Hum dekhen gey

Laazim hai ke hum bhi dekhen gey

We live in a time of debilitating compromises. We live in a country where power is the currency of truth. Where what you were born as matters more than who you grow up to be. We live at that crossroad of history where hereditary titles tilt the scales of success, more than talent, even hard work. In a world where poverty is the greatest of all sins. And a silver spoon is a symbol of righteousness.

Woh din ke jiska waada hai

Jo Loh-e-Azal main likha hai

We live in a world of unequal scales. We exist at the very edge of that moral arc that promises truth and justice. A place where sanctity of gender is viewed through the veil of orthodoxy. Where inequality – in terms of inheritance, testimony, and status – has been religiously ordained into our laws.

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garaa’n

Roee ki terha urr jaye’n gey

We live in the grasp of incurable infirmity. A land where the blind, the deaf, and the mute, are not considered ‘special’. Where their demand for fulfillment of constitutional rights is met with barbarity of the State. Where extending a helpless hand, at traffic signals, begging for a little piece of dignity, is the only plausible employment for such individuals.

Hum mehkoomon ke paao’n taley

Yeh dharti dhar-dhar dharkey gi

We live in a land of twisted morality. A place where infants are hauled to our courts on charges of terrorism. Where political parties have nurtured their own Gullu Butts and Sector Commanders. Where a small-time criminal is imprisoned, but a terrorist organization is invited for peace-talks. Where the poor sleeps on the footpath, in the scorching night, while the Prime Minister and Chief Justice drive past in their air-conditioned cavalcades.

Aur ahl-e-hakam ke sir ooper

Jab bijli kar-kar karkey gi

We live in the shadow of the valley of death. In the cusp of that unfortunate fold of destiny where the value of human life is less than that of the bullet that extinguishes it. Where the battle for dominion over religion has fed this earth with innocent blood. Where a mother’s wailing is background noise. Where raising a black flag, equates to painting a target. Where differences in conscience and belief, justify holy war. And where all of us, including our State and cathedrals of justice, are complicit in criminal apathy.

Jab arz-e-Khuda ke Kaabey se

Sub buut uthwaaye jayen gey

We live by the seat of a lady justice that is not blind. We swear by a law believes in judging human conscience – who is Muslim, and who is not; who is sagacious, and who is not. We have courts that are dismissive of Allah Ditta, but roll out a red carpet for their prodigal son. This is a place where protectors of our constitution shower flower petals at confessed murderers.

Hum ahl-e-safaa mardood-e-haram

Masnad pe bithaaye jayen gey

We live in the age of submissive conformity. Where bowing one’s head is a formula for success. Where Judges are ‘Lordships’. Where Bar and the Bench is a hereditary business; legal triumph is the inheritance of a handful of families. Judicial elevation is a fiefdom of the few. Where ‘burkhurdaary’ is a virtue. Voicing dissent is a vice.

Sub taaj uchaaley jayen gey

Sub takht giraaye jayen gey

But even in the midst of this sinister night, there are those who whisper the arrival of an impending dawn. Of the fulfillment of that eternal promise, which will level all highlands, and raise the lows.

Buss naam rahey ga Allah ka

Jo Ghaayeb bhi hai Haazir bhi

A promise that predates time itself. Much before we summoned the audacity to distribute ourselves into hakims and mehkooms; much before humanity ever bowed its head to the self-proclaimed Excellencys and Lordships of our time. A promise that measures humanity by the content of its character, as opposed to reach of its resources.

Jo Naazir bhi hai Manzar bhi

A promise that is pure and incorruptible. One that is divine, more than it is religious. A promise that, one day, Pakistan will at least be the land of the kind, even if it is not that of the pure. A country where the progeny of a politician, will not automatically inherit his seat in the parliament. Where the son of a judge, will not automatically become a successful lawyer. Where masjid will not be the only house of Allah. Mullah will be not the only path of salvation. And Arsalan Iftikhar will wait his turn, behind Allah Ditta, in our courts of justice.

Uthey ga Ana al-Haq ka naara

Jo main bhi hoo’n aur tum bhi ho

A promise that, one day, under the shade of our crescent and star, the rich will bow to the virtuous. The mighty will kneel before the modest. The sage will swear allegiance to the dreamer. The oppressed and subjugated masses will once again re-inherit our lush-green fields, flowing rivers, pristine deserts, and majestic mountains.

Aur raaj karey gi khalq-e-Khuda

Jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho

This promise, this eternal vindication of the angels bowing at the feet of a humble Adam, is all but inevitable. Because in the final analysis of eternity, these worldly castles of sand are no match against the irresistible wave of divine equality. Before that all-powerful God who is neither invisible, nor absent. Who lives here, amidst us, cloaked as the blind, the poor, the sick and the helpless. He lives within the every indigent soul. In every wrinkled face. In each anguished sigh. Before whom, the lofty will be humbled. The resourceful will be impoverished. The powerful will be made meek. And the judges will be judged.

Hum dekhen gey!