By JH Sayyar
O daughter of the East, thy voice is still,
Once rose like thunder through a nation torn.
Thy dream of peace, thy strong unyielding will,
Now sleeps beneath the olive and the thorn.
A martyr's crown upon thy brow is laid,
By hands of treachery and shadows grim
Yet from the blood-stained dust truth won't fade,
Thy light endures though eyes grow dark and dim.
The veil of sorrow shrouds a mother's cry,
A people's hope lies broken in the sand.
Yet through their grief, thy name shall never die—
It echoes yet across this troubled land.
Benazir! Though thy journey's end is nigh,
Thy flame shall rise where tyrants dare defy.
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