CELTICLADY'S REVIEWS: Cries of a Dying Waterhole by Wa’qaar A Mirza Book Tour! @fayerogersuk @authoright @waqaaramirza #CriesOfADyingWaterhole

Summary:

It was that one fateful meeting in Arlington cemetery that started a chain reaction. The outcome that no one could predict. Covert operations, hostages, chaos around the planet, world leaders at loggerheads… and this was just the beginning. Can Harry Firstone - despite his colourful past - pull off a geopolitical coup that could bring change to the social imbalances across world? Just as the spinning plates of his emotions start to wobble with incredible consequences. Does truth have any value? And is there anything that money can’t buy? Politicians, media, bankers. We live in a world where we choose to believe in lies, but it’s in the dirtiest of swamps that beautiful lotuses bloom. This book is set to inspire you. It will make you get up and do something good. Let your conscience take you on a roller-coaster ride and uncover something you never thought you could.

Information about the Book

Title: Cries of a Dying Waterhole

Author: Wa’qaar A Mirza

Release Date: 28th February 2019

Genre: Fiction

Page Count: 300

Publisher: Clink Street Publishing

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43531936-cries-of-a-dying-waterhole

Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Cries-Dying-Waterhole-thriller-conscience-ebook

Read an Extract!

He had a habit of being on time. He was never late. And despite leaving home with plenty of time, he always rushed to the station in the morning to catch the tube. That morning, he just about managed to squeeze in in time, feeling the doors graze past his back and slide shut. In the background he could hear the station assistant who had a strong Polish accent talking through the loudspeakers:

“Ladies and gentlemen the next train is one minute behind,” but no one cared. It was still so early. There was hardly anyone there. The only people on the platform were people finishing nightshifts. Night-time construction workers, hospital workers, police officers, firefighters, bar men and security officers mingle with drunks and drug addicts who would sit and stare in exhaustion at the curved, tiled wall of the underground. The tube jolted and lurched and then whizzed into the black, dark gaping hole screaming widely in front of them. Juddering speedily through the darkness for what felt like no time at all, the tube finally creaked, ear-piercingly screeched and clanked its way to his stop.

He ran up the stairs of the tube station and outside where right near the entrance was a small park. He sprinted to it swiftly before pausing for a moment as though in slow motion. The tube, as always, had been stifling. He wanted to let the growing warmth of the autumn sun shine upon his face and warm his cheeks, blowing away the suffocating subterranean soot that still clung to him. He closed his eyes for a moment and felt the rosy pink of the morning sun hit his eyelids. The memory of the still-burning stars he had gazed at that morning when the world was still young still buzzed around his mind when it was allowed a moment’s peace. Then he remembered how he had woken up that morning. It was exactly the same as every morning he had ever known.

Ever since he was a child, a recurring vision had haunted him. It was more than just a dream that was trapped in his mind like a song going round and round. It was like a kind of twisted lullaby; he went to sleep with it and like an alarm clock he woke up with it. And today had been no different. It was very unsettling to him, a man with the soul of a poet, he thought to himself.

It was very early morning. The moon was still up, clinging desperately on to its crowning spot in the sky. Harry had positioned himself as usual in front of the half-open bedroom window, to soak up the last of the cool blue moonlight to enjoy its fading serenity on his face. He had sat like that for a while just enjoying the silence.

He remembered the deep breath of icy air he had taken in as he peered outside at the gentle magic of the dawn sky and the still, still air. In that moment everything had seemed so pure, so clean, so new and so full of promise. Cloaked in the world’s pre-dawn silence, he had felt far more in control, far more in harmony with the universe than at any other point. It was as if he and the stars had aligned as he had gazed up at their slow vanishing of the sun. He had wondered whether they might even be listening to him, listening for his hopes and aspirations, and wondered whether every atom in the world might be able to answer his prayers. He was convinced of it.

Waking up early is something that he had done for a very long time. Even in the icy black of the dark winter mornings, the dawn chorus of spring, the breeze of autumn and the dazzling light of summer, he’s up before anyone else. Master of all he surveyed; he looked on the world as if it was his for the taking. These moments of tranquillity set him up beautifully for the rest of the day. Today was a very important day; the 2nd of October, his birthday. It was a special day for another very significant reason too.

After a few moments like this enjoying his thoughts, he opened his eyes, and found that the whole world suddenly seemed crisper, clearer and more vibrant. The buildings stood taller, more defined, more purposeful than just drab concrete obstacles blocking his path from A to B. Pockets of red and ochre leaves looked for one brief moment like miniscule bonfires blazing at the roadside. Acknowledging the sunshine always brought life to his surroundings. That was something he missed about not living in the Middle East. Harry loved the sunshine. For him, the sun gave people a reason to be happy, energetic, creative even, but most of all, a reason to smile.

He was stood in what he knew was an important area of East London. It was steeped in a kaleidoscope of rich history. As he thought about all of the many different lives that the area had touched over the centuries, it was like being struck across the face. Disturbing his thoughts of the past came the sound of the call to prayer from the mosque across the road and the smell of an ensemble of herbs and spices from Turkish and Indian food being cooked in the homes that lined the streets. Then the stimulating aroma of a little coffee shop nearby, a shop without a name on the front, hit his nostrils, blasting away the aroma of spice that had previously been wafting around him.

As he carried on with his walk, he noticed the traffic. It was in another typically chaotic crush. Drivers battled impatiently and raged, trying to force their way through angrily. Everyone believing that their own journey was the only important one being made that day, no one else mattered. Out of nowhere, an abrupt metallic roar made everyone jump. Harry felt his body vibrate with the roar of car exhausts, the rumble ripping through his chest as two Aston Martins whizzed past. The disinterested drivers were dressed immaculately in expensively tailored suits and were all clutching mobile phones to their ears. Harry watched them fly into the distance in the luxurious cars. As he turned to continue his walk, he noticed a filthy old man slumped on the pavement. A large flattened empty cardboard loo paper box was his soggy cushion. He had the worst voice that Harry had ever heard. He was begging for a few pennies by hoarsely croaking Whitney Houston’s ‘I Will Always Love You’. The smell of the tramp made Harry’s stomach lurch. Harry walked quickly past him desperately trying to escape the sickening smell of dirty flesh, sweat-soaked filthy clothes and cheap spirits.

Author Information

Wa’qaar A. Mirza has worked in business consultancy and marketing for over thirty years, with companies including PwC and British Telecom, where he held senior marketing positions before moving to the HSBC group’s financial services product development team. Mirza has developed businesses of his own — selling both a marketing firm and an internet company — and franchise concepts for clients. He has written for numerous business journals and presented a business radio show in the Gulf. He has consulted on business development, private equity, and investment funding and brand development internationally. A former member of the BBC Advisory Council, he has also served as a trustee and director of the Royal Voluntary Services (RVS) where he met Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, who is the President of the charity. Mirza is a trustee of TBAP national special needs schools and of Worlds, Orphans into Work (WOW).