For I have chosen to dwell in a place you cannot see.



Morning notes☆



What am I without you?

A bag of bones;

A restless heart–
stopping just.

A cry unheard,
a sob.

silently packing way
into oblivion.
to unknown: nullity.

What am I without you?,
so see towards me.


A Look
That may last an eternity.

Painting by Freydoon Rassouli; an Iranian-Born, American abstract surrealist painter.


Before I wilt
Crush me
On your Palm
And let
My fragrance
Into your Skin
And be carried
Through your Veins
So that I
Dissolve Utterly
Into what
Is Ultimately

Painting by Freydoon Rassouli; an Iranian-Born, American abstract surrealist painter.


 اَلْحَمْدُ لِلهِ الَّذِيْ خَلَقَ النُّوْرَ مِنَ النُّوْرِ وَ اَنْزَلَ النُّوْرَ عَلَى الطُّوْرِ فِيْ‏ كِتَابٍ مَسْطُوْرٍ. فِيْ رَقٍّ مَنْشُوْرٍ بِقَدَرٍ مَقْدُوْرٍ عَلٰى نَبِيٍّ مَحْبُوْرٍ.


Painting by Freydoon Rassouli– an Iranian-born, American abstract surrealist painter.

  1. Desire.
  2. Al-desire.

Shutting old doors

Illusions. Mirages. Fantasies. There comes a time when you need to let go of the unreal things and start life anew. A friend, who wants to keep anonymity, wrote this piece a few days back and shared it with me. I like it because of the different perspective it gives and because sometimes, only written words can help you understand what nothing else can. This gave me hope.

There comes a time when you give up
Your old dreams, your unachieved goals
And surrender yourself to the reality.
No, not because you’re afraid or scared
But at some point in the chase
You get tired of running
Behind the unattainable.
You get tired of seeking shade
Under a mirage.
But remember, that moment of
Surrendering is not the end.
It’s far from being one.
It’s an opportunity,
A door to a new possible world.
Shut the broken unbolted door
With humility and grace.
And break open the new door
Take in the whiff of fresh air.
End the previous chapter
With the notes of complacency.
Start a new chapter,
With the ink of belief and faith.
Trust yourself.
There is a whole new universe
Of dreams spread out,
Waiting to be fancied.
And bazillion stars waiting
Impatiently to get into your
Bottle of fantasies.
And the instant you realize this
You gift yourself a new life.
Now, close your eyes
Imagine the vast night sky.
Do you see stars
Dangling up there,
With dreams perched on them?
Jump high!
A bit more higher!
Ah Yes! Pluck the one(s) you desire!
Then sow them in the
Fertile soil of your being.
Water them every day, patiently.
Nurture them, lovingly!
And one day, witness
Your stars, your dreams
Your fantasies, EXPLODE
Luminously and encompass
The world within you and around you
In its light!
The world you once thought,
Could never be illuminated
Ever again, will ignite
By your dreams, by your passion,
By your feet that never stopped.”

“We know you’re tired, tired and scared. Happens to everyone, okay? Just don’t let your feet stop”- Haruki Murakami


That night I fell in love with a voice. Only a voice. I wanted to hear nothing more. —Michael Ondaatje

With the voice now silenced, I remember only a silence today. A silence that screams like sirens in my ear. It does not stop. To make its presence known–as if I could forget it anyway–it keeps blaring. At first it whispers in my ear.

Like a snake.

Then it wraps me from head to toe; entraps me;

suffocates me!

It feeds on my mind, but doesn’t leave my heart. Makes my limbs go weak, makes me beg for relief, but also doesn’t leave my soul. It seeps in, like stale air, and spreads its stench everywhere. I feel I am brimming with silence now, and it finds no exit! I miss the voice— the one and only voice I have ever loved. But I am not sure if any part of me would remain to hear it again, if ever, it comes.


with the taste of metal
in my mouth

the purple wound

the cold that makes me

the liquid oozing out
from the wound

the threatening rhythmic sound
of the metal

the wet blanket
wrapped around my shoulders
which fails to protect me from the cold

Bandagi supardagi~

Insaan khuda banna chahta hae. Isay apnay wujood ki takmeel samajhta hae yani ke wo khudai hasil karay. Us ki paristish ki jaye din raat. Jism mandir, rooh zindagi! Subah kay sitaray ke chamaknay se raat ka chaand madham honay tak, shor se sannatay aur sannatay se shor tak, takleef me aur rahat me, har qadam sirf “ehsaas”. Aik aiteraaf. Aik naam. Koi kahay, aap aali maqaam! Inayat ho!

Kuch loug beharhaal ibadat nahi kar patay. Bandagi pe poora nahi utartay aur phir zamana unhain thokron pe chor deta hay. Aam mazahib ki tarah yahan bhi itaab nazil hota hay, aur sach maanye tou khudai ka dawa karnay walay inn lakhon khudaon me rehmaniat ki phir aik ramaq bhi baqi nahi rehti!


A silent death.

Traditions bind sometimes. You don’t follow them, they follow you.

Passion dies. Will to live dies. Silently accepting that, kills.

Self-doubt kills. Self-hate kills. Numbing oneself from observing such death kills, too!

 Fear holds, characters choke. Writers die. // Escape (27.3)
(Created Feb 9, 2015. )

Escape (27.3.14)


My colors cross yours

but our paths never meet.

Maybe we can finally run away

to some place far

and be free



Too often, the only escape is sleep art.

What To Write?


A collaborative heartspill on words and wordsnot.

Originally posted on Life Confusions:

This poem is as a result of collaboration between Maria And I. We were chatting and she suggested we should write something together but then we couldn’t decide what we should write about. So it just went from there and we came up with this. It was a pleasure writing this with her. Here is the final piece:

We can write about betrayal.
Or we can write about snow and fairies
We can write about a deep pit of sorrow
or we can write about rains that fall like mercies.

You are right, We can write about anything,
We can write about how life throws curve balls at you,
And then leaves you around to wallow in your misery
Or we can write about how beautiful it is,
The very small things,
Sunsets and the sunrises,
Flowers and the trees,
Birds and the bees,
Shooting stars, moon and the sea

View original 211 more words

The Unending Game


This… ♥

Originally posted on Random Thoughts:


As I stand on the sea-shore
With waves washing my feet
I drown into my pensive lanes
As I see them retreat

Million forms of the formless
And yet they are the same
Million colours of the colourless
Playing the same old game

Thousand waves that strike a day
Trying hard to gain some land
Endless efforts go in vain
Invincible stands the rule of sand

And then to roaring seas I ask
“What do you boast of all day
There is no song of glory to sing
You try in vain, the world does say”

Smiling at me the giant said
I seek no songs, no glories, no praise
All those are transient, they come and go
It is the joy that forever stays

Where is the joy you talk about
In this never ending game?
Never shall you gain an inch
The land shall forever be same


View original 83 more words

Black well


[50-word challenge. word prompts: luck, stone. Image: blackwell deception void via]

Of letters and dreams.

To you,

I had a dream today. It was beautiful. It was about you.

I wanted to tell you this when I woke up but I could not. So I am writing this down here.

Dreams are mostly formed for us to see what we desire. To satisfy us for a bit, and leave us staring at a void after that. Sometimes, like unfinished stories, they make us feel incomplete too. But this one was different.

It ended before it should have had, yes, but in a way that didn’t cause distress. I am hoping to see it complete in real life, just as smoothly, in a world where souls meet and not just ideas of them. I wish some angel clips it into a file and takes it to the Almighty over the seventh cloud and say: “Your person woke up happy after seeing this. She praises you for sending it, and prays you to bring it true. What say?” And He would say, yes. Kun.

I wanted to tell you this when I woke up but I could not. I don’t know if you dream of me too.

لقمہ، لقمہ اجل۔

تم نے اس کے منہ سے نوالہ کیوں چھینا؟ وہ کب سے بھوکی بیٹھی ہے تم نے اپنی بھوک میں اسکا حق مار ڈالا! ندیدی نہ ہو تو!۔

ماں نے بڑی بیٹی کو ڈانٹا۔ بڑی بیٹی جو چھہ سال کی تھی، اپنی سی چھوٹی دو سالہ بہن کو دیکھ کر زبان چڑانے لگی۔ جواب کچھ نہ دیا، البتہ آنکھیں کہتیں تھیں کہ امّاں! بھوک تو میری بھی نہیں مٹی۔۔۔


کچھ دیر بعد دونوں لڑکیاں سڑک کے کنارے کھیلنے میں مصروف ہوگئیں۔ بچپن کے انمول رنگوں کو اپنے مٹی میں اٹے، پھٹے کپڑوں کے دامن میں سمیٹتے ہوئے بھوک پیاس سب بھول کر اٹھکیلیاں کرنے لگیں۔ میں تمہیں پکڑوں گی نہیں تم مجھے نہیں پکڑ سکتیں، یہی شور ان کے ہنسنے کی آوازوں کے ساتھ چہار سو پھیل گیا گویا زندگی حسیں ہوگئی۔ ماں بھی سکون سے فٹ پاتھ پر ٹیک لگائے آنکھیں موند کر بیٹھ گئی۔

سچ ہے کوئی کب تک خالی کنویں میں جھانک جھانک کر روتا ہے؟ زندگی کا کام تو چلنا ہےسو وہ چلتی رہتی ہے۔۔۔

۔۔۔۔۔ـ ـ۔۔۔۔۔ ـ۔ ۔۔۔۔۔۔

تقریبا دس منٹ بعد اچانک ایک کالے رنگ کی بڑی پجارو فاصلہ پر آکر رکتی ہے۔ چھوٹی بچی کھیلنے میں مگن رہتی ہے جبکہ بڑی پورے انہماک سے گاڑی کی طرف تکنے لگتی ہے۔ پھر کسی سوچ کے تحت ادھر بڑھ جاتی ہے اور کھڑکی کھٹکا کر آواز دیتی ہے۔ صاب! اماری ماں بوت بیمار اے! وہ فٹ پاتھ پر آرام کرتی ماں کی طرف اشارہ کرتے ہوئے بولتی ہے۔ کچھ مدد کردو صاب! امیں کجھ روپیہ دے دو!۔۔

اپنی معصومانہ آواز میں منمناتے ہوئے اسے ایک دم خیال آتا ہے کہ کہیں صاب نے دو منٹ پہلے اسے بہن کے ساتھ کھیلتے ہوئے نہ دیکھ لیا ہوـ یا پھر کہیں امّاں نے ادھر دیکھ کر آواز لگادی توسارا جھوٹ پکڑا جائے گا اور بھیک بھی نہیں ملیگی۔ وہ جھٹ سے اللہ جی سے دعا کرتی ہے کہ ایسا نہ ہو اور پوری امید سے صاب کی طرف دیکھنے لگتی ہے۔

صاب جو پہلے سے اس جانب متوجہ ہوتے ہیں اسے پاس دیکھ کر خوشی سے مسکراتے ہیں۔ اور دروازہ کھول کر باہر نکل آتے ہیں۔

منّی! تمہیں پیسے چاہئے ہیں؟ آو میرے ساتھ چلو میں تمہیں جھولوں پر بھی لے جاونگا اور ایک پیاری سی فراک بھی دلواونگا! ادھر آو گاڑی میں۔۔۔ وہ اپنا ہاتھ آگے بڑھاتے ہیں۔ بڑی بیٹی جو انہیں حیرت سے دیکھ رہی ہوتی ہے، فورا ایک قدم پیچھے ہٹ جاتی ہے۔ اس نے تو اماں کی بیماری کا بہانہ بنایا تھا۔۔ انہیں کیسے پتہ چلا فراک کے بارے میں؟

ڈرو نہیں میں تمہیں ابھی واپس لے آونگا۔۔۔ آو میرے ساتھ! یہ کہتے ہوئے وہ اسے اپنے قریب کھینچھتے ہیں اور وہ جو اب تک ڈری رہی تھی، امّاں کو پکار اٹھتی ہے۔ امّاں بھی فورا ہی آنکھ کھول لیتی ہیں مگر اس سے پہلے کو وہ معاملہ سمجھ سکیں، صاحب بڑی بیٹی کو گاڑی میں دھکیل کر دروازہ بند کر چکے ہوتے ہیں۔ امّاں ہائے بچاوٗ بچاوٗ میری لڑکی کو کہاں لئے جا رہا ہے کہتے ہوئے اس جانب لپکتی ہیں اور گاڑی کے پیچھے پیدل بھاگنے لگتی ہیں۔ گاڑی والا تیزی سے فرار ہوجاتا ہے اور امّاں دل پکڑ کر رہ جاتی ہیں۔

آج ان کے سامنے سے ان کی بیٹی کسی وحشی کی بھوک کی نظر ہونے لگی ہے اور وہ بے بسی سے صرف خالی کنواں دیکھے جا تی ہیں۔

ــ ــ ـــ ـ ـــ ــ ـ ــ

13/03/15. ماریہ عمران

Foolish is he who what?

Hullo, butterfly!

I see you have planned to fly, and that too to no ordinary place but Cigám! But are you sure you want to do that? I mean, yes it looks green and pretty but you see, all which shines is not grass.

You want to leave behind your family, your own red flower and friends, but have you even considered the consequences of this journey? What if something damages your wings? What if it’s a journey towards doom?

Okay, I understand you obviously don’t care and would happily sacrifice a hundred more lives instead– or wings– had you been blessed with ’em (which is honestly unrealistic and highly sentimental a statement). But what you don’t see is how nobody ever comes out of there once they get in! Monsters live there, my fly! Maaunsters.

So, erm, are you sure you want to take this  huge lil’ step? [n]

Sonnet: Twenty days.

Twenty days you said it will take, twenty days for you to return
Twenty days of strife and wait, but never again, you swore
Twenty days and more have passed, since months I do now yearn
Flowers on the table set, I keep ajar my door.

It will get better, I tell myself, though future haunts me like a ghost,
Like a ghost does future haunt me now as I struggle to make past here.
No tiding came, no key, no hint; could you send a letter at most?
It is not just painful, devastating it is— to see a loved one disappear.

Practiced I have all words to say, prepared I am to forgive,
When you come you will find in spirits good, me offering all I may.
But it’s not a matter as simple as that, for I worry now where you live…
It’s a dark dark world of gloomy nights– sun brings forth a woeful day.

I hope you come and I hope you are well, hoping I fear I will die
For twenty days and more have passed, and I see no sign nigh.


P/N: Today is the last day of the writing 201 poetry challenge and I have really, really enjoyed doing this course.

That thing above is my first try at a sonnet and it follows the ABAB CDCD EFEF GG rhyme format, consists of 14 verses, an example of Chiasmus and well, some emotions. The prompt we were given to use was “future” and yes, I’d love to know what you think of it. :)

(Image via


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