Life is Good - A little-known story

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*message tone*

*picks up iPhone and checks text*

“Hey Buddy! Where are you lost?” *friend pings*

The AC wasn’t working; he overate–but then, the food was awesome–he felt it's hotter than usual –Damn! The Net's down…

*curses Rehman Malik*

“Hey, I am good, whassup?” 

Friend– “Do you know 300 people have died in Karachi, some fire incident in a factory? Haven’t seen you on twitter for a while also”

“OMG! Really?  My internet is down, haven’t checked twitter”

He doesn’t feel like switching on the TV.

Friend–  “Yeah man, poor souls. Heard some Bhatta Mafias were also involved”

“BC. These bad asses. We must do something about those poor people. Khair aur sunaa?”

Friend–  “Sab set!”

“What’s going on at the twitterverse nowadays?”

 *continues texting*

Friend–  “Same shit happening. PTI Trolls. PPP Jyalas. N League k Noorey. And then wohee Elitiye signing petitions. Lol”

“hahaha. Kuch nahin badalne wala [Nothing will change]”– he was surely missing some fun.

Friend– “So true man, what else?”

He guessed it was end of the discussion and he was bored to his teeth. This humid weather was killing him. He looked towards the AC, which seemed to stare at him with a poker face; he picked up the phone to text back...

“You were telling about some fire incident? What happened?”

Friend–  “Dunno much. Some garment factory. Fire broke out and peeps were caught inside. Some 300 died, they say”

“hmmm… that's it?”

He was expecting something more from him, some "masala" story….

Friend–  “O Yea! Arab Spring hit the Arab world once again, hardly anything tho'....this time”

“What? What happened now?”

That seemed interesting.

Friend– “Man, some Jew made a blasphemous film. Protests all over the Arab world, heard of some in Pakistan too”

“Oh man, that blasphemer should be hanged to death, how does someone dare to do that”

*blood boils*

Friend– “Exactly man! A US ambassador has also been murdered. Yo!”

“Yeh Cheez, SaloN ko sabaq sikhaana chahiye [That’s the way. We should teach a lesson to those rascals.]”

*feels happy deep inside*

“Do you know about the protest organized in solidarity with Karachi fire victims? Should we go?”

What the hell is he talking about–he thought.  “Itni garmi mein? [In this heat?] Nah man! I have some better things to do,” he replied.

Friend– “Aur sunaa”

“Nothing much, why don’t you come over? Will watch some shit, suna hai TDKR's cool”

Friend– “Man, sorry, am invited at a do.. .Nadeem ka pata hai na? Dude's b'day bash at his joint tonight. Full on scene hai”

“Chal okay”

.........

"Sala C****iya"

*looks at iPhone and grumbles*

He stared hard at the AC; may be it ‘LOLed’ at him?

He turned to the Lappie but the modem’s light was still red.

"F**k!"

He lifted his weight and waddled into the lounge.

He stopped in front of the fridge and picked up a Pepsi.

He switched the TV on and fiddled with the remote–flicking channels.

"Ah! ManU"

His favorite club played against some random FC… LIVE…

The AC sprang back to life...slowly purring...blowing cool air into the room...he felt sleepy...

"Van Parsie's rocking man!"
*mumbles*

Life was good....

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Living in the Darkness!

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“Don’t light the match” I said.
I was holding his hand and moving forward in utter darkness, which was all around, the licking our bodies, scratching our faces with its jaws.
“Where are we?” he asked
“I don’t know” I replied
“It’s all stinking damp and dark, it must be The Gutter”
“Oh yes! I remember I fell into The Gutter” I said as I recalled from some faraway memory.
“How did you fall in The Gutter” he asked
“I don’t know, and I don’t remember for how long I’ve been here, but how did you land up here?” said I.
“I also fell down. I think you fell before I did, and trying to help you I got dragged in too, or I fell first and you tried to help me and in the end we ended up here!” said he.

Holding hands, we inched ahead, all the while feeling the slimy dampness of water somewhere around our feet.

“Can you hear the traffic?” he asked.
“Yes! We are somewhere under the main road” I said
“Then there must be an open manhole nearby, so let’s get out of here, or at least see the sky” He murmured

“Oh!” he jumped.

“What happened?”, I asked. He said he felt something, something touched his legs. He lit a match. A spark of flame lit up our faces.

“Here it is” he pointed at something. We took a closer look at it,
“A dead body… an infant” I sighed “May be somebody tried to hide their sins”
“Or may be his mother gave birth, here, in this Gutter, is that possible?” he added
“May be” I said and we moved further on into the darkness.

We were trapped in an underground Gutter, a never-ending damp tunnel and were trying to get out of this place. We desperately looked out for an opening from where we could escape.

The match-box was also getting damp with a few more matchsticks to go. We didn’t want to lose those tiny sticks. Our last flickers of an inevitably dying hope. With the dying flame of each matchstick, died our last rays of hope.

The situation was getting bad to worse. The fear of losing life was gripping our very souls. Hope was slipping away, the way a handful of sand eventually escapes a closed fist. Would we ever see the light of a day again? Would we ever see the bright sun again? It was all gloomy down here. We were kissing our own breaths to feel the life, to believe we were still alive.

Thus we kept on creeping slowly into a dark nothingness.

“Did you hear that?” he said
“Noise?” we could hear some voices – voices of children. A mix of shouting and crying. We could hear the sound of water splashing as we felt they were running towards us.
“What are these children doing here?”
“Light the match” I told him.
As he lit the match we saw a group of more than a dozen children, almost running past us.

“Hey! Listen” I yelled at one of those boys, who seemed to be around ten or twelve.
He stopped and looked at us with a wide smile spread across his face, ear to ear.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him
“We live here.” He replied innocently
“Here? You were born here?” I was extremely confused now
“Yes! All of us were born at this place in Rubbers” , he confused me even more.
“In the Rubber?” I repeated his words
“Yes! Our parents threw us here, wrapped in Rubbers” saying this, he ran away to join his group…

“Where was I born?” I tried to recall. At a hospital or at home … or …. or I couldn’t remember more than that or I didn’t want to think any more about it.

“Is it possible that we were also born here” His words shocked me.
“No… No..!!” There was a confession hidden in my quick denial.

Something cracked under my feet. We lit a match-stick, again, only to see some disposed-off bones.

Scary!

“Who are these people?” Who knows who they were?
“Look! They are all gagged with duct tape ” I said, as I saw each of them held a pen tightly between their dead fingers.

Somebody sealed their lips before killing them or they died their own death by chocking themselves up.

“Poor folks” He murmured.

These bodies made scared us even more

“Can we ever see light again?” he asked vaguely.
“I hope” I replied, but I knew, living in this darkness, forever, was our final destiny.

As we moved ahead, may be a few feet, we heard screams, harsh and loud. It sounded as if someone was being beaten up, brutally or as if someone was being sliced into pieces! The dirty water at our feet felt warm and smelled nauseatingly salty. As we stared down, we saw, we stood, ankle deep in thick blood. There was no air to breathe in either.

We felt suffocated.

Those voices tore into our ears and ripped apart our souls!!

I asked him to light the match.

But there was no light.

He was scratching a match-stick against the match-box, but was unable to strike a light.

The Match-Box was wet now and the other Match-sticks were all broken into pieces.

He stood there, trying again and again, looking almost insane, but without any success.

“That was the last stick” he said, finally, giving up.

I took the match-stick from his fingers and kept it back into my pocket!

Thinking… It might be our last ray of hope.




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From Lahore to Delhi

Wagah , Lahore

On a bright sunny day and sky crystal-blue.. I along with some other friends was touching the road of a suburb area of Punjab, when little dots of light touched my eyes. Then I saw a young girl, adorned with jewelry and bangles, wearing a traditional, glittering dress of sky blue colour that was shimmering under the sun. That was actually where the light was coming from, I thought. I took a closer look, she was wearing sun glasses as well while a duppatta (scarf) wrapped around her head. She was coming from an opposite side driving a lovely pink colored scooty (bike) at some 40 km/hr speed, I guessed.

It was something new and surprising for me! My heart boomed “Welcome to India!”

It was the last week of March 2011 when I was invited as a delegate to attend the Festival of SAARC Writers and Literature being held in New Delhi, where I went with Ali Akbar Natiq (from Islamabad), Ajmal Kamal, Nayyara Rehman, Kiran B. Ahmed (from Karachi), Wajahat Masood and Ammar Kazmi(from Lahore). I crossed the Wagah Boarder with them and stepped in to the land of ‘Hindustan’. We were travelling on foot. Soon after crossing the border, we reached on the other side called Attari.

Attari

Setting foot into India was indeed a unique experience for me. The feeling I had right then was something I never felt before in my entire life. I saw typical TATA trucks and a lot of ‘Men in blue’ (in blue-coloured dresses) there. They were the caretaker (qoolies) in their blue dresses and as most of them were Sikhs so they were wearing different colored turbans.

Moving onward with each step I felt like I am walking into some scene of a Bollywood film where I have walked in right from my home. Most of the things I saw were pretty similar back home, like trees, roads, sky, sun, even temperature. But the difference was there, I felt it. Different characters were written on sign boards. And it was not just the hording boards, the people also seemed different. The way they were talking, behaving, reacting and their gestures seemed so unusual.

We waited for a while at Attari, at a Dhaba for other delegate members to join us who arrived in a while. Most of them were strangers to me, but they introduced themselves as writers, poets and song-writers. Anyways, we hired a WaganR (a vehicle) and started moving towards Amritsar which is about 30 odd KM from Attari. We reached there within half an hour and, took lunch at local hotel. And just loved the taste of Paalik Paneer which I had there for lunch!

Everyone seemed fresh with a smile on their face and was also cracking jokes at one another in the meanwhile. Cutting it short, it was a pretty nice beginning of a long journey.

Departing Amritsar, we moved towards G.T road. The lush green fields of Punjab, the beautiful Gurdawara, and the local architectures were some of the eye catching scenes of the place. The scene of the suburbs of the Indian Punjab looked a lot like Pakistani Punjab. In fact it looked almost similar with little or no difference.

We reached Jalandhar just before the sunset and stayed at a famous tourist place named ‘Haveli” which proved to be a really nice place to take a short tea break.

Moving away from Jalandhar, we crossed Ludhiana and reached Ambaala and had dinner there.
That was the time when everyone started getting exhausted. The G.T road was under-construction process, and we were compelled to travel only at the speed of just 60-70 KM/Hr and thus the amusing jokes turned into a depressing discussion.

Punjab, India

Everyone was waiting to arrive at Delhi, but someone right said that “Dilli Duur Ast” [Delhi is far away] and we virtually felt that it was rightly said.

There were no signs of Delhi till 10 PM. We then had another tea break at Sonepat, at a truck hotel type of Dhaba, where there was a young driver named Aman who shocked us when he told that Delhi was still 3 hours away from us. Oh God! I thought,
“Dilli bohat (too) Duur Ast”

Passing through different small and big cities of Punjab I saw cycle-rickshaws, auto-rickshaw, liquor shops, temples, gurdawaras and females driving scooty-bikes, a scene that was new for us Pakistanis as I never saw a woman driving bike on a Pakistani road with such confidence. Put aside the confidence, I never witnessed such scene back home. But I was impressed by the self-confidence of these Punjabi girls, who were driving bikes on the main road without any sign of panic on their face which signifies their freedom and self-confidence.

Haveli, Jalandhar 

Finally! The moment arrived and we reached Delhi around 3 AM in the morning.
After a frenzied effort the driver was able to locate the place, where we were supposed to stay. Nearly at 4 AM, we reached at Sai Dham Dharamshala (The Guest House) and found our rooms.





It seems that the journey was over as we have reached our destination, but it was just a start…. Delhi was waiting for me. And I was waiting to explore the city.
But then I just fell on to the bed and tried catch some sleep. But despite of the long tiring journey, I was feeling so much energetic that I could not sleep.

I was living in a dream.

10 Poems by Arthur Rimbaud

Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud (20 October 1854 – 10 November 1891) was a French poet. Born in Charleville, Ardennes, he produced his best known works while still in his late teens—Victor Hugo described him at the time as "an infant Shakespeare"—and gave up creative writing altogether before the age of 21. As part of the decadent movement, Rimbaud influenced modern literature, music and art. He was known to have been a libertine and a restless soul, traveling extensively on three continents before his death from cancer less than a month after his 37th birthday.

Rimbaud's poetry is often seen as influential to the Symbolist, Dadaist and Surrealist movements, not only for its various themes, but also for its inventive use of form and language. French poet Paul Valéry stated that "all known literature is written in the language of common sense—except Rimbaud's."

A Winter Dream

In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage

With cushions of blue.

We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits

In each corner too.

You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass,

Grimacing shadows of evening,

Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past

Of black wolves and black demons.

Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard…

A little kiss, like a maddened spider,

Will run over your neck…

And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head,

–        And we’ll take our time finding that creature

–        Who travels so far…?

Dawn

I kissed the dawn of summer.

 

Nothing stirred before the palace. 

Water was motionless. 

Shadow claimed the woodland road. 

I walked, lively and with warm breath, noticing precious stones along the way; 

and wings rose without a sound.

 

First, I encountered a form full of freshness and light--a flower who told me her name.

 

I laughed at the bright waterfall pounding trees into disarray: 

at the silver summit, I perceived the goddess.

 

I lifted her veils, one by one. 

My arms trembled with delight. 

But across the plain,I denounced her to the cock. In the city, she fled among steeples and domes,

and I chased after like a beggar on the banks of marble.

 

On a little road near the forest, I bound her with gathered veils,

and gathered my courage to touch her colossal body.

At once, both dawn and child fell down at the woodpile.

 

On waking, I found that it was noon.

Departure

All is seen...
The vision gleams in the air.
All is had...
The distant sound of cities at night,
In sunlight, always.
All is known...
Chaos! Disorder!
These are the stuff of life.
Departure while love yet lingers,
And bright sounds.

Eternity

It's revealed once more. 
What? Eternity.
It's the sea run off 
with the sun.

 

Sentinel soul, 
Whisper your confession 
Of the empty night 
And the burning day.

 

From human approval, 
From common urges 
You must free yourself, 
And make your own way.

 

For from you alone, 
Satiny embers, 
Duty breathes 
Without anyone saying: finally!

There's no hope, 
No enlightenment. 
In the quest for knowledge, 
Only pain is certain.

 

It's revealed once more.
What? Eternity. 
It is the sea run off 
With the sun.

 

The First Encounter

 

She was only half-dressed
And equally bare trees tossed
Their few leaves against the window pane
Playfully and with reckless abandon.

 

Sprawling half naked in my desk chair,
Hands pressed modestly against her pale breasts,
She tapped small, delicate feet on the floor
Betraying sweet anticipation.

 

Her body was the color of wax, and I watched
As an eager little ray of light
Fluttered across her laughing lips,
Across her peeking breast, like an insect on the rose-bush.

 

I knelt and kissed her little ankles.
She laughed softly and produced
A perfect string of clear trills,
A delightful crystal laugh.

 

Her delicate feet disappeared 
Underneath her: "Stop! You're so naughty!"
Yet the first act of daring permitted,
She pretended to punish me only with a laugh!

 

I rose and kissed her eyelids softly.
They trembled beneath my lips, poor things:
And she tossed her head back, eyes shining...
"You're not trying to take advantage of me ... are you?

 

"If you are, darling, you know I'll have to--"
But I silenced the protest, dipping my mouth to her breast,
Which caused an explosion of ringing laughter
And she opened herself willingly...

 

She was only half-dressed
And equally bare trees tossed
Their few leaves against the window pane
Playfully and with reckless abandon.

Being Beauteous

Against a fall of snow, a Being Beautiful, and very tall.
Whistlings of death and circles of faint music
Make this adored body, swelling and trembling
Like a specter, rise...
Black and scarlet gashes burst in the gleaming flesh.
The true colors of life grow dark, 
Shimmering and separate
In the scaffolding, around the Vision.

Shiverings mutter and rise, 
And the furious taste of these effects is charged
With deadly whistlings and the raucous music
That the world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty...
She retreats, she rises up...
Oh! Our bones have put on new flesh, for love.

Oh ash-white face

Oh tousled hair

O crystal arms! 

On this cannot I mean to destroy myself
In a swirling of trees and soft air

Friends

Come, the Wines are off to the seaside,

and the waves by the million!

Look at wild bitter rolling from the mountain tops!

Let us reach, like good pilgrims, green-pillared Absinthe…

Myself: No more of these landscapes.

What is drunkenness, friends?

I had soon - rather, even - rot in the pond,

beneath the horrible scum, near the floating driftwood.

Romance

l

When you are seventeen you aren't really serious.
- One fine evening, you've had enough of beer and lemonade,
And the rowdy cafes with their dazzling lights!
- You go walking beneath the green lime trees of the promenade.

The lime trees smell good on fine evenings in June!
The air is so soft sometimes, you close your eyelids;
The wind, full of sounds, - the town's not far away -
Carries odors of vines, and odors of beer...

II

- Then you see a very tiny rag
Of dark blue, framed by a small branch,
Pierced by an unlucky star which is melting away
With soft little shivers, small, perfectly white...

June night! Seventeen! - You let yourself get drunk.
The sap is champagne and goes straight to your head...
You are wandering; you feel a kiss on your lips
Which quivers there like something small and alive...

III

Your mad heart goes Crusoeing through all the romances,
- When, under the light of a pale street lamp,
Passes a young girl with charming little airs,
In the shadow of her father's terrifying stiff collar...

And because you strike her as absurdly naif,
As she trots along in her little ankle boots,
She turns, wide awake, with a brisk movement...
And then cavatinas die on your lips...

IV

You're in love. Taken until the month of August.
You're in love - Your sonnets make Her laugh.
All your friends disappear; you are not quite the thing.
- Then your adored one, one evening, condescends to write to you...!

That evening,... - you go back again to the dazzling cafes,
You ask for beer or for lemonade...
- You are not really serious when you are seventeen
And there are green lime trees on the promenade...

Shame

So long as the blade has not 
Cut off that brain, 
That white, green and fatty parcel, 
Whose steam is never fresh, 
Ah ! He, should cut off his 
Nose, his lips, his ears, 
His belly! And abandon 
But no, truly, I believe that so long as 
The blade to his head, 
And the stone to his side, 
And the flame to his guts 
Have not done execution, the tiresome 
Child, the so stupid animal, 
Must never for an instant cease 
To cheat and betray 
And like a Rocky Mountain cat ; 
To make all places stink ! 
But still when he dies, 
O my God! 
May there rise up some prayer! 

Novel

I.

No one's serious at seventeen.
--On beautiful nights when beer and lemonade
And loud, blinding cafés are the last thing you need
--You stroll beneath green lindens on the promenade.

Lindens smell fine on fine June nights!
Sometimes the air is so sweet that you close your eyes;
The wind brings sounds--the town is near--
And carries scents of vineyards and beer. . .

II.

--Over there, framed by a branch
You can see a little patch of dark blue
Stung by a sinister star that fades
With faint quiverings, so small and white. . .

June nights! Seventeen!--Drink it in.
Sap is champagne; it goes to your head. . .
The mind wanders; you feel a kiss
On your lips, quivering like a living thing. . .

III.

The wild heart Crusoes through a thousand novels
--And when a young girl walks alluringly
Through a streetlamp's pale light, beneath the ominous shadow
Of her father's starched collar. . .

Because as she passes by, boot heels tapping,
She turns on a dime, eyes wide, 
Finding you too sweet to resist. . .
--And cavatinas die on your lips.

IV.

You're in love. Off the market till August.
You're in love.--Your sonnets make Her laugh.
Your friends are gone, you're bad news.
--Then, one night, your beloved, writes . . .!

That night . . . you return to the blinding cafés;
You order beer or lemonade. . .
--No one's serious at seventeen 
When lindens line the promenade

Enigmas! by Pablo Neruda

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Pablo Neruda (July 12, 1904 – September 23, 1973) was the pen name and, later, legal name of the Chilean writer and politician Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. With his works translated into many languages, Pablo Neruda is considered one of the greatest and most influential poets of the 20th century. He chose his pen name in honour of the famous Czech poet Jan Neruda.

Neruda was accomplished in a variety of styles ranging from erotically charged love poems like his collection Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Despair, surrealist poems, historical epics, and overtly political manifestos. In 1971 Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Colombian novelist Gabriel García Márquez once called him "the greatest poet of the 20th century in any language

He is my favorite poet. Enjoy his beautiful piece of poetry!

Enigmas


You've asked me what the lobster is weaving there with
his golden feet?
I reply, the ocean knows this.
You say, what is the ascidia waiting for in its transparent
bell? What is it waiting for?
I tell you it is waiting for time, like you.
You ask me whom the Macrocystis alga hugs in its arms?
Study, study it, at a certain hour, in a certain sea I know.
You question me about the wicked tusk of the narwhal,
and I reply by describing
how the sea unicorn with the harpoon in it dies.
You enquire about the kingfisher's feathers,
which tremble in the pure springs of the southern tides?
Or you've found in the cards a new question touching on
the crystal architecture
of the sea anemone, and you'll deal that to me now?
You want to understand the electric nature of the ocean
spines?
The armored stalactite that breaks as it walks?
The hook of the angler fish, the music stretched out
in the deep places like a thread in the water?

I want to tell you the ocean knows this, that life in its
jewel boxes
is endless as the sand, impossible to count, pure,
and among the blood-colored grapes time has made the
petal
hard and shiny, made the jellyfish full of light
and untied its knot, letting its musical threads fall
from a horn of plenty made of infinite mother-of-pearl.

I am nothing but the empty net which has gone on ahead
of human eyes, dead in those darknesses,
of fingers accustomed to the triangle, longitudes
on the timid globe of an orange.

I walked around as you do, investigating
the endless star,
and in my net, during the night, I woke up naked,
the only thing caught, a fish trapped inside the wind.


(Translated by Robert Bly)

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Running...!!

I was running with drops of sweat pouring down from my head to toe. I was unable to stop myself. I was running for my life. I wish I could look back but I was too terrified. Somebody was following me, trying to chase me but I didn’t have enough courage to look at it. I did not know what exactly was chasing me. It felt as if I was running between two railway lines. Was it the train hounding me? I wasn’t really sure. I knew i must run and continued to do so or else everything would be destroyed. Therefore, I kept running for myself and for my life. However, eventually I got tired, I couldn’t run any further. Had pain in my legs, was having difficulty in breathing, eyes were gradually closing and the whole thing seemed like the end. The last thing that came to my mind was that, that “thing” will pass over me and I’ll be finished.

I woke up!

“It was a dream,” I thought. Smiled at my own foolishness and went out.

It was the same old world for me. I roamed around in the streets. There was nobody in the street. I seemed to be astonished by it for the reason that I could merely hear voices. I could hear noise made by children playing. Some women bargaining with the Sabzi-walahs while other men walking around discussing politics and other various issues. I didn’t see anyone though. I could perceive every sort of voice one comes across in daily routine but was unable to see any person. Was there a problem with my eye-sight? No! I could witness the rest of the things i.e. buildings, narrow and wide streets, houses… in fact everything! What I couldn’t see was any flesh and blood being. Suddenly a dog barked. It made me feel as if that ferocious creature was barking directly at me whilst moving closer towards me.

I ran towards the main road to hoard myself. On the road, there was a lot of bustling traffic. The road was full of activity with the moving vehicles, cars, buses etc. At last I saw some life there. It was a sign of relief. However, it made me traumatized as there was nobody in those vehicles, cars and buses. Not even a single living being there. Yet again, their voices were there.

This sight was intolerable for me. I couldn’t resist or defy all this. I tried to follow the voices; I desperately wanted to see someone… Any-single-living-soul!! I ran wandering place to place, unfortunately, to my disappointment, I didn’t see anyone.

My entire struggle turned out to be ineffective. I got tired. My breath was breaking.  Out of the blue I heard laughing reverberation. From all corners I was hearing giggles. I sensed everyone laughing at me. Yes! Everyone WAS laughing at me. I couldn’t stand this nonsense. I tried to pay no attention to them, but they kept on laughing and then those laughs became intense. I covered my ears with both hands and ran away to one side. The voices were following me... I kept on running… running to escape... running for me life. And the voices are still following me.

Nostalgia (Part 2)

“What kind of question is this?” She gave me a weird look “I love him more than anything else, no matter in what condition he is, I love my son” saying that she picked up the cups and went inside. She wasn’t bothered by my question but she guessed by my gesture that I wasn’t listening to her. In fact I wasn’t present there. I was somewhere else. 

 I remembered, ten years ago, it was a monsoon evening when I came to this city, with dreams of “bright future” in my eyes. It was raining cats and dogs when I had reached here and swept under the shelter of a shop. I compared that rainy weather with the present time. Two rainy evenings... Now I had everything I wanted. But still there was something missing in my life. I had a home, a good job, a lovely wife and a son. This seemed to be an ideal picture on the canvas of life. We always seek happiness in others; we never search for it inside our souls. For people around me, I was very happy but my soul was wretched, I was shattered. And I was trying to collect the pieces of my shattered soul at this moment. There was some void inside me.

 I recalled my childhood, my family, my past and my first meeting with my partner. I thought I never existed in this world. It was just like a vacuum. Everyone who met me added a piece and made my personality... I was almost complete But still one part was missing... the peace of mind and soul…

(To be Continued) 

Nostalgia

“Look there” She said pointing her finger towards a kid, who was in rags, running in the street, flowing like a river. I was standing with her in the balcony of flat, Feeling the music of rain with mugs of coffee. It was raining since morning. After the hot and humid week, it was a gift of Lord for us. I was feeling dead inside, Rain was reincarnation for me. 

Birds were chanting, music of showers was soothing, drops of water falling on our faces, layers of clouds playing like kids on the sky, watching the unseen and feeling the warmth in rain. I felt life at that moment. “Oh! That’s life” instead of looking towards that creature in the street I replied to her looking at her deep shining eyes. “What are you thinking?” She felt something. “Nothing, Bust wondering,What else I expect from this life" I said "What do you think the people who bring ‘sun shine” in our life are more important or the one who provides shadow” She gave a sad smile and came more close to me. “Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain” I replied putting my mug aside.

After few moments of silence, she jumped and asked again “Do you like watching sun set at beach or dawning?” Instead of replying her question I asked her “Do you like watching your son standing at the door steps or you feel more comfort when he comes back and put his head in your lap?” ….. (To Be Continued)

..Life

You may have read many definitions of life, every time you find new words, new phenomenon, new ideology about life. but question remains the same. What is life? Life means Death! Really? Have you ever imagined You are alive just after your death? or heard something like that I am alive because I am dead. Or you can say I am not dead that's why I am alive.

Life .. is nothing... But just a life.. Why we always compare each and everything with other. Life with death, Joy with Sorrow, Black with White, this with that and blah blah! I always keep one thing in my mind, we should enjoy and take pleasure of being what we are. We always try to show off to other which we are not. We should always accept, accept what we are. and what we are? you know you are? then you should try to figure out who you are? why we are? and what will be we?

Life is struggle... struggle for what.. confused? Yes am also.. why we are struggling so much in life? for status? for love? for money? fo job? for family? nah.. we are struggle just for life.. Life is the other name of struggle.. the one who can not struggle for anything or gets everything in his bedroom is not a alive person. he is dead ! so in our whole life we are just struggling for our death and when we are successful and achieve our goals we depart from this life. life mean just living a life. nothing more than that! wish you a happy life.. ha ha ha

"Sorry"

I've heard it all before

I've heard it all before

I've heard it all before
I've heard it all before


I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know

Please don't say you're sorry
I've heard it all before
And I can take care of myself
I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know
Please don't say 'Forgive me'
I've seen it all before
And I can't take it anymore

I was listening to this song... several thoughts came across my mind... I don't wanna say... I don't wanna know? Don't say sorry... How can it be? Why should I don't say a single word to you!?

Sometimes... I feel solitude in the crowd of my friends... I like making friends... Every day I meet several new faces... But most of them don't remember my face... there was always a Heart... that beats for me... 

I tried to change the music, even tried to switch off! But I couldn't. Song was "ringing" in my mind. Mind or Heart? I couldn't differentiate. 

Even I do not dream about her. I do not want to live in the world of dreams. Sometimes give you strengths but Dreaming is the escape from reality. I feel that somebody is still with me... I talk, tease, cry and smile with her!

She is no more with me. and I do not wanna say "sorry" for the words I said, and for the words I didn't said, for the deeds I did and for what I didn't, for making her happy, for making her sad, for making her precious, for her cry and sorrow, for her love and hate, for her care and for her carelessness, and I do not want to say "Sorry" to her! Because she is with me. I can see her in monitor of my personal machine, I can feel her in the shining sun shine, I can see her smiling face in the blue moon, I can hear her in chanting birds, and I know she knows her worth! Worth of being my soul! I feel her in being me! So... I am not guilty of myself. So why I should apologize to myself!

But I am listening to her echoes 

 “Don’t wanna hear, I don't wanna know

Please don't say you're sorry

I've heard it all before

And I can take care of myself

I don't wanna hear, I don't wanna know”

Please don't say 'forgive me'

I've seen it all before

And I can't take it anymore"

who am I?

Who am I?

This is question of my life.
sometimes I think I rule the world and sometimes I feel the desire of being lonely
Who created me and why Im here in this world what is thepurpose of my life?
what makes me happy and why I became sad?
Questions are for questions?
but in the dept there is something.
I wake up in the morning take break fast. rushes towards office, listen the lecture of my boss daily, tease my collegues, and another blank day of my life passed!!!
thats all.
coming back to home also doesnt make me happy either.
b'coz no body is waiting for me at home.
My parents, my bro, my sis all r in Rawalpindi.
what am I doin here?
No answer.