The Love Letter!

Dear Beloved!

Where from shall I start? Wait, let me first ease myself.  It has been my fantasy since long now, to write a love letter because for now it is an obsolete thing to do. I do believe that someday one of my colony pigeons, white in colour with a ruby bracelet in the neck, will learn how to cover a distance between us, but for now we have to bear to settle without that.

Evenings for me have always been blissful and mystic, but that Saturday when you were sitting just next to me it happened to redefine the meaning of romance. Your presence was sharp, clean like a new born baby tempting me to touch you, hold you and let you be familiar to me, but I was too scared of hurting your soft gesture. As the colours of the blaze were setting, I kept watching them as they were reflecting through your stillness. They kept glowing your skin a bit more than that of the autumn struck Chinar leaf, O’ You beauty! You pause me every time I check on you.

Recall, the shiver that did pass around through your strong self. Well! That alertness happened to give me goose bumps. While the cold currents of the wind did touch your rough skin and you got engaged in settling yourself I was busy watching the warmness of you dropping like the droplets of the rain skidding my window pane. Low at noise and much of an elegance.

Remember, the bonfire we lit? Did you notice how the colours of the sky did compliment the fire? The flames were racing into the sky and the smoke was forming patterns like newlywed couples meeting first time in each other’s eyes. An excitement of the stars was clearly visible by the way they were twinkling as the darkness was getting richer with an each passing instant. How shall I define such moment and crypt my words for you to interpret the significance of our being? Meanwhile, I forgot to ask you, were you in certain competition with the moon or it was just another face of you?

Writing to you won’t mature my words to a level of your charm and attitude. Hence, to understand you a bit more I yesterday asked my friend to come with me to see you. She brushed off my meeting by stating, “Let not your affair be public” [followed by a smile]. I paused, didn’t reply, but back in my mind, I was thinking that every day you are being kissed by many and praised by countless then how shall my love be a secrecy? O’ Dear Nature when will you reply?

(Since ages)
Amreen Naqash!




“Dolesome Voice”

The bride left with no colours

Habilimented in the velvety white.

Close to the nature,

Relinquished by the crowd.

Youthful! Yet too tired,

Not of the dead cells but of the silence around.

Alone strengthening the voice,

To be heard and accompanied by someone nice.

Riding into the forest of no notes,

Searching the owner of the old ragged boots.

Smell of the skin and arch of feet,

Still same since the moment they were tamed.

In remembrance of the soul,

That smuggled into the last winter snow.

Leaving behind an impression of the hope,

Guiding an unknown to the path lone.

Like the waves reverberating from the river behind,

She believes one day sound may travel to her life.

Dolesome voice



Evening on the Porch.

It was the evening, the sprinkle of droplets started, the smoke which was rising from the neighbour’s house was losing the thickness and power of escaping, and our very old pomegranate trees were shedding leaves in a welcome of the winter, a tribute to the autumn and a company to the rain. I was standing at the door of the back porch waiting for the tea and admiring a beauty around. The outside cold gentle currents of the wind had already turned me impatient to have the sip of the Noon Chai, the traditional Kashmiri tea, or call it the Salt Tea in the English attire.

I was still waiting for the vapours to take off from the teapot and condense over the ceiling when the three little kittens with their mother joined me on the porch. I rolled a ball towards them and waited for the response but all in vain. They were in plan to have some rest. On noticing the three young ones I was in too jiffy to make a response. Mama, “Out of the three the one with golden patches is awfully beautiful”.  Before my mother could have replied the dark kitten sat in front of her mother as if she did understand me and wanted to teach me a lesson about beauty. While the young ones were making the storyline I was handed over a cup of tea.

First sip, the tea just changed the sense of climate and the warmth already starts gripping within. The mother cat had by now placed her hand on the head of the little black one, started licking his head, and cuddled him. While she was busy showering the love, the second one joined. She again did the same. Seeing this, the third one, whom I praised for the beauty, too joined to share motherly love. She lifted her left arm quite gently raised it above all three, placed it over them, started licking their heads & patted them one by one, as per their respective turns. This nudged me. Wasn’t I praising one? But to the mother they all are one irrespective of their beauty. And love isn’t the believer of difference it is a stand for the unity. I got a lesson to never guide a line of mark praising the beauty, instead speak of it unanimously.

This abundance of love reminded me of the message that I few days back had written for my friend whom I love unconditionally and it goes like this:

“I have no idea about love. I don’t know what actually it sounds like. I don’t know the feeling of being into it. People say love for our creator is reality. Then same people say love for parents is unmatched. They further confuse me with love for a partner and thus they keep bringing on the definition of love for different identities and this way love turns more about individuality instead of being unified.”

This text I couldn’t stop relating to the scene of minutes. Where’s my message of questioning the individuality of the love was being beautifully explained on the basis reality of the unity. Furthermore, the classification of the love on the basis of who we love stand dismissed.

An evening on the porch



Who Was Mad?

Madness! How will I define it? Frenzied I am over this term. Not because it is out of my dictionary or something like I would not have understood but this term few days back lodged me in a situation where I couldn’t answer myself, “ who is mad and what is madness?”. I kept briefing my mind that madness is a psychological disorder and a person affected is the one who is mad but then my cells didn’t accept it. Instead tried to pull me out of the bounds of the science and its definition of madness.

For a moment let me take you back to the cradle, where who you are doesn’t matter but being a reason of the cradle matters. For that one cry from theatre room, breath of a whole family is stuck. Everyone keeps on counting the seconds; each moment is no less than an eternity for a family waiting outside. Some keep tapping their feet, some are seen measuring the corridor distance, some watching the red light. Why not this kind of scene? After all it is a time to welcome the new family member.

A child if could plan his destiny wouldn’t he/she choose happiness, peace and prosperity over madness. Why one would choose to be mad? Well! It is quite acceptable that one won’t desire to turn into an abnormal being. No doubt we can design our dreams, work with them and finally establish them but none of us can go beyond what the Almighty has planned for us.

It was an autumn flavoured day, golden leaves rolling on the road with the sudden hush of cold currents of the wind. Trees were struggling to hold on the leaves which were bizarrely mashed up in green and the yellow tone. It was then while I was admiring the nature a sudden voice broke in the bus. Ya-ya-ya-ya-yaaaaaah. Some laughed, some were scared, and some were astonished to the sudden loud cry. Before anyone all could react, this middle-aged, fat, bald, round cheeky face, drooling eyed man ran up to the last seat in the bus. Sat down, stood up, sat again and then stood up again. Again a scream! All seemed frustrated. Take him down! Take him down the bus. With this the scene turned too panicky. Two boys hired the bus, started abusing him, kicking him and finally threw him off the bus. As the first kick hit I was trying to recall what exactly went wrong on be his half. Second kick; I couldn’t say a word I was insanely watching the crew that wanted him by any means get down from the bus.

The women standing by my seat,”This wasn’t a way to get him down. [Pause] No! No! This shouldn’t have been done”. This was a welcome speech but the wrong had already happened.

The bus moved, the smoke exhausted and a sign of relief on many faces. I too was okay with getting him down but not like this. He wasn’t supposedly wrong neither he was mad by choice. Madness is a mental disorder and what he did was not under his control neither he had any idea of what he was doing nor that kicking and abusing was justified.

It doesn’t take an eternity to change the present,
But it costs enough to make the beautiful future.

This wasn’t the first time I have come across such an unruly incident neither you, yes you, the one reading would have read it the first time. These things do happen and get ignored as if the right to live from such humans has been taken with the loss of their mental stability. Some sane are seen insanely irritating them, mimicking them, cursing them, abusing them, while some go to an extreme and beat them. Thus, turn them too furious.

Since we are blessed, being normal, so instead of mocking the person who has lost his/her mental ability it is better to be friendly. In case you aren’t in the mood of being good to them then please just for the sake of humanity don’t be worse too.

It needs the soul to be a human,
And being human is not easy.




The autumn on way to goodbye,

Waves back the cool breeze,

Gives me goose bumps,

Relocates me back to the mornings,

When the snow topped mountains shine again,

Welcoming the spring,

Bringing the hope of the life again.

The silhouette of the naked tree,

Calmness of the autumnal eve,

Harvesting for the winter approaching by,

And smoke forming patterns in the sky.

Reflecting the end of the life,

All this while collecting things for to survive.


~A. N