It’s suddenly so cold.
I’ll always miss you.
Will I always miss you?
It’s suddenly so cold.
I’ll always miss you.
Will I always miss you?
Almost all of me if not all of me. The mess and the best. The random and the abstract. Hundred and one.
I saw you in a dream. Again. How many times I think about taking your name but dust it off, it’s not possible. It’s not good. It’s not useful either.
I saw you in a dream again and it was so real. Like our two separate lives. Manind e Khushfehmi. I ask him “haal e shuma chitoray” and he takes his time. I imagine him opening a new tab. He searches for it and replies: “theek Alhamdulillah.”
I am already 4 languages down but it doesn’t create a mess in me anymore. The loudest is the language of art only. And some day I will tell you it was the soul’s.
Tum ho ke mai?
Ye batain saari jhoot hain ya sachh? Kia pata sachh keh kar dhoka hojaye. Kia pata jhoot hi sara sachha ho?
Tum samajhtay rahay tum maseeha ho
Kia pata kuch anokha ye qissa ho
Kia pata tum jis talaash per niklay, mai uskey dusray siray pe kharay jab tumhara intizar kartay thak jaun tou tum se kaheen agaay nikal jaun.
Tum samajhtay rahogay mai palat aungi kyunke tumhe lagta hai tum maseeha ho
Mera Maseeha mujhay tor kar jor deta hai. Lekin tumhe kia dikhata hai? Jhoot? Ya sachh?
Kia pata Uski Maseehai tumhe bhi lag jaye. Kia pata tumhe maafi mil jaye
Kia pata kabhi tum mujhay maseeha samjho.
Kia pata tum is uljhan se kabhi na niklo
All of the songs
All of the words
All of the art
All of the time
All of the dreams
You took away
All of the flaws now
What do I do
I read this again today. Because of course, it’s the day. Three years to Taye Abba. Just three!!! It feels like forever. I am feeling a mix of things right now esp. because of going through that old one.
I got featured on TV for something recently so Tayi ammi called me to congratulate about that. She said your taye abba would have been so proud of you. Like he always was. And in that moment I said thank you, tayi ammi, it feels special to me that you would say that.
It’s like everyone in the khaandaan finds moments to think and talk of him randomly. He is still very much there in that sense but DEATH does this THING. Death tears everything apart and it’s not true. Nothing after it is true so there’s that.
Anyway, another Ramadan is here. I don’t even have anything else to add right now.
But how these streaks enfold.
There is light!
It’s a heart of gold.
God, is this where you meet?
Kia yaar. Kisi cheez me bhi hoti muhabbat me munafiqat na hoti.
Tum ne udhar aasman pe bithaya aur dil ka darwaza kheench liya. Lo gir gaye. Par girnay pe maaloom hua ab peron talay zameen bhi nahi rahi thi. Socho kitni chot ayi hogi.
Kon sa saal chal raha hai tum kis saal ki yaad ho? Pata nahee wo azaab jhelay bhi waqt hogaya. Sadyan tou nahee beeteen par neendain beet gayeen.
Na ansu na dua na guzarish na shikayat. Sirf aik kasak. Ya Muhabbat kartay ya Munafiq hotay.
“You are keeping him from forgiveness because you don’t want to let go of him. This is your excuse for keeping his memory intact – the wound doesn’t even exist anymore!”
“What rubbish! No. The wound does exist, how can it not? I can fill all my heart but that tiny void. His grave. And he must pay for it. If not here then there. But I…” she paused for a moment: “I must keep him answerable until then.”
“Dead use graves. Let him die for once.”
Bring me to my paint brushes when I am away from home.
Remind me of this freedom when I am crying of suffocation.
If my hand is pulling for a noose and my eyes are blinded by rushing streams
Gently hold me by my shoulders, guide me to art and silence,
And give me enough time.
I will hopefully carve out a creation out of chaos.
(I mean, actually inshaa Allah and aameen to that. It’s…like…an actual thing)
No really. Hide and die is all there is? Freaking FREAKING fajitas. Bullets and skin shreds. Gore.
Soft blue. Slimy yellow. Yuck.
Everything. EVERY FREAKING THING. Incomplete.
Or were you not? Will there be a way to find out?
Hashar uthay ga raaz khulay ga. Raaz khul gaya tou izzat rahegi?
Smiling there, standing tall. It’s only a moment’s time until you fall.
Heck that rhyme.
When poetry falls silent
Mushairon ko aag lag jayegi
Thunder songs and then: sannaata
THEN. Then silence will screech.
I never told you and never heard it. But when morning sun rises its especially assigned metaphor does too. Bless hope. Burn hope.
I never told you but I wonder if you kind of knew. You know, kind of. And wonder is the keyword. Because what else are we capable of? Oh existential dread.
I want to write something poetic. If I thought of you long enough, maybe I could. But who has the energy? I mean, even you would know that. Neither of us.
Meray kuch khuwab hain
Unhe tum khareed lo
Umeedon ke jitnay rang
Zang pakaranay lagay hain
Un ka mai tou kia karun?
Tum samait lo
Beshak khali booseeda bastay me band kar ke chor do
Kaheen phaink do
Magar inhe zinda dargor hotay mai dekh nahi sakti
Ye zimmedari mai sahaar nahi sakti
So isay tum apnay sar le lo
Ye aik qatal meray naam pe
Meray maazi, meray haal, meray mustaqil ke sitaron jugnuon titliyun ka tum kardo
Aur akhir me
Apnay se jurri har yaad
Is zaat ka har raaz
Dua, aansoo, hansi, marzi
Jala kar khaak kardo
Meri haar amar kardo
Ouay huay huay yaar. What sadness mashaAllah. Like not exactly sadness – and here I am tryna put on a nice and decent facade – honestly well I don’t like this pronunciation of the word and would rather it be called faCAde please. Acha khair.
So basically I have been somewhat stressed. This time I’m not even talking to the anonymous listener kinda thing though the fact that I was reminded of them today speaks to me about the obvious halat. Other things also remind me of that because I remember being in this phase before. For other reasons but I remember this and I am imagining if this is stronger in any sense now. Because of any and everything at its root.
Do you mind talking about sadness? Is it a hard topic for you? I have been teaching some Japanese students and I give them a few personal writing exercises and man, what an experience that is. Like I am allowed to do that but I won’t cross that line and still enjoy a glimpse into THAT creative side. Pretty wow you know.
Also what else. We have another book fair at university these days, tomorrow being its last day. My voice is kharab suddenly, the kind of it some people like especially. Today we went to a mall. I don’t like malls I dunno why. But we had fun. I guess it’s shopping that I don’t like. And whatever. Etc means ends of thinking capacity aka spare me because I’m not bound to complete this sentence. Uff.
Okay anyway. Here’s to speaking better some other day. Allah bhailay.
OH ALSO I read a book after AGES matlab can you believe that? I had 100% stopped reading – actually not hundred because I tried and all that but it must’ve been like do saal or so. And I read Dan Brown this week. Such a good feel, seriously.
Also I WROTE after so long. Matlab I was going back home and chaltay chaltay I change my direction and there is this huge sports ground and I start in its direction and then I am sitting on that stair type (mundair? but better) and I open my bag, take out enough content until I can pick this black notebook and WRITE. I write in roman angraizi because it’s really a mix of Urdu and English and I vent. Like now but more secretive. And I get it off (only to that very extent as it goes) and bus. I put it all back and continue on my way and take a bus and go home.
Acha khair. Allah bhailay for reals now