Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
In an evening heavy with the arithmetic of power,
Pakistan does not take the microphone by chance—
it knows how to play distant strings,
where Iran listens for the warmth of proximity,
and United States awaits the echo of interests.
Here, the song is not melody—
but a language of diplomacy,
mastering the art of subtle ambiguity,
through which Islamabad delivers its messages,
perfumed with geography
and the necessity of surviving between two unquiet fires.
It sings to Tehran in the tone of neighbors and history,
where borders are not merely drawn on maps,
but written in need,
in shared anxieties,
and in unfinished dreams of stability.
Then it shifts the key—
softly lulling Washington with another tune,
its rhythm shaped by economics,
its lyrics woven from security and alliance,
and between the lines… calculations left unspoken.
Thus, Pakistan walks a razor’s edge—
leaning neither too far… lest it fall,
nor falling silent… lest it fade.
So it sings to all,
yet in the end—
it is still trying to hear its own voice.
