A Blight - for Benezir A Bhutto

Written by: L'nass Shango

What makes a man in the face of death
Commits to lead and surrenders breath?

I saw him hanging from a tree 
Not quite Christ, but just the same 
There was an apostophe in that history. 
The people are such a swallow flame; 
When I was young the fire burnt longer, 
And after that we all were stronger 
Who helped to carry the petty burden 
Of a dream. The crowd is hardened 
Too little for a sacrifice of the queen - 
So the great warrior is fallen 
Sacrificed in the game. Who was the fiend? 
Whose bullet blighted the pardon 
Issued from the cross? O, Benezir, 
We have no leader because we have no seer.

A man does not die simply for hate again
More convoluted now the plot that brings the pain.