You get hired. You get brainwashed. You get commissioned.
Over the years, you become patriotic only to sell patriotism with a gun in hand.
Step by step, you rise on echelons of barbarity until you become the chief of barbarians.
Then you kill. You kill people in hundreds and thousands. Here and there and everywhere. For rupees, as well as for dollars.
You even start killing those who were made by your predecessor. You sell Jihad the other way around. You bring a whole bloody war at home.
Then you rent. You rent the land and the air to kill more. You abduct. You torture. You make mass graves for mutilated dead bodies.
You get land. You get real estate. You get money in all the possible forms for your services against humanity and fellow nationals.
After you are done with blood and have accumulated your share of blood money, you retire.
Then you leave the very country for which you sold patriotism and nationalism for decades.
You never come back to the land of pure again, even when the law calls you to payback. You don’t come back.
And then – like everyone – you die. You die as a billionaire in another country. Not in a drone strike. Not in a mass grave. Not in an unidentified torture cell. You die an elite death for which everyone works.
But you die. Your legacy of violence don’t but you do.
May you meet all those you killed before time.
May you be abducted on the first door up there.
May you be taken in chains.
May you suffer.
May you rot in hell – if hell – for the rest of your existence.
No rest in peace for you Mr. Musharraf!
Very quenching.