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

Sometimes,
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.

Freaking Fajitas

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.

Were you a dream?

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.

Life not life, More unedited.

mirage. embodiment of a faraway feeling. ethereal. magic. longing. desperation. void in a voice. void in a connection. a connection about slow failure. a connection of ultimate longing. endless, never reaching manzil. a breath taking view but also lungs constricting, tear inducing. sob in the pillow, drink down the scream. so tough. so lonely. so unloving. temporary peace. temporary laughter. temporary butterflies. hand out. reach out. get out.

No edits.

It still means a cold hard blow
cold hard blow on the heart
like someone hammers it into pieces
while looking sideways
you’re so hurt yourself, you say
it was never intentional to reach
here. this
now
is our collective mistake. or something from the universe
if only you could stop right now
if only you could go back in time
one last time back in time one last —
you’d do it again.

You would.

Frozen

Aik bohat bara khait hai jahan faslain tezi se jhoom rahi hain. Taiz, taiz hawa me jesay urr rahi hun. Aur zindagi isi dagar pe dourr rahi hai. Yun jo fast motion pictures hoti hain na? Bilkul wesa hai sab, jhapak jhapak me aas paas badaltey badaltay sab aik lagnay lagta hai. Jahan se shuru hua tha nuqta waheen aa kar teherta hai. Aur ye khait, wasee o areez lehlahata jhoomta hawa me urta khait… aik khud se bhi bohat bari baraf ki sil me qaid hai.

Frozen in an ice cube. A gigantic ice cube.

So being frozen within something so huge that is frozen too, doesn’t feel much. Until the ice breaks.

I dread the breaking time.

random blog 496

It’s so frustrating when you’re tryna find something but mil ke na de. I spent some hours I think, right now, just to find that journal first and then those papers from it. Matlab aasman kha gaya zameen nigal gayi. Pfft. It was this thing I wrote and I so badly needed it right now but looks like I tore those pages from that journal lest it gets lost in the pile (I have LOTS of js), and kept them somewhere where I would’ve thought back then ke yahan tou mai dekhungi hi. But now I have that journal and not those pages. Major sigh moment.

I also have thousands of papers so it’s not possible to check them all at least rn but what are my safe places? My drawer? Some folder? Gah man. There aren’t many options. Like I have some bags, this book cabinet and drawer (aka house of mess and treasures) and I’ve checked them all. I couldn’t have given it to my teacher even though we talked sth about it. What could have I done? Where. Tap tap tap.

I did find lots of poems though. Some letters. Doodles. Many lectures. And that kind of writing where you are simply jotting down your complex mind’s oodles. Is oodles a word? Looks like it is. But it doesn’t seem to fit here. You get the point though, no? My university journals are like history books. They contain so much randomness from my life because they had those, um what do you call it, segments kinda thing and I would use one for myself in each because even though I kept a separate notebook at first I realised I didn’t need to keep my journals JUST restricted to notes. Aaye such long sentences do I even make sense. Right now in front of me I have 10 pretty, spiral journals. Or notebooks, whatever you wanna call them. They’re diff sizes but all of them have beautiful covers. Random, traditional, artistic, that sort.

M said make dua agar wo cheez loutni hui tou miljaegi. Y also said ab wo achanak hi milay gi. So I’ve paused my search operation for now and instead wrote about it. Sigh again, isn’t that how we people deal with loss or things that hint of being/becoming unattainable?

Okay whatever. Too late now. Toodles.

—

UPDATE: FOUND IT. I SUDDENLY REMEMBERED IT WAS ANOTHER JOURNAL, LIKE THE SAME COVER BUT A BIGGER ONE AND THEN I WENT TO MY LIL ART ROOM AND IT WAS IN THAT NEW DRAWER. SAFE AND SOUND. Alhamdulillah ❤

I should’ve posted a better photo but you know what time it is?

the way to you

if difficulty is danger
and so is insecurity
anxiety-ish, that deep twist in the stomach,
if danger means this spikey knife
set in between (standing upright)
to pierce through my self-esteem,
self-confidence, self-whatmore
then the way to you is laced with danger
and I cannot miss the signs anymore

Another gold moment

… except that I haven’t shared the first one yet. But I’m doing it now, okay? Let’s start!

Spoiler: It’s about university. And becoming a gold medalist. Twice.

Okay so remember when I posted that ‘when you’re happy and you know it’ kinda post about happy news and desi reactions and all that? I totally meant to share the news itself as well later but… you know me, and I know me, and well, yeah. So what happened was that I topped from my department in my BA (Honors) course. And then, now that is, I topped again in my Masters. Woohoo, Alhamdulillah!

What were my subjects? Glad you asked. Because it’s funny I never shared anything here. Yikes, I mean. I always meant to, though. Just like how I always meant to write about my vacations last (se bhi last? will have to check) year, about meeting some fav people from the blog, about university life itself, about this and that and everything. I had to write. (And I did, y’know. Just not here. Just not on a paper or a screen.) Also, obviously, I had to write about why I didn’t write any of those or whatever which is getting boriiing now AND ANYWAY WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THIS GOLD MOMENT which means this should be a happy post and yayyy virtual cakes and all that. We were talking about my subjects?

My main one was URDU. YEP. Could have you guessed? I actually just tried to master (like, well technically I did just that so yeah?) my own language and I am super happy about that right now. My side subjects (also called minors/ subsidiary subs) were English literature and Psychology. And in the same duration I also did a two-year certificate and diploma course in Persian language. So as it looks, I was completely surrounded (entangled? absorbed?) with languages and literature, and then cultures and histories and zindagis and everything. It was a good time. Wait. I miss university.

But I also can’t wait for the good adventures ahead Inshaa Allah, and some day I’ll update you on that. Sup, you?

Diary of a 3:12 AM-er

Bohat arsay baad aik nazm likhnay lagi thi. Balkay likhnay kia lagi thi, wo nazm hi mujhay likh rahi thi. Unwaan tha ‘be-dili’. Aur phir pehla misra tumhe be-dili se sochnay par tha. Uskay bad aik khayal ata lekin shaam ke dhal janay aur khuwab ke ban janay ka darr… agay aik lafz kam reh gaya. Jo cigarette ka sar hota hai na? Usay masalna tha. Lekin na lafz aya na baat bani. Hath jo kehtay kehtay uper utha tha phir hawa me hi reh gaya. Bhai ne dekh kar poocha, “you are in love, right?” Mai munh bana ke reh gai.

I am in love, right? Duh I’m in love. With what, I don’t know. I am so disconnected from myself, or maybe I’m just so connected with myself that I’ve lost the ability to touch on the surface of things (or thoughts?) and say this is this and that is that. I can’t say these words are true. I can’t say they are not. I don’t know.

Kuch zamana beeta hai mai araam se nazmen likh sakti thi. Araam se tou nahi khair, jahan shairi hai wahan aaraam kahan. Magar phir bhi kabhi na kabhi. Aik khaas kefiyat hoti thi. Aisay tou mai pehlay kitabain bhi bohat parh leti thi ab arsa hua.

I just cannot. I haven’t read a proper book in a proper sitting like a proper reader since ages. The last was All the light we cannot see which is now in my taaaaaall pile of unfinished ones. I did translate a huge chapter though. It was on Islam and science and reason and modernism and everything like that. A good experience – both in terms of subject and skill.

It’s gonna be sehri time here. I made a fruit-oatmeal smoothie yesterday jiska oatmeal part no one liked and smoothie they all did. Lol. I heard it was healthy like that but I guess I’ll omit the oatmeal now.

Nah, I’m not much of a kitchen person. But it’s Ramadan, so… oh, happy Ramadan to you!

Midnight call.

Hello. I need help again today.

How many people ask you for help on this very day?

Well, hey, don’t put down the phone during any minute. I have so much to say.

I feel like crying today. I feel like crying a lot. I don’t know. Remember that person?

You know, I was very happy today. I was very happy until later when this started. You know, I would have closed everything down, shut myself to the sweet escape but right now, I am talking to you. Because I’m so done with running away. I run to reach the same place every freaking time. I am so done.

Hello? Please say something else. I know you get me. I know you understand. I am already breathing, I am not dying. And by the way, I can never actually commit suicide, like ever. Inshaa Allah as well but like never.

Okay, I am listening. But I am not done yet?

You listen to me. I wrote my first poem today. It was so painful it was exhilarating. 

You listen to me. I wrote my last poem today. It was only painful.

You listen to me. I never intended to take it all so seriously.

You listen to me. I miss every dead person on earth tonight. I can feel the graveyard wind inside me. The sad laughter of the sister killed for honor. The sad laughter of the struggling maid. The sad laughter of the parents of the raped child. The sad laughter of the fallen bird. The hollow dread of a Justin Cronin novel.

I haven’t read in ages. I have a viva tomorrow. Remember I told you I loved exams for their distracting power? I don’t right now because it’s not working.

I can hear his chair creaking. I know he is sitting in the last room by the staircase with a pack of cigarettes. You know I hate cigarettes. But how would you know? You’re just a therapist. A listener, that’s all. A dead phone line.

all that

a g i t a t i o n

This time of the year you want to give up. You are so done. You could pack a bag and scurry off to the hills or something… even though this wasn’t what you wanted. But if you could find peace in any form you’ll want to go after it.

You are happy. You are laughing. You are making others laugh. There are fun sounds and dramatic gestures and such a sacred feeling of gratefulness it scares you.

You can see the mess. You know what it is even when you’re tapping your fingers on the keyboard pretending you can’t find the word you know you know the word, you know it’s called s t r u g g l e and sometimes it’s a name and sometimes, it’s a silly count of all your poems you never had the guts to share. When you end a day and begin another, you pat yourself on the shoulder because you can cut one on the self-help calendar in your mind, now it’s just 37 more days. After that, you will probably come up with another idea.

I wish I could tell you your burden is not your own but everyone’s collective burden is hell so yours is yours alone. Though there’s still some hope because – oh, I don’t know. But there is a heaven as well so there should be.

Just Another Night – not.

I close my eyes and consciously direct my mind to rest. Settle, nerves. Breathe. It’s okay. And while they are closed, I let them see just black. Black that is absence but black that is peaceful right now. Breathe. There’s nothing to worry about, you know that. You are used to this.

The air is actually fresh and not bitter. There’s no weight on my chest, or maybe just a bit. Isn’t it funny how you have started to visualise him when he’s not actually here? Is it? However, this is just a phase and phases change. Like people change and well, they don’t come back like that. You will learn it with time. It’s been a lot but just some more.

Sigh.

Open now.

 

“You—you stayed?”

strang(l)e

A heavy mess you can’t vomit out.
A tight knot in your stomach that limits the entire storm starting from the hollow, constricting feeling in your chest, into this one body. And just inside, so only you can know its intensity and nobody else. Of course we can have universes inside us, sometimes it’s just a black hole.
Why is the air here not enough?
You created art and destroyed it just as soon, thinking, “Now it makes sense.” But what makes sense? — you won’t even ask that twice. (Hidden) 

kāˌäs

The  solid  mass  that  a  jungle  of  scribbled  lines  create.   That  shapeless  bunch  of  black  with  white  gaps,  that  disorderly  pen  creation.   That  is  what  anxiety  forms in heart.   Just puts it there on the floor—the weighty bundle of chaos. I  was  wondering  if  I  could  put this emotion  into  words  while  I  felt  it.  And  if  it  would,  in  any  way,  lessen  it.   Guess  it  didn’t~

harmonize

01:01

A shadow of a portion of trees falling on the road, moving continuously with the wind. And I see two yellow bulbs hanging from the lower branches. For no reason, it makes me think of you.

It rained recently. It was so beautiful, started something around five in the evening. The best, best part was the beginning. You stand there and look from your gallery, and it’s this powerful shower and this serene noise, and this washed green, and happy faces; busy, happy city. It’s the kind of chaos you want to melt into.

I have mixed night and day here in the writing. But it’s kind of like that these days. So mixed. I try and fail, cannot hold any end of this string. It’s not bad but it’s not good either. More like the “middle” of a process. Boring, slow, confusing, but not extremely pathetic. Because you know what comes from a thing like that and well, you’re looking forward to it…