About Grief - 4

Iqbal grieving about civic intolerance... Sada-e-Dard (The painful wail) from Bang-e-Dara Consumed with grief I am, I get relief in no way O circumambient waters of the Ganges drown me  // whoops Our land foments excessive mutual enmity What unity! Our closeness harbors separation Enmity instead of sincerity is outrageous Enmity…

About Grief - 3

Judai (Separation) from Bal-e-Jibreel What can these know—stream, hill, moon, star— Of separation’s torturing scar? Mine is this golden grief alone, To this dust only is this grief known.…

About Grief - 2

Falsafa-e-Gham (Philosophy of Grief) from Bang-e-dara Now that I am 27 years old. I don't study or indulge in philosophical texts, debates or thinking anymore. I say Philosophy is a pursuit of kids. It doesn't mean you shouldn't pursue it. You should. You should when you are a kid. Otherwise.…

About Grief - 1

For an extended period of time I have been thinking to write about grief. The only way to get my idea across was some piece of fiction because non fiction for such topics just doesn't cut. Meanwhile I was reading Iqbal. Again... There was no story I could think of…

City of Stars!

I returned home from work earlier tonight. Which is 2:20 AM. I was feeling a bit hungry. I checked fridge for some quick snacks. Didn't find any. Then I thought, let's not eat at this time. Gotta sleep too. So, before settling in my home workspace again, I brush…

A stranger in my mind palace!

In life, most extreme and strongest connections start in such subtle way that you have no idea on what sort of roller coaster you have stepped on. I consider myself a simple man. So simple that you can create an algorithm and predict all my behaviors and how am I…

Continuum Continues...

It's May Thirteenth of Year Two Thousand and Eighteen. The continuum continues. But time only moves when I am working. Otherwise even if it's an aeon, time stops. Mind stops. A grand halt phases in. I am seated on a bench in 40 degree heat but can't feel nothing. It's…

Continuum of Time

... Its Four in the morning. Sixth of May Two Thousand and Eighteen. These are times when you find yourself brushing your beard for last 17 minutes staring into mirror. Secretly hoping that it will stare back. These are times when everything feels like continuum. Continuum of time. Times when you…