resources of this world to be made accessible to humans.
We the mortals of Pakistan are ruled by gods. They have made Orpheus haul over the coals after seizing his lyre. They have chained Prometheus with a rock after snatching back the fire and hiding it from us. The eagle of injustice is picking at his liver. The lives of gods who rule us are mysteries for us for they live in another world. The children of gods do not go to the schools our children go to. Half of our children do not go to school anyway. The families of gods are not treated in the hospitals where we are treated. Each day, 75 of our women die in childbirth anyway. The gods do not go from one place to another on the buses, trains and rickshaws which we use. A third of our population cannot afford to take a bus anyway. The gods do not live in neighbourhoods where we live. One-fourth of us are shelter-less anyway. The gods do not go buy their food from where we do. One-third of our population sleeps hungry anyway. The gods do not speak the language we speak.
We have no choice but to rise. Get back the lyre of Orpheus and sing. Shoot the eagle of injustice, free Prometheus and snatch the fire back. A Herculean task but we have got to do it.
The writer is an Islamabad-based poet and rights campaigner. Email: harris@spopk .org
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