I-Me-Life

I breathe in this still air –
thousand desires.
In the silence of my soul.

They blossomed –
the temple of togetherness,
the song of remembrance,
the naked body of dreams,
the love with no boundaries.

Then,

In the hours of peace –
In a vacuum of my soul -lived- the togetherness
To my still lips -came- the laughter,
In a depth of my heart -dreamed- the spring,
To my anxious thoughts -murmured- the love.

And,

At the last moment –
Free was the spirit,
Singing eternally,
Flickering over dreams of the spring,
Security of the body with love- the earth claimed.

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~A.N

 

Abu! We will meet again.

In search of you

I scream volumes 

In hope –

they may travel

voids of your grave.

And surely,  

     I found you –

In eyes of my mother.

In courage and strength.

In tears and sorrow.

In smile through dry lips.

In emptiness of the night.

In eerie silence at home.

In fragrance filling your room.

In the heavy heart of mine. 

Everywhere, 

I found you. 

I do find you.

But,

I still wait 

To see your face-

In the sunshine

Among the crowd at home

Sitting on your sofa

With right leg raised on left,

Left hand supporting face

And right holding my hand

speaking to me

“Don’t worry,

Allah will make it easy,

Everything will be fine.

I’m fine.”

I wait for your words

To come true. 

I do wait 

I will wait for an entire life.

But for now

My love, My beloved

My father.

Stay peaceful!

We are fine. 

We shall meet again

 – in the paradise. 

Promise shall be kept,

Angels will glorify,

And time will be witness. 

~Your Daughter~

P.S: Death can’t be excused, there is no escape. Loss is irreplaceable, but one favour you can do and that is, send “Surah Fatiha” to my Abu. Thank you!

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MŌAJ

My Kashmir.

Kashmir and its heart wrenching narration.

MŌAJ (MOTHER)

Ofcourse not

 “You are safe”

A mother screams.

End to end

Too high, too far

The grass is overrun

The sky too dark, and

Jehlum flowing Red.

Poutrah (Son), Sit by my side

I feel heavy,

I hear screams,

Dying are the blossoms

Mourning the strongest.

Goubrya (Son), Come close to me

Lay your head on my bosom

The fear is, what if

the other is lot more than one?

And among them

You my son The Martyr?

How will I walk?

How will I move?

How will I live?

How will I heal?

Forget everything –

How will I Farewell you?

Goubrya (Son), Come close to me

Lay your head on my bosom

Ofcourse not

“Anyone is safe”.

***

She nodded

Very faintly she spoke

Stole one last look and

Closed her eyes,

Goubrya (son)

Ofcourse not,

I am safe”.

Who has to save the girl?

Navigation between pages has always been one of my preferred topics and same was true for today. Nevertheless, for a person like me it was today not a favourite, but one disheartening thing to do. I somehow slipped up on a video shared by certain page which was linked up to a recent incident that took place at Kaaw Mohalla, Khanyar on the eve of Eid-UL-Zuha. One unfortunate incident which too will drop dead in the law books against a thirst for justice and ultimately will result in one futile exercise of hope.

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Well, a point here is that what make me write today after a long pause about such incident? I have already written numerous articles about the society’s evils and this too is no exception to them. So, for today what is it that made me once again pour my agony in these scripted lines. It is nothing except the “False show of humanity” that irked me of that video. The journalist is asking a lady who has lost her daughter in one of the heart scissoring incidents, “Tueh paeyth kya chuw mouj waeynken baitaan? (Mother, what is right now happening to you?) , Tueh kya chuw gasaan weayn kenas? (What is happening to you right now?), Tueh kya chuw basaan? (What do you feel about it?) and so on. Come on, Mr. Journalist first you call her mother then you ask her about how she feels of an incident of losing a daughter to the flames of inhumane society? How will you feel when, God forbid, your sister/female parent/daughter will ash down to dust and someone will build a story on how you feel right now about it? Even in a wildest of an imagination of such tragedy will send shivers down the spine. What sort of journalism is this? Disgusting! This is no new narrative, no new crime, ample number of such crimes take place each day, each hour, each second. Forget about getting a space in local dailies they don’t even get a person to mourn. They rest like never existing creatures in the earth full of sorrow.

Hah! This video actually played so bad that I found no better option other than stopping it there and the first 17 seconds have frozen in me. They are pain to watch. Doubtless, this video must have been made to show inhumanity, but while brings down the curtains of shame the discipline of journalism lost its own to “Fake sympathy”.

Offense is constantly clear. It is we who have blindfolded the eyes, it is we who feed it, it is we who actually nourish it and it is we who finally complain about it. It is the S.O.C.I.E.T.Y… even words don’t suit to be merged. Such tragedy!

Let me ask you a few simple questions,

How many times you have uttered when something improper is going on, even in your family or in the neighbourhood or in area around?

Have you ever done anything apart from being a mute spectator? Or being a person who watches and discusses do’s and do not’s at back?

In case you have done your bit, how well your family has supported it?

How many times you have reported wrong? Ever? Or just never?

There are so many questions and so less of an expectance of any right. Change is not one day march that we will shout and the next day it will be served. It is a struggle. It is a freedom from doomed ideology. It is a fire to orthodox ideas, cultural burdens, and above all the light into a deep lesion. To get it, we need to starve for it, else this article is only a burden to trash. In simpler words it is not about “who, when and how will save the girl”, instead it is all about “I will save the girl”.

To the fire

I did surrender myself.

Call it destiny or social iniquity,

But for now,

“I am free”.

No curse, No impudence.

Keep blaming each other

By then I shall return in womb another

I know, all over again,

Everything would be same

Faces will change

While crime will have new name.

~A.N

P.S: The link to video is here  https://www.facebook.com/umaan/videos/10205806342692161/

A Broken Couplet!

surreal-man-with-hands-covering-face1I hear a broken couplet,
On my countrymen’s lips
It is painful,
Mourning deaths.

I see sharing of bullets
On my countrymen’s chest
It is rushing blood,
To unmarked graves.               

I watch sky turning crimson red
On my countrymen’s inward eye
It is longing for an end
Of monarch’s crimes.

I hear a broken couplet,
Over and again
On my countrymen’s lips.
I want an end of a broken couplet,
On my countrymen’s lips.

~A.N

ONE LAST TIME

The veil that kept hanging between two,

Burnt on just one sight.

To dust it was lost forever,

While in an inward eye-

droplets still float to extinguish the fire.

Running through hurricane of the feelings,

A voice broke in a clumsy fashion!

“Neither an inheritance of love it was,

 Nor it belonged to a fashion of modern living?

 Then why I believe you to be a dearest,

 But find you far from even being a friend?”

 

Watching a step of mine tendering backward,

Like the last seasonal snow snuggling in the soil.

Exerting hard to scroll up a voice from the chest,

“Harshly I can’t even think of sharing a word,

Swiftly, like an autumn struck leaf falling to the ground-

 Such choice has been nailed out far before,

To questions:

  I would have shared desserts for calming you,

       and explaining true,

But the choice is none!

For answers I can just be lulled and share a comfort,

For I know to both we are the dearest and I bet that is so true.”

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~A.N

“Believing the Gallows!”

 

Taking our clocks back by a year, I remember the 8th Feb as just another ordinary day, smuggling and crossing over the thin line between the two dates, eight and nine. Too calm to hold the secrets of execution, very much strong to maintain the silence, leading to the gallows and still briefing us about nothing. 

Like the faithfulness of a man, it (time) too fell prey to an anxious silence, a deserted belief, destined to the beautiful morning that faked a life like an icicle meeting up the bright rays descending from the sun on an unexpected harsh winter morning. 

We all are destined to death, for its beauty and in hope of paradise we keep briefing ourselves about good and bad. But who knows how, where and in what situation we going to leave. Indubitably, no men stay immortal, though remembrance makes one so.

9th of February, as in today, would have never meditated enough to be remembered for an age to come, generations to move on but the tragedy made it believe the smuggling agony by the seconds that passed by. Over the will of Almighty no one’s supremacy does rule. This to him was known only difference is we would/could have never believed the cause to have been so.

Undoubtedly,

“To ‘HIM’ we have to return,
Today or tomorrow, it will be our turn.”

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~A.N