Balochistan, you have been ripped apart
You have been ripped apart from your chest
Your wounds still open, your intestine hanging outside
Your chest still bouncing like a hardened stone
For what makes you so lethal? So vile? And so drenched in blood?
Why are you always preying for another son?
The son of the soil.
The son that you have given birth to
How can a mother be so cruel?
How your soil will hug him with his hands on your blood?
Your honour has been looted
Your pride has been shaken
Your womb has been shredded into pieces
Bit by bit, you demand more blood. You demand more land
You become thirsty for blood
There must be a big hole pegged in your soul
And that hole must be filled with all the sorrow that you can’t hold anymore.
Yes, you are yearning for freedom.
You must be. But at the cost of your own children?
For blood can’t wash blood
Blood just yearns for more …
Anam Sheikh is a freelance journalist contributing to Jaridaroday. Her work focuses on South Asian politics, society, and culture, with a special interest in giving voice to marginalized communities. Through both journalism and poetry, she explores conflict, resilience, and identity in Pakistan.
