I just wish them to have power over themselves

Latest

Disease

Do you know deficiency?
Or
The feeling of being deficient?
Do you know that real deficiency is far more curable…
Than the feeling of being deficient…

A Room of Her Own

Earlier, when she was a child

She was told

“No, you cant go alone anywhere, this world is too dangerous for you”

So wherever she went she had someone to accompany

Her brother, father, sometimes mother or sister

She wasn’t sent to a university, because “come on the world out there is too dangerous for a girl to be alone”

And then when she got married to almost a stranger

For the first year, wherever she went she was accompanied by her husband

Even at home she was never alone

In kitchen with the maid

In lounge with mother in law

And in bedroom with the husband

And then she had children

One, then two and then three

Her already packed day became busier, even more

And by the time she would get free

Her throbbing head, her bursting thoughts

Her lonely feelings would want her attention

And she was too tired to pay attention

And then her children grew up

Found their own lives

Became independent of her

Her busier day was suddenly a lot empty

But her throbbing head, her bursting thoughts, her lonely feelings

They were quiet now

And she, who finally found some time of her own

Knew not how to spend it…

 

No More

Dying passion and flickering flame
Both are quite similar
Just like a flickering flame, lights its last best, before extinguishing
Dying passion sees its, one last climax
And then….
No more!

I Write

I write
Without a form
Without commas or full stops or exclamation marks
Oh well, exclamation marks and dots are my favorite
I put them wherever and however I like.
I write
Without a structure
Without a beginning or an end
I write
without a technique
Prose, poetry, use of metaphor, similies
I don’t know anything about that
Yet, I write…

And my being is but a lost particle of dust (Meray Dard ko jo Zubaan Milay)

Meray ghum ko jo zuban

 

Disheveled soul of my scarred body

Cries out in pain, a song in vain

A voiceless song, that is

It echoes into nothingness

With obscured words

That even I don’t seem to understand

My ache doesn’t reach to my tongue

And I seem to be an unrecognizable particle of dust amidst too many

I am like ashes into the ruins of my own being

If the immense pain in my heart

The blood soaked scars,

and my aches find words

I will find myself from my own ruins

My lost being will have its name and its address

And if I find the address to my own being

I will find the orchestra, the soul of the universe

And finding this secret will break my silence

Will give voice to my unsaid tale

I will, then find the secrets of the world

Write down the chronicles of my pains

And when my silence finds the voice,

this world will become my kingdom

…And when my silence finds the voice,

and my pain finds the words,

I will own the treasures of here and beyond… then…

(And while translations/adaptations can never do justice to the real …I attempted on this one…each word of Faiz resonates with my being) this is somewhere between translation and adaptation…Sometimes, or at times, quite often we find ourselves not to be either here or there…Our beings oscillate into the gray, perpetually…

Out Beyond…

My dream of another world is not dead, yet
The blood in my veins is flowing, ever so red
Beaten, burnt, molested, abused,
but not defeated.
My soul is revived by each tear I shed
Tears are my message of defiance
and my heart beats, ever so violently
in struggle for the other world
I still think, the other world
can be…shall be..

Object

“He wanted to win elections

And he was the weaker one, he knew…

The candidate against him was far better placed.

The opposing candidate was my cousin too.

And unexpectedly he won

My husband. He won.

He had threatened my brother of my divorce, in case he failed to win.”

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