2020, Confusion~ a new dimension!, Paintings and Scribblings, raw and rough

Hello, safe space?

Hmm. Here because everyone else shunned ya out? Uh-oh. Okay, what brings you here where you’re not even real. But reality can be so scary, you know that already. Never judge anyone on fearing it. For not being their harmless-for-others untrue self.

Still so complicated, your sentences. Ew. Told you I didn’t like poetry. The f with you.

Acha what brings you here then? Go on, I’ll listen. Wow, ehsaan much.

I read this poem from twenty seventeen. Was going through my archives to find something to letter. I did pick a line from it that you see in the photo above. And then put the poem in the caption. Read it out:

All our issues and one

When I should be elsewhere
Inside Dreams,
I lay awake instead, and
Assemble a questionnaire in my mind:
Everything that I have now yearned too long to ask you, I would;
“This is going to be a very, very honest conversation,” I will say.
It’s our final friendly law.
A sudden surge of happiness like a reflection of seven colors on my sooted heart—
If you call me again I might at least find my name
And as we’re talking, I will ask— no harsh feelings, hey!— but why did you think it was okay to do what you did?
How many others have you scarred the same way?
Alas! In the back of my mind the colors shift
A curtain closes
Rubbing the drama away in one swift move:
How will I know if you won’t still be lying?

Idk if the ending feels as clear to me now. I remember knowing back then also that it was vague but for me the meaning was clear. How will I know if you wont still be lying, huh? Ajeeb matlab. Duh.

ANYWAY. I’m ranting to not think but I’m thinking all sorts of things. With so much speed that it’s hard to catch up. Painful that I can’t take your and your and your name. Matlab pagal hi bana diya.

Sigh. My bud-dua or yours? I remember this other poem — feels like another life when I wrote those but hey, — and it talked about the dua part will remain even after nothing else does. And then I think I mocked it in the same tone. I totally meant the mocking, you know? Because you’d think it’s a “good dua” while it might not be? And other meanings so f it too.

It’s such an important day I don’t want to use a wrong word. Especially when I’ve kept the decency salamat so far. eh tainting the image now? No please. Wont even dare.

Phew. All our issues and one. This late night. This needed apology. This lack of understanding. And not me. For once, I’m not the issue.

2020, Paintings and Scribblings

I will go where my soul takes me

Putting my story in front of this huge canvas painting to appreciate the correlation between these two subjects — modes of art — and the spiritual connotation of each. “I will go where my soul takes me…” which I painted to show a juxtaposition of two realms, and a story showcasing the imagery of another world – with a dying man and a prophecy of eternity. ✨

2017, By the roaring waves!, Paintings and Scribblings, Poems and poetry


Secrets are gifts. They don’t belong just everywhere. A secret lives where lives Love.

I have my grandmother’s stories within me,
and my mother’s, and yours—
Why do I have yours?

I have someone else’s anger, a tragedy from another place in time
Where I wasn’t, where I’ll never be – except in the future of their past
that is already a memory
Numberless faces read out their stories and not one I could tell not to
Like I could not tell you

“I don’t want your stories!” I scream now when it’s too late—
Waking up from a dream, and sleeping into another
Why do I still find you near?

2016, Paintings and Scribblings

soft fumes/peace

A lot of peace. So much of peace.

When nothingness spreads. Takes over and fills in the empty corners inside
Cleanses nooks and corners of your body so your soul can feel holy there. Like it’s in a temple.

A sleep that isn’t your casual escape route. Where dreams don’t push each other like cars chasing in a traffic jam or kid’s throwing blocks in a basket. There’s no hurry and there is no chaos. No tiredness, just serenity. A relaxed mind. A relaxed reality.

No sharp red. No bright sun. Not the scary kind of dark. Not the scary kind of silent. The fear-free, worry-free zone. Nothing artificial nor too temporary. Nothing else. Just peace. The real, real kind of peace. (The one you write about when you want to feel a bit. Not the one we read to read.)




2015, Paintings and Scribblings, Urdu musings

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



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. )
2015, Paintings and Scribblings

A silent death.



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.

2014, 2015, Paintings and Scribblings

Escape (27.3.14)



2014, Paintings and Scribblings


2013, By the roaring waves!, Paintings and Scribblings

The Outsiders –

January 9, 2014. Midnight, clock out-of-reach.

It isn’t really that late, but almost everyone here is asleep. Covered under tonight’s blanket, they’re all searching inside their dreams. And I’m sitting here, scribbling outside.. my dreams.

A few cars still rush by, but the traffic isn’t noisy. The night is calm, and serene. It’s winter, so yes, very cold. But I like it. They all like it! Why, it was yesterday only that those four to five men sat by a fire on the roadside, the sky being their only roof, chatting happily. Happily, well, I hope. Maybe they were discussing life’s cruelties, or generally how busy they were during the day’s work, anything at all. I don’t know, I could only see them afar and wish they’d get themselves some hot cups of tea to feel better. Outsiders they were. Outsiders they’re.

Ammi‘s pink, pashmina shawl is what I’ve got wrapped around, to warm myself with. It gives me a cozy feeling, but the wind somehow still manages to seep through. And I like how they play- those chills- it makes me want to write, it makes me want to live.

Some crazy man shouted something down there. I don’t know what, or to whom, he just went away after that. A rickshaw honks somewhere, that too disturbing the night’s calm. Outsiders, how they leave momentary impacts.

Karachi is the city of lights, so it never really sleeps. But it’s probably too late now, because those lights that shone since hours on that tall building opposite from where I sit, have now been turned off. They were some tiny, colorful bulbs that decorated the entire building’s face, they do this every RabiUlAwwal.

Life is nothing without colors, colors are what bring life to life. But how we associate them for particular definitions! White is for enmity, but it also denotes peace. Such amazing antonyms they’ve grouped together…
He had once said, “Mout zindagi ki sab se barri muhafiz hy.” I didn’t know then what it meant, but it really puzzled me. Death is what ends life, how could it be a savior or protector, or anything that kind? He’s an old teacher, a strange mentor, Allah-walah. Outsider.

The sky is starless, the road’s almost empty. I must quit.


~ Previous night’s journal entry, because today’s prompt said so.