A Quivering Voice for Zainab!

A young bud was blooming into a beautiful flower, as magically pink as a cherry blossom, her awakening must have been celebrated. The radiance of enchanting flowers of spring, be the Sakuras or Dahlias, enlightens the world with bliss and delight with kindling of hope in the powers of nature to rejuvenate, nurture and prosper. The scent of their delicacy is the messenger of joy which fills the polluted air with fragrance of purity. For what reason wouldn’t she be celebrated for, the little, delicate, fragrant, burgeoning flower they named Zainab?

Do you hear the resonating crash of thunder that burnt the little Dahlia from the land of Bulleh Shah? Do you see the blinding flash of lightening that cursed the little bud before she could ever blossom? Do you hear the deafening screams of the petals ripped apart? Do you tremble seeing the receptacle of the flower shredded of its petals, strangulated in mud? Do you see? Do you hear? Do you feel? You, the men from the land of a humanist, the tradition of your soil was to nurture the colours of life with care. What seeds of poison have you sown? So scarce are the fruits of your land that you have begun to devour the flowers of the heaven’s orchards?

They speak of dignity or pride to which are entitled those who are human, what dignity has ever a brute had? A predator drenched in the blood of a Dahlia draining it of its alluring pink, what a horrific face of a demon his human form has? Has a human name too, this varmint they call a man? A man? Were the flowers of the gardens of heavens granted the life to fall a prey to the rapacious creatures you hold parallel to Adam’s sons? The heavens scream a rejection to your postulate, hear if you have the ears to hear, you, the hollow skeletons without mortal flesh humans have as a heart, a heart that beats.

The quivering, naïve voice speaks, hear the echo if you can. Under question is the not the might of the raptors of the flowers of this land, but that of the landscapers. How worthless is the future of this nation for you? How cheaply do you tag the lives of the women and children of this land? Records have evidence of a continuous hike in the number of case of several kinds of child abuse across the largest, the most highly populated province of the country, seven hundred cases from the town which was the subject of a nationwide outcry three years ago when a child pornography scandal surfaced after ten years of silence of the villagers in the name of shame? Twelfth victim in a two-kilometer radius over the past twelve months is this little bud called Zainab? Does it not shame your human conscience that her reports have samples of a DNA of a predator already in criminal records? Your loud voices make tall claims of service of the people, a demon at lose victimizing our children is the evidence of your service? Riots erupt, the commoners speak, every sphere voices condemnation, cases are lodged, why is justice not served? The pedophiles continue to crawl out of their abyss. She would have been alive today if a single culprit was duly punished and made into an example. How weak are those empowered by the people of the land that the offenders have not been taken to the gallows? Justice! Hear the voice! Killing of those seeking justice in the land with no law will not silence the voice. It will scream. It will scream from beneath heaps of trash in the nooks of your cities. Justice for Zainab, justice for every Zainab, young or old, of her gender or of the opposite one subjected to child rape! How will justice ever be served?

Asks this meek voice, is humanity alive in the humans of this land? Will those, the claimants to dignity set forth the definition of a dignified man? To which low of morality can this society stoop? What breeds this lust? How much more blood before this thirst is quenched? “Women who don’t veil are victimized!” What sees that predator when he eyes a woman in veil, head to toe, as she crosses him on the pavement? Flowers attract with their fragrance; their enchantment is captivating. Is it true for infant buds too?

A society? An unruly mob of… dignified humans, indeed! Protest, this weak voice protests. Hear! Hear the bellows of every tattered flower if you can! They scream in your haunting silence too.

 

Zainab

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