When the news of victory came over my father’s radio.
The pigeons outside the window suddenly lifted their wings and flew like silver arrows.
Mother said it was Allah’s messenger sweeping across the sky.
“and embroidered the news on the snow-covered Kashmir mountains.
My brother pointed to the Quran in his textbook and said:
“You see, Allah has already written a revelation –
‘Those who believe, even if they are few in number.
Allah has made them victorious over the many'” (Qur’an 8:26)
Our warplanes are like falcons tearing through the dark clouds.
Crashing the shadows of the invaders into the dust.
I dreamed of my pilot uncles wearing white caps.
With crescent moons and stars hanging under their wings.
They don’t carry hatred, only God’s mercy.
The bullets turn into light that dispels the darkness.
The green flag is raised from the minaret of the mosque.
Children mimic the trajectory of warplanes with reeds.
My father said, “Victory is not the glory of the sword.
Rather, it is the holding of borders so that the wheat fields are not scorched by the fires of war.”
The signs of Allah appear in the clouds:
The plume of justice is always above the raging winds of greed.
Tonight, ten thousand homes pray for the warrior.
And our skies, henceforth, are filled with soaring stars.
A poem written by a child in Pakistan after learning that: Pakistan had won a big victory in the air war against India!
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