Bad Dream

In the midst of a maddening crowd, there were prayers that remained unanswered and questions that needed to be asked. A nation searching for direction, a country born in the name of God needed divine intervention before the false prophets of destruction took over completely. The common folk here exhibited every characteristic of nations destroyed in the past. The Devil himself smiled proudly at this collection of hedonistic liars he had manufactured. It was a job well done, for there were looters and murderers leading this pack, a confused mob that took pride in dancing at its own misfortunes and in laughing at its own weaknesses for the world to see. Never did its founders' ideals appeal to this nation, but only discrimination seemed to be the order of the day. This rusting machine composed of four parts was only so much useful when none of its units ever tried to work together to make it go.

Hopeful yet soulless eyes searched the smog ridden skies and cried out for mercy. Even the clouds had betrayed them now and the angels from '65 were nowhere to be found. Only then when they thought it was too late did the Maulanas and Allamas finally gather in the same place and started preparing a mass grave, on the tombstone of which they etched: God left this place a long time ago.