Incessant

I wanted to write something for the people who lost their lives in Bhawalpur and Parachinar incidents recently but I knew no words could do justice to their misery so instead there’s a piece for all those individuals who feel broken at these unfortunate incidents. It’s Chand Raat but the thought of their agony takes over my excitement for Eid everytime I think about ‘celebrating’. May the deceased souls rest in eternal peace and may their families be blessed with Sabr-e-jameel. Ameen. Don’t forget to send a prayer their way In sha Allah and Jazak Allah khayran.

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To the little child who feels everything a little too much. Who sobs silently at their apathy and gets frustrated for being helpless. The one who feels sorry to be so empathetic and sympathetic at the same time and who’s still finding out the meaning and purpose of life amidst all the craziness:

O child of mine,
What they say is true,
Indeed the world never stops
Even if your muscles don’t contract anymore
Or you get one of those convulsive tetanic movements too often
And your bones stop pressing against your skin
And your nerves no longer help you
While your hormones conspire against you
And your heart becomes obsolete
The blood in your veins agglutinates
Even if your whole life does
The world goes on,
Just like it’s styled to
But hey my child,
Don’t you worry
For nothing will stop for you too
Until that one piece of flesh
Resting inside your chest
Keeps on doing it’s job;
Pumping blood to your organs
Infusing life within your lifeless body.
Your world will go on too
Just like their world goes on;
Unhindered and untwined.

Being Human

I’m tired
Tired of this world
And the people who dwell here
Cladded in embellished silk
Chattering and laughing in their lofty mansions.
I’m tired of this world
And its ugliness
No, not the one you see in slums
But the kind you only see
Behind their closed gold doors
And royal gardens
And sick mentality
And punk social sertup.
I’m tired of carrying the weight
Of merely being a human
It’s so nerve wracking
It’s so stressful
And helpess too
When I see a child
Across the road
Begging for money
A wretched sight indeed
His obnoxious presence
Makes them frown
They say his vile odour
Contaminates the air
That child I can see
Is deprived of love, food and decent clothes
His torn shoes
Give me goosebumps
But I must not go near a ‘thing’
So dirty and scarred
I must keep my distance
So the ugliness keeps its distance from me
That’s what they say
So I take their word
I hand him a 10 rupee note
As if he can buy
A whole meal with that
Shaking the thoughts I go on,
Look out the window again
Only to see
Another child
Yet another one,
More of them,
Children;
So many children
Then widows,
Diseased,
And drug addicts
And then I see myself
And Wonder
If I am really different from them
I know I’m not
I’m torn like them
The only difference is
Their brokenness is visible
Mine, I keep it hidden
I must keep it this way
So that they never know
So that no one can ever know
How convergent we all fundamentally are
Yet we fake as if
We all can never be equal
Indifferent entities
Indifferent humans
Drunk on the ideas
Of superiority and pretentiousness
A pity indeed
But also
A heart-breaking spectacle
For all I know
Afterall
I’m a human too
And I’m tired of it.