man freed.
We need a nation unchained.
Let Pakistan reclaim its promise—not through riots, but through reform.
Let it march—not to slogans—but to a legal revolution.
Let the gavel, not the gun, define our future.
Let the court, not the crowd, decide the fate of leaders.
Let justice, not drama, shape our history.
For revolutions that last do not happen in streets.
They happen in courtrooms.
They begin when justice is no longer a privilege—but a promise fulfilled.
“I am hurt, but I am not slain;
I’ll lay me down and bleed awhile,
Then I’ll rise and fight again.”
— Traditional Ballad of Sir Andrew Barton
We cry—but not to surrender.
Our tears are ink.
Our sorrow is fuel.
Our protest is purpose.
Pakistan—you are not theirs.
You are ours.
Not a fortress of fear, but a field of hope.
And from these ashes, we will write you anew.
Not with blood—but with the constitution.
Not with rage—but with resolve.
Not with chants—but with justice.
Free Imran Khan—by liberating Pakistan.
And let the republic rise.
🕊️ Pakistan Zindabad.
