There is great honour in martyrdom,
I know for I have seen it,
on a cold December 27,
when Benazir Bhutto achieved it.
She was a lioness charging forth,
among her people that day.
All those souls stood enraptured,
by what she had to say.
Her flailing hands and arched tone,
cast spells on those people so.
For had she given a call to arms,
not one would’ve answered, “No.”
But non-violence was her creed
and democracy her way of life.
An aim for which she suffered,
through turmoil, turbulence and strife.
When all the words were spoken,
and none remained to be said,
she stood back and welcomed the chants,
her adoring masses led.
Nestled finally in her chariot,
she merrily sung the praise,
of the people who’d come to see her,
and had fallen in her daze.
Then evil saw its’ chance,
and pulled her out to danger.
But as always she stood happy,
Not knowing the intent of a stranger.
Yet again the people were delighted.
Hearts beating at fast pace.
So no one saw that coward cretin,
with guilt writ large on his face.
No one saw his evil hand rise,
but everyone heard the shots.
An explosion took care of him,
and now in hell he rots!
But we had lost and evil won.
Soon we learnt we lost the one,
who held our hearts in her hand,
like the sky grasped the stars, the moon and the Sun.
She needed not a brutal death,
to glorify her name.
Her illustrious clan and ancestor,
would’ve seen to her fame.
Yet she chose the path,
Of thorns, stones and fire,
And rose to that place in heaven,
From where few souls could go higher.
Unequalled and unparalleled in name,
And so in life and in death.
Never did she surrender to her enemies,
Even till her last breath.
Had she been born an eon ago,
They’d have worshipped her a goddess.
But God, in His mercy, made her greater,
And she lives on as our Martyr Princess.