2015, Urdu musings

Tumharay Naam.

Haan tou nahi ho na tum paas. Main ne kia karna hai. Jeena hai. Aur wesay tumharay baghair koi mar bhi nahi rahi. Tum ne kaha tha na koi nahi marta kisi ke liye. Theek hi kaha tha. Main subah uthti hun, kaam pe jaati hun, ghar aati hun tou bachchon ko dekh leti hun. Sab kuch tou wesa hi hai. Bus tum nahi ho aur sach me ab tou mujhe farq bhi nahi parta. Mein yaad nahi karti tumhain. Kabhi ek lamhay ko shayad kar bhi leti hongi magar yaad nahi. Aakhri baar sadiyon pehley roi thi. Ab seekh lia hai mein ne kisi kay liye na ronay ka dhang. Aa gaya hai mujhe sab kuch. Sab kuch. Sab kuch. Sab. Sab.                    Tumhain batana chahti hun ke yahan sab khair hai. Meri beti aur mera beta dono theek hain. Mazay me hain. Hamaray pas khanay ko aik se aik cheez hoti hai. Kabhi khali pait taraptay nahi sotay. Ye loug school jatay hain, kaam me haath bhi bataty hain, shikayat nahi kartay. Hum me se koi bhi shikayat nahi karta. Khush rehna seekh gaye hain. Rehm nahi mangtay. Apna apna jeetay hain. Saath detay hain. Bohat si cheezon me saath detay hain…
Tumharay honay na honay se koi farq nahi parta. Waqai nahi parta. Ab ye na samajhna kay bar bar duhraa kar jataa rahi hun taakay tumhain bura lagay. Nahi mein sirf tumharay sukoon ke liye bata rahi hun ke kabhi tum palatt kar aanay ka socho tou uss khayal ko bhi phaansi de dena. Hamari zindagiyan tabah mat karna. Dekho hum sab bohat khush hain. Main tumhain yaad bhi nahi karti ab.

Kia tum wahan khush ho? Wo tumara khayal rakhti hai? Tum ab bhi khanay me bhindi aur gosht shoq se khatay ho? Raat ko beech me uth kar paani peetay ho? Cigarette lena chhor di hai? Na chhori ho tou ab chhor do. Ye zindagi ko khatam karti hai. Wese mujhe farq nahi parta matlab mujhe farq hi kia parna hai! Mujhe tou us ki boo bhi nahi aati ab. Soch rahi hun kabhi mera beta naa piye. Usay hargiz aisa nahi karne dungi. Tum apne ird gird kay logon ka khayal rakhna.                         Raat kaafi nikal gayi hai. Chalti hun.

This is a transliterated version of تمہارے نام [Thank you, Mahaah, for typing it out.]

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2015, Urdu musings

تمہارے نام۔

ہاں تو نہیں ہو نا تم پاس۔  میں نے کیا کرنا ہے۔  جینا ہے۔  اور ویسے تمہارے بغیر کوئی مر بھی نہیں رہی۔  تم نے کہا تھا نا کوئی نہیں مرتا کسی کے لئے۔  ٹھیک ہی کہا تھا۔  میں صبح اٹھتی ہوں، کام پہ جاتی ہوں، گھرآتی ہوں تو بچوں کو دیکھ لیتی ہوں۔ سب کچھ تو ویسا ہی ہے۔  بس تم نہیں ہو اور سچ میں اب تو مجھے فرق بھی نہیں پڑتا۔  میں یاد نہیں کرتی تمہیں۔  کبھی ایک لمحہ کو شاید کربھی لیتی ہوںگی مگر یاد نہیں۔  آخری بار صدیوں پہلے روئی تھی۔  اب سیکھ لیا ہے میں نے کسی کے لئے نہ رونے کا ڈھنگ۔  آگیا ہے مجھے سب کچھ۔  سب کچھ۔  سب کچھ۔  سب۔  سب۔           تمہیں بتانا چاہتی ہوں کہ ہہاں سب خیر ہے۔  میری بیٹی اور میرا بیٹا دونوں ٹھیک ہیں۔  مزے میں ہیں۔  ہمارے پاس کھانے کو ایک سے ایک چیز ہوتی ہے۔  کبھی خالی پیٹ تڑپتے نہیں سوتے۔  یہ لوگ اسکول جاتے ہیں، کام میں ہاتھ بھی بٹاتے ہیں، شکایت نہیں کرتے۔  ہم میں سے کوئی بھی شکایت نہیں کرتا۔  خوش رہنا سیکھ گئے ہیں۔  رحم نہیں مانگتے۔  اپنا اپنا جیتے ہیں۔  ساتھ دیتے ہیں۔  بہت سی چیزوں میں ساتھ دیتے ہیں۔۔۔     تمہارے ہونے نہ ہونے سے کوئی فرق نہیں پڑتا۔  واقعی نہیں پڑتا۔  اب یہ نہ سمجھنا کہ بار بار دہرا کر جتا رہی ہوں تاکہ تمہیں برا لگے۔  نہیں میں صرف تمہیں تمہارے سکون کے لئے بتا رہی ہوں کہ کبھی تم پلٹ کر آنے کا سوچو تو اُس خیال کو بھی پھانسی دے دینا۔  ہماری زندگیاں تباہ مت کرنا۔  دیکھو ہم سب بہت خوش ہیں۔  میں تمہیں یاد بھی نہیں کرتی اب۔

تم کیا وہاں خوش ہو؟  وہ تمہارا خیال رکھتی ہے؟  تم اب بھی کھانے میں بھنڈی اور گوشت شوق سے کھاتے ہو؟  رات کو بیچ میں اٹھ کر پانی پیتے ہو؟  سگریٹ لینا چھوڑ دی ہے؟  نہ چھوڑی ہو تو اب چھوڑ دو۔  یہ زندگی کو ختم کرتی ہے۔  ویسے مجھے فرق نہیں پڑتا مطلب مجھے فرق ہی کیا پڑنا ہے!  مجھے تو اس کی بُو بھی نہیں آتی اب۔  سوچ رہی ہوں  کبھی میرا بیٹا نہ پئے۔  اسے ہرگز ایسا نہیں کرنے دونگی۔    تم اپنے اردگرد کے لوگوں کا خیال رکھنا۔                                                رات کافی نکل گئی ہے۔  چلتی ہوں۔

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2015, My Writings

Conversations.

You can stop searching.
 
I am who I am. I am not yours.
 
I never was.
 
You should go away.
 
And never look back.
 
So?
 
GO!
 
Go.
 
Go…
Yes, I think I should stop searching.
 
Yes, you are who you are. Not mine.
 
You never were.
 
I should. I should go away.
 
And never look back.
 
Send me.
 
I am yours.
 
I am yours.
 
I will always be yours.
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2015, Poems and poetry

Sad whispers of the mo(u)rning…

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Move him gently

Anything might rouse him now.

No prayers nor bells

Nor any voice of mourning.

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells,

And bugles calling.

I should die, I think.

His face bears a wrinkled smile of completeness.

From this heart: all evil shed away.

But his sights and sounds; dreams happy as day;

And laughter?

Is he so hard to stir? Was it for this

That he slept at all?

Did he sleep at all for this?

 

(Written in response to Writing Challenge 201: Found Poem. This is a kind of poetry composed of words and letters you’ve collected from elsewhere, and arranged in a way that it gives a different message. Our theme for this was “faces”, which I’ve used in two ways. One is the face of this person in my family that I saw yesterday. He is awake but he is not awake. He is just….there. Second is the face of the greater thing that leaves us all helpless before it. Nature, death, disease. Anything like that.

Our assignment also included the task of adding a chiasmus which is a reversal in lyrics. I invented one in the last line. Apart from that, the words of this poem have been taken from four random classical poems of English literature including Futility, Beautiful Old Age, The Soldier, and Anthem for Doomed Youth.)

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2015, Poems and poetry

Lamerick

Once upon a time, a silver doe

Came out of nowhere into the snow

To the pool it walked

Harry followed, shocked

Limerick ends. Next you’ll never know.

This in response to the the Writing 201 challenge which required us to write a limerick (9-9-5-5-9 syllables, a-a-b-b-a rhyme scheme) on ‘imperfect’ but guess the only thing imperfect is the poem itself, lels. Used enjambment. The theme, in case you can’t recall (or haven’t read), is a chapter from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows where the pretty thing comes to his rescue while at the forest.

The-Silver-Doe

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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

MLD_

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2015, Poems and poetry

[Re-]Quest

What am I without you?

A bag of bones;
useless.

A restless heart–
stopping just.

A cry unheard,
a sob.

silently packing way
into oblivion.
disappearance.
to unknown: nullity.

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

Grant~

A Look
That may last an eternity.

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

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

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

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

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

  1. Desire.
  2. Al-desire.
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2015, Passages

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]

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2015, Proses

fireworks.

it happened slow. the stars like lamps flickered out and their shine was faded off. non-white as they were– now black– you couldn’t locate them anywhere, except that in a while the one farthest from the satellite started to collect red from god knows where and in some more time it was blazing and hysterical, spinning to keep sane. full of secrets it couldn’t hold, light started to shoot uncontrolled, in all directions left and right and soon, each one of the million stars was bursting fires bright.

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2015, Proses

Sauces. #1

What is meant to happen, happens. Had it not rained quite so heavily this morning, you could still have gotten late for the meeting. Had it not been that one wrong course you took back in college, you would still have sat here tonight under the only star’s shade lamenting other decisions. Life is unsatisfactory, and knowing this only is satisfying enough at times.

You don’t need to be thankful for whatever happens around you every minute. This is not necessary. Though you do need to be at peace with things inside and out so you are not just existing but living–and you need this why? –because this is the pendulum’s last swing. You don’t want to ask yourself, “why did I not live?” after all of this is over. Instead, you have to make it more worthwhile than creating black out of your red.

If two beings are destined to meet, they will. The world cannot question it. But if your heart was meant to be broken, darling, it had to be so by him.

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2015, My Writings

Destined.

“Abba ki death ke baad ziada sukoon hae, nae?”
(This place looks calmer now that dad is gone, no?)

“You think so?”

“Yes.” she nodded.

They were older now. Older and distanced by a time so long and tough that it had practically torn apart every and any chances of reconciling. Standing by the giant glass window, she looked out at the world outside which had now accepted peace. The world which had decided to move on, as it always does. Where ever she looked there was peace, except in her home: her heart.

“Look here at me. You think life is better now? Show me if your eyes say that too.”

“No,” she silently whispered. She clutched the silver pane with both her hands so he won’t see they were trembling. Stupid fingers! Stupid eyes! How they reveal your weaknesses to wrong people at all the wrong times…

He stepped forward. “Aena! This is not good. You have to talk to me. I have come to take you. I am going to make things right like we want!”

“This is not what I want. Hessam, this isn’t it.” She shook her head.  “I have come out of it and you should too. It’s high time we start respecting each other’s independence and just let things be.”

“What do you mean by that? I am not stealing away your freedom or anything. All I want is you come and stay with me and Rebya now. I want you to be happy!”

“Why? Why live with you when I can live with myself on my own? First I had ma, then dad, and now you want to boss me? Please, NO! I am happy the way I am and I am glad our ways are already parted. We can be free and drive our lives the way we want!” she said.

The color of his eyes changed. Was he hurt? Perhaps. But he shouldn’t have been… After all this time, he deserved nothing to be hurt about. All pains were hers.

“See, I understand your want for freedom.” He said after a while. “And I am not going to be an obstacle between that. You can come with me and do what you want, live it your way. It’s just that I feel you should be with me, and not alone over here. How will you deal with everything? We have both lost something precious Aena. It’s a hard time for both of us.” Looking at her, he said with a voice laced with sincere emotion: “I want you to know I am with you!”

“Precious, Hessam. How precious it was for you!” she laughed in her heart while resisting her urge to laugh out loud too, crazily. She wanted to laugh until her insides hurt. But she would do that once he was gone, her mind decided.

“They are both gone but we need each other, Aena. We need to gather back the moments we have lost. Sometimes I miss you so much, God, Aena, you remember when I taught you how to ride a bicycle?”

Aena looked at him surprised. Why must he bring back the memories now? Now?

“Remember when you had finally learned it you would keep nagging me to let you ride us both to school on that big grey one I owned? We both sat together and I was so proud, and a little embarrassed, but mostly proud (he laughed) and then I bought you a pink one on our birthday so we would both ride on our own bikes.”

“Our birthday,” she breathed.

They had birthdays on the same day. Because God-the-good had decided to hand them out their fates on the exact day and instructed their souls to go down then into their mother’s womb… But Hessam will go half an hour before you, Aena. Okay? Just thirty minutes.
Hessam had gone half an hour before Aena. Aena had waited thirty minutes after Hessam. He had left her earlier because it was so destined. There was joy everywhere.

He was saying something. Probably about the bicycles or the school or their birthday. She wasn’t listening until he called out her name.

“Yes, yes. I remember. You don’t need to use this against me now, it won’t change my plans, alright? Don’t try! You shouldn’t try!” her voice raised despite her trying to stay calm.

“I am not changing your plans, Aena. I am just surprised how much YOU have changed! You are so cold, so different, Aena. Don’t you hold any compassion for relations as close as blood’s anymore?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I carry no compassion whatsoever. I have a heart of stone, if asking for a right to be free makes you think of me as that. I have cared enough for everyone and now I want to be my own responsibility. Go, and let me live!” her voice was strong and came from somewhere she didn’t belong to. It was indeed different, he thought, how his sister had grown up so much and become so… brave.

“I am my own responsibility now,” she repeated– softly this time– as if trying to coax him… Hoping deep inside her heart he won’t agree. Hoping he would somehow ask her to drop the facade and end this drama so they would both cry and tell how they’ve missed each other and how it was impossible to “let go” now that they had already let go of so much. She thought of the pens and chocolates he bought for her, when they were young, and how ma would make them both parathas before school. How dad would hand them out sikkas (coins) for their daily expenditures from which they’d both buy cones.

“Yes. You are right.” he said slowly. And moving towards her he put his hand on her head. “Time has changed, my lovely twin, and it’s not your fault. You have every right now to change time as per your command.” “I am proud of you, Aena. You are one brave woman. I shouldn’t be selfish to ask you what is against your will. And I am sure you will handle your life pretty well, inshaAllah. Just know that I am always there, always a call or email away. I will come to you whenever you want, and so would Rebya. We all love you and you can come to us, too, whenever you feel like it.”

He smiled. She managed one too.

“I know that bhaiyya. Thanks.”

He kissed on her forehead, erasing for a minute whatever these years had collected between them, and whatever hardships she had bore alone.

 

After that he was gone. Gone forever to his land where he lived with his wife a happy life. Aena had apparently given him permission to be the man he was; the satisfaction seeking which he had come back. Now he was free of the burden he was carrying before, and gone because Aena was free and happy, and very settled in her ancestral home! She had peace, he thought, and now he would too.

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2015, Poems and poetry

Write how your heart bleeds (1)

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