You wanted to enlighten the ignorant Masses,
Who thrive in dirt, blood and killings.
The fate of your father or brothers,
Did not teach you anything,
But perhaps just your illusion,
That you stay and change,
The minds of the Masses.
Wish you were at your own Funeral,
While Masses were celebrating your death,
By putting fire to everything.
Your man was grooming your Baby- son,
To take your place,
And continue your Dynasty!
Your man, a business savvy,
Knows how to dig out gold,
From dirt, blood and martyrdom.
You knew Americans better,
Than your own masses and culture:
That is the Price you paid.
Yet, my martyred Lady,
I miss you, miss you, Benazir!