Truly Yours.

To you, I want to give flowers–I don’t mind that being cliched–

Roses, wrapped in ribbons. Letters, soaked in perfume. Stars.

Unnecessary though it might be, I want to tell you again and so often

Love, how much I have come to love you that I’ve now begun to live you.

Your thought is my drug, your memory is heaven’s mercy,

Your presence is an air without which my lungs parch up.

Oh the Sun of my universe, the Light of my soul!

Undying is my adoration–like a forever flowing ocean.

Remember this: my gift to you is my heart. I am yours.

Some day you’ll see. Some day, we will be.

Written in response to Writing 201 challenge: write something about a gift, use a simile. Poem form: acrostic. (The first letters of each line together form a special word which is the theme here.) Hi.

Lost in losing.

cry for help: unheard

you were so busy scrolling

mom. she needed you.

needed_raHaiku #14 ~ Written in response to writing challenge 201: write a poem about/against/in homage to the screens in your life using alliteration somewhere in 5-7-5 format. They used the words ‘addictive, comforting, inescapable’ for its glow. I’ll add destructive, distancing, and definitely depressing to it. Image via

From last course: Bestow, please.

Not made for each other.

You see those two people standing in the room? One a figure so delicate it looks almost breakable, her sight stretched to faraway lands as she gazes from the frosty window; beyond past, present, or to-be. The other stands by the foot of their bed and stares plaintively at the floor, or sometimes at the creased cover-sheets on the bed which they both use. His hand is in his hair.

These two people—I don’t call them a couple. I call them apologies.

You will see now that the man will walk to the window, slowly, and stop a foot away from her. Then he will put his hand on her shoulder. She will turn back immediately, but not too quickly, and they will both just stand there for a moment until she realizes that he is smiling–that his smile contains every bit of sorrow there is in the world–and then she’ll smile too. Hers will be weaker, like something one would give after accepting the uncaring atrocity of life every day, but neither of them would care.

This will be done casually every other day.

You will find that the space of nothing between them has sucked air so much that in order to breathe, you will have to struggle. You will notice that it doesn’t affect them.

You will find that their eyes are empty but their hearts aren’t. They sympathize sometimes, like they did a while ago, and silently assure one another that it is not and will not be okay, but they will see to it until the end. They won’t complain nor hate. Sometimes he would kiss her lightly on the cheek and she would smile. (A year ago she would’ve had spent hours in the bathroom scrubbing, scratching away the kiss and crying. But this doesn’t happen now.)

You will see that it’s not regret that has settled in as a mountain between them. It’s not a grudge that has separated their ways like a sea in between. It’s not the absence of effort. It’s not that. But it still is.


That is the future I see of ourselves. Pardon me for saying so but it’s true.

Sauces. #2


Should I delete myself or should I delete other things?


What could be more complicated than a mind? When one enters, one loses most of it.


You say it looks like I’m spending a lot of time in my head thinking about life. Aren’t others doing that too? Why not?

Is it bad?

How do you think one would keep on running when they’ve found a shoelace that has come off loose? You want us to fall?

We are mice. Mad mice in a maze. There’s music outside. We don’t know where to go.


Gibberish is the language that understands me. I have so much to say but it doesn’t come how you would want to hear. I am trying to find a way.

Sauces. #1, Trap.

Fifth blogversary! (6/9/15)


randomlyabstract turns five today.

it’s kind of a mess right now, tbh. i also deleted the first one i wrote today. but for the sake of all them cool times i’ve had and people i’ve met and things i’ve written and read and enjoyed and the whole journey which helped me know and grow and stuff, here are free imaginary pizzas and desserts and chocolates and balloons!

thank you everyone for being there. please write a nicer celebratory post on yours.

love, Me.

flut·ter·in no·more

people so passionate,
their hearts thrumming against their chests
as new ideas play their flutes
and the visions of their imagined golden outcomes
lift their feet to the skies.
gleam in their eyes
and words fall from their mouths so easily: the earth is their pillow.
they need not fear the world because the world fears them.
while i,
on the other end,
put my head on my knees and cry by the unknowing river
because the butterfly i had once sheltered in the cave of my stomach
has died of dark and doesn’t flutter.

Daam-e-deevangi—دامِ دیوانگی

خوف، غم اورجستجو کی تنگ گلیوں سے نکل کر

کوئی رنگوں میں کھوئے اب ناچنے لگا ہے

اسکے پیروں پر بندھی رسی کُھل کر اتر جو گئی ہے

اور اب ایک پایل

چھن، چھن، چھن بولتا ہے۔

شور مچتا ہے پر آوازوں کی دنیا خالی ہے، کچھ ہے جو آسمانوں سے اتر کر رقص کرتا ہے

کچھ ہے جو

پیچھے سایوں میں چھپ کر روتا ہے۔

اندھیرا اب ختم ہے تو روشنیوں کی چکاچوند بھی بیکار ہے

مگر دل نہ جانے کس کی تھاپ پر نکلنے کو بیقرار ہے

ایسا لگتا ہے جیسے تمام عالم

اس ایک لمحہ کی چاہ میں سب ہی وارنے کو تیار ہے۔

Khauf, gham, aur justuju ki tang galyon se nikal kar, koi rangon me khoye ab nachnay laga hae

Uskay pairon par bandhi rassi khul kar utar jo gai hae

Aur ab aik payal

Chann, chann, chann bolta hae.


Shor machta hae par awazon ki dunya khali hae, kuch hae jo asmaanon se utar kar raqs karta hae

Kuch hae jo

Peechay sayon me chupa rota hae.


Andhaira ab khatam hae tou roshnion ki chaka-chond bhi baikar hae

Magar dil na janay kis ki thaap par nikalnay ko beqaraar hae

Aesa lagta hae jesay tamaam alam

Is aik lamhay ki chah me sab hi waarnay ko tayyar hae.

ماریہ عمران



I want to say something nice to you.

Light like a feather, comforting like a raindrop

Like night, your own. I want to let you hide how you want to

but I also want to help you come out of your hole and be,

what you want to be. I want to gift you all the courage in the world,

and stay by you to see. I know you will do wonders

if only you understand you’re free.

You can’t play with matches, but you can play with hearts.

Nighttime’s longish plain hours.
I stare at the sky but don’t see you. Instead
it is the vastness of blue patterns with glistening silver balls:
on repeat, on repeat, on repeat.
I sit on the grass.

Life for me has been simple,
much like that of stars.
They stand at their place among millions, and shine
bright some days and not-so-bright the rest,
waiting to be wrapped
into the Eternal Blanket at last.
They don’t reach the Moon like I can’t reach You.
I can’t move.

And the desire–only the desire fills me with so much fear I tremble like a sick man
with its fever.
I will embrace a sadder ending, I guess.

I stand.
I walk on the grass and tell you in my heart how I love
the wet, tickling feel of it.
I wish you were here but I wish I would stop wishing that soon.
I need to move on, like we all do.

I never knew where I was heading to until I found myself
stranded and alone.

I have missed your presence on many occasions.

I have known the void–the unfillable void–
and I’ve tried everything in my power to help it.
Only, it just grows.

They tell us not to play with matches.
Why don’t they teach us ways of protecting and surviving instead?
If you can list me horrors of things that could bring harm,
why can’t you freaking save me? Or tell a remedy?

Fire burns, yes. But so do feelings.
Did nobody tell you: you should not incite in others what you have no intention of serving?
That breaking hearts is just as lethal, that being in someone’s tears
just as dangerous as is blissful being in prayers?

Stars disappear every day, seeing life after dark after life
after dark.
You won’t care if I tell you how I do, too.



Stuck In this labyrinth you call life; A series of unsurprising oddities and I, Unable to find the exit door. – The liquid in this bottle is stinky. My hands tremble so.

Father’s Day

When the baby was given in her hands, the mother let out a scream of joy. A flood rolled down her eyes and laughters full of life and love echoed all about. She was standing on the gates of heaven.

When the baby was shown to the father, he refused to pick her up. A daughter, oh? Not mine. He stayed as quiet as a ghost until they were in the hospital ward, and only became a devil when they reached home. This, he pointed to the bundle of new breathes, is not to live here. Take the filth away!

That day, a TV set broke. A row of perfume bottles was thrown to the floor. A knife was shown to threaten the weaker sex. Curse words were gifted. Tears were shed. Hell visited house.

That day, mother didn’t leave. That day, baby didn’t weep. That day, my father didn’t sleep.


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