Revival

The sky is blotted with grey as heavy clouds gain dominance and everything goes dark and cloudy; everything, from Karachi to its charm, to its people, to its aura has gone dismal. Fires burn, some for revolt, some attempts at arson, but endless are the fires that burn in the hearts of people who have lost their loved ones in this ongoing, never-ending craze, the craze of intolerance, the craze of ethnicity, and thus, the craze of violence.

It relents, the sky surrenders and the pitter-patter of raindrops fills numerous ears just like the terrifying sound of gun-shots now interrupts their dreams. It seems as if the sky is shedding tears, tears of consolation, tears to show the grieved that their gloom will not go unnoticed. The sky seems to speak. It speaks of the grief, the desolation of the Karachiites.

Candle wick burning.

It shares the emotion of loss, as raindrops touch the parched lips that continually move in prayers for peace, for security and safety. Moreover, it sends out a message of hope, of resurgence, as it extinguishes the flames upon the roads, the asphalt, the footpaths that have been burning overnight.

This time, the rain doesn’t arrive amidst thunder and lightning, but softly introduces itself as a companion in the time of sadness would. It arrives as a friend, willing to share the burden of loss, willing to extinguish those fires that burn in their souls. It calms and comforts, soothes and pacifies the storm of emotions raging in Karachi’s soul. The runoff washes away the blood upon Karachi’s surfaces, the blood of the innocent. Ash and bullets are taken away by this tide of renaissance. It arms the people of Karachi with hope, with optimism and desire so strong and passionate that I hope will one day, relight the lamps in their very own City of Lights.

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