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The soil of Balochistan soaked in blood

To me, peace means suffering, being disappeared and tortured. Because I live in a country where it has been interpreted as such. This was not the first time an innocent soul was killed in front of his parents by shooting 8 bullets on chest, but can be found in numbers with the same intensity. The soil of Balochistan is soaked in blood.
It’s hard for me to say that justice is a dream in this country. Actually, dreams may come true but justice not. One thing that is certain is suffering.
Hayat was a gem. I can’t believe he died so soon because he was the man who was always concerned about the life. He was the man who always acted wisely to avoid suffering.
Hayat, I don’t know you very well because we only met twice or thrice at University. But, every time I saw you, it was as if I had known you for long. You were friendly, always having a smile on face. I remember our first meeting when I along with a friend came to you for scholarship works. You took us to the admin, helped us do our work. Do you remember you said if I got that scholarship I would be obliged to offer you a lunch, and I agreed to take you to a place where you decide? Hayat! I have got the scholarship today, but!!
It hurts me to feel that you are no more with us. They snatched those beautiful smiles on your face. They killed you. They took your body away, but the memories will always remain with us. You would always be remembered in every moment because the name you had is always alive (Hayat).
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