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)

By the roaring waves!, My Writings


I will write you a poetry
All yours will it be
Mesmeric like you are,
Worshiper I will be

Your Majesty! May I sit here and draw your portrait?
“Do it. But miss a single color, and you’ll be beheaded.”
I won’t, Master. Please let me have the honor!
‘Thank you’, he whispered and bowed.

He began to empty his best colors onto his white palette, and wet his paint brushes on them. Looking at his canvas, he raised his right hand to wipe it.

I will draw you a sculpture
Of your own charismatic self
Complete like you are,
Devotee I will be.

Moments passed- or perhaps ages, after which he raised his head and looked at his half-completed piece of art. A smile appeared as he began to appreciate his own skill and the next moment he was thinking how the Master would like his fruit of hard work.

I will paint you some words
Dripping with warmth and affection,
Brilliant as you are,
Blessed I will be.

His head dropped low again, and his fingers voluntarily marked streaks of his own favorite colors this time, as he chose which one His Majesty would like, and which He should.

I will sit before you for hours
Counting your image and presence,
Almighty as you are,
Fortunate I will be.

Finally that it was completed, he held it close like a mother holds her newborn, and looked at it for one long time. It was marvelous indeed! A hundred colors had been put, a hundred hopes and dreams. With a heart beating fast, he stepped towards His Majesty and bowed.

“Show me what you did.”
‘Your Highness! Here’, he felt his voice come out from deep within, as he handed over his work with trembling hands.

“Name it.”
“Why me?”
‘Because you are my complete self, my reason to being.’

“If I destroy it?”
‘Please do. But keep me!’
“I will.”


– By: Maria Imran ~RandomlyAbstract~


2013, By the roaring waves!, Paintings and Scribblings, Urdu musings



پیاری تتلی۔۔ تم اڑتی کیوں نہیں ہو؟ یہ درندوں کی دنیا ہے۔۔ یہاں بھلا تمھارا کیا کام؟

تم اڑ جاؤ ۔۔ ایسا کرو ھمیشہ کے لئے اڑ جاؤ۔۔

یہ دنیا تمھارے لئے نہیں ہے۔۔ تم اپنے باغ میں جا کر گھومو، پھرو، میں کچھ نہیں کہوں گا۔

ہاں اگر یہیں بیٹھی رھیں تو میں تمھیں مَسل دونگا۔


مگر میں جاؤں کہاں پیارے؟ میرے پَر تو تم کاٹ چکے ہو؟

اس رنگین دنیا میں بےشک میرا کوئی کام نہیں۔ مگر تم خدارا مجھے یہیں رہنے دو۔۔ درندوں کی دنیا میں۔۔

ذات کے پرندے بہرحال ‘خودی’ کے درندوں سے بہتر ہوتے ہیں۔۔

 اکیلی اس دنیا کی طرف گئی تو واپسی ناممکن ہوجائےگی۔ تم سمجھتے کیوں نھیں ہو؟