You think I’ll retire at 65.
Does passion have a curtain call?
I have plans, ardour, fervour, zest
and hope that flutters flag-like in the wind,
I will resist downfall.
For the child of red dawn and burning heart,
knows marching strides from the cradle’s arms,
yet still you turn around and ask
if the tides of faith and caste and creed
will turn me back or will I go on?
I am the rolling plains of green
with a wild-flower crown of white –
If benign images are what you want, stop here –
I am the outstretched hand for truth but they grope me for my treasure chests,
while here in the dark I wait, I hope, I pray – for your love, loyalty and light.
Will you get up and hand me that torch
or will you a bonfire make?
I bide earth time to see a nation’s will, but so do the nations all.
And a good show they get from us I know,
you give Prime Time my heart, my soul… while they wait for the break.
Signed: Pakistan… (Diary entry no. 65)