When we launched life on the river of grief, how vital were our arms, how ruby our blood. With a few strokes, it seemed, we would cross all pain, we would soon disembark. That didn't happen. In the stillness of each wave we found invisible currents. The boatmen, too, were unskilled, their oars untested. Investigate the matter as you will, blame whomever, as much as you want, but the river hasn't changed, the raft is still the same. Now you suggest what's to be done, you tell us how to come ashore. When we saw the wounds of our country appear on our skins, we believed each word of the healers. Besides, we remembered so many cures, it seemed at any moment all troubles would end, each wound heal completely. That didn't happen: our ailments were so many, so deep within us that all diagnoses proved false, each remedy useless. Now do whatever, follow each clue, accuse whomever, as much as you will, our bodies are still the same, our wounds still open. Now tell us what we should do, you tell us how to heal these wounds.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz - 1911-1984
India-Pakistan War: 1965 Since our lights were extinguished I have been searching for a way to see; my eyes are lost, God knows where. You who know me, tell me who I am, who is a friend, and who an enemy. A murderous river has been unleashed into my veins; hatred beats in it. Be patient; a flash of lightning will come from another horizon like the white hand of Moses with my eyes, my lost diamonds.