27 March, Black Cloud ruptures with full force over Baloch nation and shun the screams of Balochistan. On her chest they clamber with claws to hurt every living thing that believe Balochistan to be a Sovereign state and thus end up their life in torment. The Enemy Smirks over the misery of the Land which was once green with peace, He thinks he conquered and slave the nation, destroyed the social creation of God given to this nation but he fails to realize the morals of this nation are high Higher than Mount Olympus

He fails to imagine the force of this nation which comes from within them, the energy they get when their feet touch their mother chest. The Enemy powerful with cohort of Thugs and thieves, Traitors pay tribute and sympathies with the enemy, Martyred Pra

y to their dear god that when ever they face the enemy the mother should open her chest to swallow the body of his.

Swallow Me to keep your agony High

Take me within the fire you Burn

Bury me in your motherly chest

Drink the boiling blood & make use of me

The Traitor take note and keep eye over the nation, he thinks spying will kill this nation but he forget that he belong to this nation; the Martyred on the other end keeps a white cloth in his pocket. On one hand he has the gun to treads through impossible terrain, on the other he holds a watch to check what he lost in so many years. The watch ticks and tells him the hour, the hour of Death; the Hour of Victory,

This Watch will die with me

When all the blood is drain out of me

This watch will stop ticking and alarming me

when every hope is lost the martyred take the gun and burst out bullets he knows that the bullets from the other end are not passionate about his courage and will touch his beating heart but he keeps steady, he keeps himself intact, flames after flames burst through the barrels of his gun

These Flames are not from the Barrels

They are from my heart

As I lock my finger over it

The heart beats faster

As it knows this is it

To die that is what every Baloch thinks today, Death is not the end of misery but it is a step closer to victory, Death of thousands is the waking call for millions, the martyred knows he dies but his gun will revolve from one (Sarmachar) to the other, it will keep flowing flames from its barrels as long as it touches the heart of a PATRIOT BALOCH.