I saw you in a dream today. It was so unexpected. I think I am more shocked right now because I just now remembered it. It’s 12:33 PM as I write this sentence.
It was very real, ______. It was so real it’s a shocking REALISATION now that it was only a dream.
Dreams complete me because you don’t.
Dreams comfort me because you don’t.
It’s not a big deal. Of course it’s not a big deal. Damn me if I ever return to a non-returnee.
“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.”
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.
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.
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.
Some evenings are so breathtakingly stunning you don’t want them to end. Ever. And as everyone else is packing their stuff back in the car while some are already reserving their seats — so ready to return to their homes — you run back to the sea and the sky and the sand asking for one more infinite minute. That is your home.
Darwaza khula chora tha meny. Chahtay na chahtay nazar uth uth ke jati thi, wehem ne dil ko yun muthi me jakarr rakha tha ke sirf takleef milti thi aur us se bhagnay ka koi tareeqa samajh hi nahi ata tha. Tum se bhagnay ka koi tareeqa samajh nahi ata tha.
Mujhay lagta tha tum aogay.
Jantay ho, har ahat par chonk jati thi. Har shor pe tufaan uthta tha. Sab bikhar jata tha, mai samait’ti thi aur phir bikhar jata tha. Maine bohat koshish ki ke jo umeed phool nahi kaanta ho, usay zabardasti hi sahi kheench kar bahar nikal dun. Apnay aap ko bacha lun. Lekin mujhay darr lagta tha ke aisay zakham gehra hojayega. Aur ab nazar ata hai ke khula chornay se tou ye naasoor banjaega.
Everything is fine. Outwardly. Where out is the edge of earth I’m standing on; inside me is a lava. It’s ready to erupt but wouldn’t—you’d think my body is brave enough to hold it but really, it’s the sight of uncountable blisters already on my skin that quiet it.
Before me lie fields and fields of night.
I can’t make sense of it, but sometimes I run, telling myself it’s still some direction even if I don’t know it. Alas, I find myself back where I started, my struggle wasted on dark space, and my already tired limbs.
I could have given a better answer, I thought to myself just a while (longer than a moment, shorter than minutes) after having exited his room. I could have given a better answer. How many times we find ourselves thinking, feeling, living this — I could have given a better answer. Could – but didn’t. And to learn to live with this little regret – one that amounts to literally NOTHING in the Grand Scheme of Things; to painfully watch how it unfurls inside of you, then finds a way out, crawls on your skin until you are covered, completely, in its inglorious cobweb-y silver thread. You are itching. Continually. I could have given a better answer, and I must stop thinking about it.
123
I could still show the pieces of your then-polluting, now-rotten heart, and prove to the world it was not I who was mistaken. I can also present myself as an evidence — a heap of mess, covering blisters caused by the burst of these emotions that never wait too long to spill. Ah, your name still holds magic.
130
تمہاری یاد آج بھی زخموں پر نمک کا کام کرتی ہے۔۔۔ چاہے یہ الفاظ استعمال کے ساتھ اپنی وقعت کھو ہی کیوں نہ چکے ہوں۔ ہاں، جلتے پر تیل، زخموں پر نمک۔ اچھا خاصا تمہیں بھول چکی تھی کہ آج ڈرائیور نے کہا کوئی دروازے پر پھول چھوڑ گیا ہے۔ پھول تو تمہاری طرف سے نہ تھے مگر ایسا تم کتنا کیا کرتے تھے! صدیاں تو بیت گئی ہونگی؟۔۔۔ اب کون سے پھول، کہاں کی خوشبو! ہاں مگر پھول تو آئے تھے۔ میں نے ڈرائیورسے پوچھا ان پر کوئی کارڈ لگا ہے کیا؟ جواب ملا، ہاں شاید۔ تو میں نے اس سے گذارش کی کہ خود ہی پڑھ کے بتا دے۔ مجھے تو ان سے وحشت آتی ہے! بیچارا حیرت سے دیکھ ریا تھا، پڑھ بھی دیا۔ کسی اور نے بھجوائے تھے اور بھجوائے بھی کسی اور کے نام تھے! میں تو سن کر ہنسنے لگی۔ ڈرائیور کو کہا ساتھ والے بنگلے میں جو سارہ بی بی رہتی ہیں انہیں کو دے آوٗ۔ ان کے لئے آیا ہے اور دیکھو یہاں پہنچ گیا! کوریر والے سے غلطی ہوگئی ہوگی۔ غلطیاں تو خیر سب ہی سے ہوتی ہیں۔ مجھ سے بھی ہوئی تھی۔
میں لاوٗنج سے اٹھ کر اپنے کمرے میں آگئی۔
145
‘میں جانے کے لئے تیار ہوں۔’
‘تم نے خود کو ہلکا کرلیا ہے ناں؟’
‘ہاں! اور میں نے خود بھی سب کو معاف کردیا یے۔۔۔ سب، سوائے ایک ’
‘ایسا مت کہو!۔۔۔ اسے عذاب ہوگا’
‘پہلی بات تو یہ کہ وہ عذاب سے نہیں ڈرتا! اور اسے صرف بدلہ ملے گا، عذاب نہیں’
‘تم پھر سوچ لو’
‘میں اللہ جی سے بات کر چکی ہوں۔ صرف اسے ہی نہیں کرسکتی۔ ایک بوجھ اٹھا لونگی’
‘لیکن’
‘آپ کو اللہ جی نے اسکی وکالت کے لئے بھیجا ہے ناں؟ مجھے سمجھ نہیں آتا وہ اس سے اتنی محبت کیسے کرسکتے ہیں جب وہ ہی نہیں کرتا؟’
‘وہ تم سے محبت کرتے ہیں!۔’
‘انہیں میں منا لونگی۔ یا پھر آپ انہیں کہیں وہ ہی مجھے منا لیں’
Another cobalt blue sky lit by innumerable stars. Tiny, bright pockets of fairy-light. We sit just by the river, taking in the fresh scent of dewy grass, soft wind, and the feeling of our togetherness.
My feet are crossed and my heart is full. We don’t have enemies anymore – neither Time, nor the World. We are doing fine.
I stand up and step into the blue river. Your hand is in the water and you are splashing at it gently. As my feet touch its cool, smooth surface, we hear a strange music start. It’s coming from a distance but it feels so very near, so very soothing. Or was it from our hearts? I imagine stars coming closer – those tiny pockets of fairy-light falling to dance with me, and I look at you. You are smiling too.
—
“Sea waves kiss my feet. I bend to hold wet sand in my hand and close my fingers for a while to feel. It slips away when I open them again but the lines on my palm glitter with a soft silver gleam. I turn back and night shifts and I find myself in another place. There is no sea, no waves, no wind. But the inside of my hand glitters still. I lay back down and find grass beneath me. Soothing and serene. I touch some strands to gather green. It tickles, softly. Your name I write then, on my skin, and smile. The universe smiles with me.”
Written in response to writing challenge 201: “Skin”. (Write a prose poem using internal rhymes; choose whatever meaning of skin speaks most to you.)
Like her, the park is lonely and the air is sick. It smells of stale roses and untreated promises; and the swing on which she sits squeaks a song so pathetically sad it almost makes time stop — and time, like some humans, knows less when it’s better to instead tread quickly.
The grass below is wet with dew, as are her fingers which she continually bring to her face to wipe away the watery signs of fragility and brokenness. From somewhere far, a beautiful sparrow descends and stops right where she sits, to fly to and fro. Distracted by the sudden chirrup, she looks at her new companion and smiles.
“Will you stay, birdie?” she asks — only to remember soon after that wings always fly…
Written in response to today’s prose-poetry prompt: “fingers” (also goes for “cut off“)
تم بےعزتی کے اس احساس کو نہیں سمجھ سکتے جس کے زیرِبار میں روز حصہ حصہ ٹوٹ رہی ہوں۔ میرا حرف حرف متاثر ہے چوٹ کھائے اس پرندے کی طرح جو اپنے صاف، سفید پروں پر خون کی باریک لکیریں کھنچتے تو دیکھتا ہے مگر بےبسی سے اپنے پَر پھڑپھڑاتے دم توڑ دینے ہی کو آخری آزادی کی صورت سمجھتا ہے۔ اس کے آنسو میرے دل کی دیوار پہ گرتے ہیں، تکلیف ہوتی ہے مجھے جب یہ دیواریں کمزور ہو کر کِر کِر چٹخنے لگتی ہیں۔
تمہاری بےاعتنائی ایک سِل کی مانند میرے وجود پہ رکھی ہے اور مجھے محسوس ہوتا ہے کہ جیسے میں اپنی ہی قبر میں دھنسی چلے جا رہی ہوں۔ آواز دینے کو کوئی یار نہیں ملتا لیکن تمہیں فرق بھی نہیں پڑتا کیونکہ تم صرف کھیلنا جانتے ہو۔ کھیلنا صرف، اور جیتنے سے تمہیں سروکار نہیں ہوتا لیکن شکست دینے سے تمہاری انا کو تسکین ملتی ہے۔ اس کے لئے تم کسی بھی حد سے گذر سکتے ہوکیونکہ تم ایک مرد ہو! آزاد، خودمختار، بیباک۔۔۔ میں عورت ہوں اپنے جزبات کی غلام، تمہیں جتاتی ہوں تو جَتاتی نہیں۔ نہ کوئی جشن ہوتا ہے نہ ماتم، دونوں ہی مسکرا کر اپنے اپنے راستے چل دیتے ہیں۔ پھر کون صدیوں روئے کسے معلوم!۔۔
12:55— 25/1/15.
Apparently fixed on the ceiling, those stone-like eyes kept staring into nothingness and the worlds beyond it. The fan whirred slowly, like the clock ticked short taps, and the heart pumped liquid in and out. Everything moved in its own circle of existence, performing the allotted functions steadily and uncomplainingly. But even then, it felt like the world had somehow turned upside-down, and the fan whirred only to mock in its own given voice, the time moved to show how invaluable every other being before it was, and the muscle pulsated to define how the gods-on-earth were only too frail and fragile; not being able to keep anything from working or breaking—even their hearts.
Once unleashed, the mind traveled speedily into the fields of green and gold where the spark in one another’s eyes had signed smilingly the invisible yet undeniably substantial contracts of always staying together. It wandered farther to the streams of crystal blue waters where hands were held and oaths were repeated before angels of the world, and names were carved on rocks as well as on every atom of each other’s being. Tracing back the swift walks made across sand lanes and muddy roads, it came to rest only as the image of stars dancing as they were that night appeared on the retinas, and the sharp smell of white roses made their way through nostrils to the insides, causing currents to run down one’s spine.
How does it happen that a seemingly small wave envelops an entire universe in itself? How does Destiny fail Desire every time, and dreams turn to dust before reaching the realms of fulfillment? Why do the once saintly carriers of love blaspheme the very sanctity of it – leaving souls insecure and shattered forever?
Soft rain began to pelt against the room’s window bringing back the detested realizations of reality, and with a single tear that rolled down mournfully, all wounds were washed away until next time…
Randomly Abstract 