Mr Zardari, Oh Mr Zardari.

The worst natural disaster of recent times, with devestation worse than the tsumani, Kashmir and Haiti earthquakes put together, the people of Pakistan are somehow scrambling through what seems for all to be, a living hell.



The current floods which have swept across Pakistan, may have killed less than 2000, but around 4 million have been left with no homes. Images of families stranded on rooftops, clutching a cooking utensil or two, a few bunches of clothes, have shocked the world, mobilising the average joe bloggs to fund raise and attempt to do what they can to help these devestated people. Everyone that is, except Mr Asif Ali Zardari. Mr Asif Ali Zardari it seems has a heart made of steel, and a political motivation made of, how do I say it... Money.. to put it simply.



Harsh? Well, the floods happen, people die, the rest anguished, terrified, screaming for aid, medicine, food, water. Yet Mr Zardari, still gets on a plane, still goes off halfway across the world to meet a man who stamps his people down, blaming the world's problems on them. But why should Mr Zardari care? Who are those people to him anyway? Just his citizens.



He carries on a visit, swanning through Europe, leisurely stopping by in different places, garnering support for his party, for his son, his successor. Focussing and working hard to ensure support for a potential event which may happen in several years time, whilst an event which has already entered the past begs his minimum support if even for a moment.



Mr Zardari also must have seen the image of the three children squatting on a small bed submerged in what it seemed, miles of murky water; whilst he slept in his temporary kingdom, for what it has been reported, £10, 000 a night. As he set aside the leftovers of his multi-coursed meal onto the edge of his plate, and threw back the creaseless covers of his poster bed, I wonder if he peered at that photo, at the fact that those three children were clutching the side of the bed, not any morsel of food, and that there was not a sheet to be seen to be able to cover them.



Oh Mr Zardari, it is said that aid agencies now hold back their funds. They hold back the golden tickets for all these destitute people to obtain the basic things they need to survive, because last time they passed it over, the Reconstruction Agency of the Pakistani Earthquake did not see a fraction of it. £300 million never saw the light in the areas devestated by the earthquake, but wouldn't it be safe to say, managed to nestle its way into your wealth?



Mr Zardari, Mr Zardari. I detest to be the bearer of bad news. But it would not remain well seated within my conscience not to break this to you - Did you know, that the responsibility of the people is with the Government? Apologies for dropping this bombshell, but maybe somebody just needs to tell you, as you clearly cannot have known. How could you have? Otherwise you would never have gone to London, you would never have outstretched your hand to Cameron, you would never have ordered mass murder in Waziristan, you would never have even had the chance to touch the money before sending it off to feed the hungry and cure the sick.



Mr Zardari. Your Lord, sent down a Messenger who gave some very helpful guidance, maybe you should hear it:

'The imam is a shield for the Ummah, from behind which they fight and are protected'

Mr Zardari. You have claimed to be this imam but instead of protecting them, have let them anguish, a people unled, a people not looked after.



Mr Zardari, oh Mr Zardari. This Ummah can no longer bear the assumed leadership of a man whose shield over them is made of thorns, severing them to pieces. This Ummah is truly an Ummah who has Allah on their side, the mightiest of supporters, and thus will surely regain protection soon, through a strong supporter of Allah. They will regain an Imam whose shield over them is stronger than the most sturdy of metals. As this is Allah's promise. Till then Mr Zardari, oh Mr Zardari I recommend you flee, as far and wide as you can, before you are forced to. But then, you can never really flee can you? How could you ever flee from the Being in Whose Hand lies your very Soul?