Iqra's Reflections

I have never liked weapons and nuclear or nuclear weapons. Taking these names, for me, is like swallowing pointed cubes of hard ice. Imagine my state of mind when I found myself sitting in a seminar on the topic. I tried to step out of my shoes as a poet and made some attempts to understand the phenomenon. There were certain interesting aspects that made it to my observation. A poet understands the world down to its delicate details; every fiber of humanity that suffers due to the nuclear, be it experiments, weapons, attacks etc and writes about them. He wants that nobody should suffer, too ideal a situation to wish for, I know.  When the experts of nuclear security think, they think with a top to bottom approach. They think how to plan a program that saves the inhabitants from the potential threats. If one country has nuclear weapons, the other must have them for safety. And when there are combats, ‘casualties’ happen too. Those who write and paint their brushes ...

16th of September, 2014. I would try to distract the mind for a while. I would look outside the ambulance window. On my way to the hospital with a sinking heart, I saw how indifferent and normal the life outside this vehicle was. It was hard to decide; the burns hurt more or the realisation of the pain of children burned in the air strikes in Gaza and the ones burned, torn and ripped apart in the drone attacks in Pakistan or the fear of hospital staff at the Burn Centre who looked like butchers to me. This happened every time I was on my way to the hospital to get my skin drafted. But at least my pain was acknowledged. I was getting doctors to attend to me. Those children end up falling among a long list of 'casualties'. This made my pain look smaller to me. Two months from the accident, last week, I feel like I was burned again. 16th of December 2014; For two days, everything around me was going round and round. I relived that painful realisation. Everyone was hurt. People...