Voices from my Ashes

Oh, you ask me when and where,

Why can’t you see the people here?

You’ve chosen silence, I see—

And let them die, I believe.

Didn’t you see me when I was there?

Hopeless, desperate, beyond repair.

My skin ablaze, my hair burnt away,

I screamed, alive, as flames had their way.

But what to say to you?

Your mind is small, your heart untrue.

How long will you just stand and stare,

While they destroy what once was fair?

The land, now blackened, in our hand,

A wasteland—what was once our land.

But I won’t say much; it’s all too late.

War’s done its work—sealed our fate.

Now I lie here, broken, still,

Consumed by fire, against my will.

I am dead, I am no more.

The fire has eaten me to the core.

I won’t be there for those I love,

Taken away, never to rise above.

I complain, but no one cared,

You stood by, unmoved, unprepared.

Oh God, my God, what was my crime

To suffer this, to end my time?

My flesh burned in hate’s cruel fire,

Every breath, a scream, a pyre.

I begged for mercy, my heart ached,

But tell me, what mistake was made?

You trapped us behind these walls,

Stopped our food, stopped our calls.

You bombed our homes, left us in pain,

Killed our people, again and again.

Yet when we fight back, we’re the "wrong,"

Called the terrorists, the weak, the strong.

You call us traitors, illegal, vile,

But you’re the ones with hate and guile.

How is this fair? I ask you now.

How can you stand and not allow

The world to see the truth, the cries

Of those who suffer, those who die?

“Hear me out, hear my cry.

The nights, especially, are merciless—cold, unforgiving,

Filled with the anguished cries of children

Who know only fear and uncertainty.”

"And what about my future, what about my dreams?

Hear me out, hear me please.

I used to have big dreams, but the war has ruined them.

It's taken a toll on me, making me physically and mentally sick."

I suffer from depression, my hair falls.

Trauma surrounds me, its grip tightens and calls.

The nights are cold and filled with screams,

Children robbed of hopes and dreams.

I once had dreams, but they’re gone,

Ruined by war—life undone.

I’m sick in mind, I’m sick in body,

Depression eats at me, like the fire—slowly.

I lose my hair, I lose my hope,

The trauma tightens like a rope.

But now, none of this matters,

For I am dead—I was burned alive.

Though innocent, I committed no crime,

I have no regrets, for I died for my land,

Protecting my family, those I loved.

And I’m not alone—many died before me, the same fate,

Many will follow, with no escape.

But they, like me, will wear a smile,

As they die for freedom and their land.

How has the world grown so cruel?

Why this madness, why this rule?

Why such hate, why so insane?

What do you gain from all this pain?

                       — Parizaad Hafi.