Universal Children's Day & Faiz Ahmed Faiz's Death Anniversary

Although I knew it was Faiz's death anniversary today, I wasn't actually aware that Universal Children's Day is also being observed today.

Why is that important to me?

I'm reminded now of the first poem that I actually read by Faiz titled "Subh-e-Azadi" or "The Dawn of Freedom":

These tarnished rays, this night smudged light –
This is not that Dawn for which, ravished with freedom,
we had set out in sheer longing,
so sure that somewhere in its desert the sky harbored
a final haven for the stars, and we would find it. . . .

Now listen to the terrible rampant lie:
Light has forever been severed from the Dark;
Our feet, it is heard, are now one with their goal.
See our leaders polish their manner clean of suffering:
Indeed we must confess only to bliss;
we must surrender any utterance for the Beloved – all yearning is outlawed.

But the heart, the eye, the yet deeper heart –
Still ablaze for the Beloved, their turmoil shines.
In the lantern by the road the flame is stalled for news:
Did the morning breeze ever come? Where has it gone?
Night weighs us down, it still weighs us down.
Friends, come away from this false light. Come, we must search for that promised Dawn.

It's a poem that haunts me - in a strangely optimistic way - and also inspires me. It makes me think about where Pakistan is today, of the promises of 1947, and perhaps the promises that we need to revisit and even revise today to get close to the dream that was and align it with reality.

I can't help but think about this poem in the context of Universal Children's Day. Ever since 2001 when the present war began in Afghanistan, every time I've gone back to Karachi I've met the same little boy on the same intersection - for those who are familiar it's the right turn on Khayaban-e-Shamsheer that heads towards Zamzama. Every year he has a new "scheme" to make money. He has no-one. He doesn't know where his parents are. He doesn't dream of seeing them again nor does he lament over that he might never see them again. Thousands of cars pass him by everyday without perhaps noticing him or dismissing him with the slight of hand - a gesture oft-used to shoo away beggars. Unlike others who sell flowers on the road or religious books or balloons, this kid markets his own creations. And when someone dismisses him he doesn't bat an eyelid and picks up where he left off. He chases cars. He dodges the cars as soon as the traffic light turns green - sometimes whizzing in between speeding cars one wonders how he's even alive. He refuses to accept charity. He wants to earn his way as best he can and as best he knows. He collects old school books that folks throw away to continue his education. He even looks out for the other refugee kids that beg at this traffic light. He loves to narrate stories. And in this nomadic existence, he's nurtured solid friendships - of which I'd like to think one is between him and me. He's a fighter, he has resilience, he has vision, and most of all he has faith not that things will be all right but that they're quite good as is.

I think about his face when I think about the millions of kids on streets worldwide. And I wonder when we will, to use Faiz, "search for that promised Dawn" when these kids have a better life to relish....