So come for me, O hands of night,
I will not bow, I will not fight.
With lullabies upon my breath,
I wait for fate, I wait for death.

For freedom’s road is paved with pain,
Yet through the storm, we rise again.

O Balochistan, my mother’s land,
Your dust still clings upon my hand.
Your rivers murmur, fierce and free,
Your deserts whisper, “Stand with me.”

The rubab hums a song of old,
Of braves who stood, of hearts so bold.
Their blood still stains Dasht’s red sand,
Their names still ride the Sistan winds.

But fear is not for those who roam
The rugged hills, the land of stone.
I was born where eagles fly,
Where warriors live, unchained, untied.

The martyrs sang with blood-stained lips,
Of freedom’s call and iron grips.
Their voices rise where chains once rang,
In mountain winds, their echoes hang.

Author: Hafiz Baloch, whose elder brother Hussain Baloch was arrested by Pakistani security forces in 2019 and whose whereabouts are unknown, and whose mother died of illness due to missing him. He wanted to use poetry to express the voice of a Baloch youth

I ask the wind, I ask the sand,
Where is my brother’s gentle hand?
The earth stays silent, the sky won’t speak,
And I grow tired, alone and weak.

But in my heart, a flame will burn,
A voice that waits for his return.
For every tear, for every scar,
My love will reach him, near or far.

Alone I stand, a child so small,
In empty rooms, I hear them call.
A brother lost, a mother’s pain,
Echoes of love that won’t remain.

The hills once sang with songs of light,
Now they mourn through endless night.
No stars to guide, no dawn in sight,
Just broken dreams in fading light.

A symbol now, to hearts afar,
Of standing tall beneath the stars.
Your strength, your fire, your truth, your grace—
You are the voice they can’t erase.

For every life that’s torn apart,
She offers hope, she offers heart.
A fearless force, she won’t retreat,
Her message clear: "We won't be beat."

Though chains may try to bind her will,
Her spirit climbs, it cannot still.
Mahrang Baloch, you lead the way,
Your fight for justice lights the day.

Through darkened streets and whispered fears,
She speaks for those who’ve shed their tears.
For the disappeared, the lost, the gone—
Her voice rings out, both fierce and strong.

Mahrang Baloch, with courage deep,
A heart that dares, a soul that weeps,
For every cry that breaks the sky,
For every soul that asks, "Why?"

In Balochistan, the winds may roar,
But she will rise, forever more.
A warrior not of sword or shield,
But of truth that cannot yield.