Monthly Archives: February 2016


Love never dies. It just goes silent. The more it stays silent, the more it becomes mightier. From deep inside it speaks with all the ascents and descents. It growls, it roars. Makes one tear blood. Live within itself for salvation. Slowly and steadily ones existence starts diminishing. And then who cares for the reward? Whether he turns around or not, long for us or not, loves us or not, it makes no difference to our vehemence.  

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Moist Memories

Turned around to see
The eyes got wet

I saw
The empty life
Broken promises
Demolished dreams
Looking for
warm shade of time
It was abandoned yesterday
It is still barren

Life asks
A shoulder for a moment

Moist memories
Don’t let me sleep

Moist memories
Don’t let me live 

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I am the flock of sparrows

I am the flock of sparrows

I will fly away one day

I will fly away

Dear Mother, I got your letter, I am still holding it. It makes me feel as if you are holding my hand. Don’t let it go. It’s been raining here for past two days and I am sitting inside the house. 

Do you remember, how much I used to enjoy playing in the rain. Father would always get mad at me. That would make me do more naughty things because I knew you had got my back. I would look towards the sky and asked the God to send in more rain. 

Do you remember, that one time when it was raining a lot and you had to drop me to school because father was out of town. You car had a flat tire, so I didn’t go to school and kept playing in rain. Guess what? I took out all the air from the tire! 

Father would always get mad at me and forcefully take me inside holding my wrist. I would run to your lap and cry for hours. Because you couldn’t argue with him, you would get mad at me instead to take out your frustrations. 

Mother, no one gets mad at me here, no body fights with me here. You loved me so much, then why did you send me so far away from yourself? How is Father? Whom does he get mad at now? Who talks to the love birds? Who irons your scarfs? I wanna write so much, but my moist eyes are making it so hard for me to write. I miss you so much!

The vultures are hogging the door

Forcing me to leave

To go to a foreign land

Take these keys of the home O mother

I will fly away one day

I will fly away

Mother, are you angry at me? If not, then why haven’t you written in such a long time. There is so much that I need to tell you. So much had happened. Stop looking for your green shawl, I hid it in my bag before leaving. Whenever I miss you I take it out, I hug it, and it feels like I am with you. The pen that father gave my sister on her graduation, I took it too. Now when she will look for it she will miss me. I also brought your broken glasses with me. I keep trying to glue the broken pieces of glass all day, and It feels like you are sitting right in front of me. These little activities make my days pass. 

Mom, I saw a dream last night. You, father and sisters were sitting in the courtyard. You all seemed very happy, but I got very sad. That swing of mine, that used to hang from the mango tree, I couldn’t see it there anymore. Why did you remove it? Please put it back on, I still sit on that swing and eat the sour unripe mangos. It was so unfair of you guys. 

Your beloved 

Sisters and my father

Gazing the mango tree

Couldn’t undo 

The writing of fate

All my prides

Shattered into pieces today

I will fly away 

I am the flock of sparrows 

Inspired by: Tufail Nizai’s “Sadda chirriyan da chamba” 

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Still there…

Still of that love
Many debts remain
Still from that journey
My feet hurts
Still from that betrayal
Every wound is fresh
Still those murdered dreams
I haven’t buried
Still the wet eyes
Are mourning
Still from the agony
I haven’t escaped

Let these wounds fill
Let some days pass
Let the tides of suffering
Go back down a bit
These wounds still reek
Let them dry, then i’ll think
When to get destroyed again… 

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