Ali is now an MBA. He has left Lahore and now lives in Sialkot. He is
currently in the middle of his first day as an MBA in his family's
factory.
His chacho is making him blowdry a big plastic case to make sure its
shiny. Yay.
--------------------
Leaving for haj on the 4th inshallah. Tell me what you would have me
pray for. I'll remember- and I'm sure He is more than familiar with
your virtual pseudonyms. Or however you spell it. LOL.
Sent from my iPhone
We are all weaker than we'd like to be. And yet we are all so much
stronger than we know.
eeda- daffa ho jao!
I miss the times I would be out on errands with my father on lazy
summer days.
I'd sit in the car making faces at passer-bys not being afraid of
looking into their eyes and not being adverse with them looking into
mine.
Not being afraid to tell or ask for the truth or to see the truth of
your many faces- as all that was ugly in the world resided in a list
that included broccoli, dog poop, and early bedtimes. Bellybutton lint
was fascinating and your past didn't really matter as long as you
would come and build a leaf fortress with the mulch in the woods
behind my house.
Dad would sip his coffee contentedly from a styrofoam cup while on
cruise.
And I would accuse him of drinking and driving.
Sent from my iPhone
My last week in Lahore.
Savoureverymoment
Goodbyes suck.
I don't want to live in Sialkot...
My kin's my foe if he against me sin;
The stranger proving faith becomes my kin;
If poison helps me, 'tis my antidote,
My poison then is baneful medicine.
-omar khayyam
The rubaiyat
My farewell party was today. Got the 'best hairstyle' award. Yay.
Skits with parodies of students... Teachers... Some singing and
dancing performances... The usual. Took some nice group pictures.
As it was all drawing to a close, most of the people I could
wholeheartedly refer to as friends were gone and I was left walking in
a sea of acquantances. Some techno remix of 'the way I are' was
blaring deafeningly in the background and I was possibly the only
solitary figure there.
I've always had a strange relationship with solitude- its been my most
constant (and paradoxal) companion for the past 8 years. I hate it and
yet in it I find a strange sort of detached comfort.
In boarding school- especially if you're as much of a misfit as I
was- the only way for a person to get some alone time was to mentally
withdraw. You are rarely alone in boarding school. There are memories,
however, of midnight stargazing on the terrace of my boarding house.
Chand Bagh is in a rural area, and the sky is a clear that one can
hardly ever imagine in urban surroundings. And when you're in the
open, once the wind blows, it doesnt seem to stop. Makes the stunted
breezes blowing through our cityscapes look like farts. Over there,
between me and the stars and the cicadas and the smell of soil and
green... There was a fascinating, soothing type of peace.
A strange mood comes over me when I'm at a loud party/concert or any
other event in which people are losing their inhibitions and mingling.
A strange detachment comes over me, although I cannot say that I'm sad
in the deepest sense. Im smiling and laughing and joking, yes. But
there is a certain emptiness inside. One that's always been there. I
feel strangely attuned to it in such situations.
Although the sounds of chiming laughter and blaring music and the
aromas of roasted poultry mingling with that of the musk given off by
young flesh renders most people hedonistically drunk within the
moment...
...I walk in a strange contradictory bubble. Loud rhythms and beats
only emphasize the silence around me. Cascading smoke and violent
colors give way to some sort of communal understanding, some sort of
music that to me is only cacophony. A group joke that only I do not
understand.
Why have I always been so far away when all that I've wanted was to be
a drop within the ocean of normalcy?
This world, however, is one that contains limitless possibilities. De
facto normalcy is something no normal person enjoys.
I wish I could at least have the superficial kind.
Sent from my iPhone
There are certain types of excruciating realizations in life.
When you leave a party of your best friends and no one notices.
When you try your absolute best- heart and soul, but it still isn't
good enough.
When you're so deeply devastated, you can only look at yourself with a
strange sort of detachment and icily convince your rational self (that
has been driven out and vanquished into irrationality) that nothing is
wrong.
When you realize that your addiction is killing you and smile bitterly
in defeat.
When you look back at all you've done and instead unearth all that
you've done wrong.
The feeling of having betrayed what you love.
Moments of realization are like miniscule supernovas- huge yet small
at the same time.
They scorch and cauterize us continually. Fragile flames.
Sent from my iPhone
I love kanjer-puna. Kanjer puna is fucking awesome! :-p
Oh, and just so you ladies know... Having balls isn't all its cut out
to be.
Ok chill out. I'm just checking to see if posting via email works. If
you see this, it does. :-D
Sent from my iPhone
We should all, perhaps, pray that God gives us the ability to create-
even when we aren't messed up and overloaded with negative energy.
But I guess there will always be that bit of us (I will not be vain
enough to assume that I am alone in this) that takes divine pleasure
on taking that which is eating us from the inside and turning it into
something that resembles beautiful.
Write, friends.... Write.
only when east became west
did he realize that the world was round
upon realizing, he jumped for the sky
and soared into the ground
There is the tiniest bit of bitterness in every sweet smile, and the tiniest bit of sweetness in every bitter one. There is always the smallest ying within the yan and vise versa.
We always need a little pain to put all that is good into perspective, don't we? A lot of pain will always make the smallest bit of true happiness go a longer way.
Who says that pain is bad? Sometimes you should just bask in it.Don't like it- but accept it.
A sword may be grateful to the fires of the forge, but it doesn't have to love them.
You drew near and smiled
and You know not
the dreams I then saw
And now, within my heart
I'm not asleep,
nor am I awake
What do I do, then?
thenSomething happens within.
translation of the song: 'kyuch kuch hota hai'. :D
you know those sexually frustrated annoying guys? The ones that girls ignore or give the finger to in college? The ones incessantly sending them the notorious 'fraanship' texts? The ones that get perpetually blocked on MSN? The ones that all guys ridicule?
I am no better than any of them.
Avoid me. I suck.
Men often fool themselves into delusions of grandeur. I am yet another
example of such men.
Always, have I been enclosed by parameters that I have been unwilling
to break. And now that the time to act is gone, I look back and regret
all the possibilities of what could have been- what I could have done.
Had my life been worthy of being recorded in any type of history, it
would be recanted as a tale of wasted potential, of a wretch so
consumed by himself, that he consumed himself. A fire that burned all
the oil and yet gave off no light.
And now that I see this, I ask myself; how was it that I allowed
myself to dream of you? To hope of you? Was the paltry fact that I
believe I could see through all your emotional armor to the beautiful
human inside enough if a reason? I guess not.
I have continually proven to be too weak to break free of these
barriers that life has thrust upon me. Yes, I wish with all my heart
that I could wear the shackles of your love like a king would wear a
crown. But then where would I put the chains that I was born wearing?
They seem not to leave room for anything else.
I'll not ask you now. I've known the answer from the start anyway. I
am enamoured, yes. But what I desire seeks to evade me like wisps of
smoke escaping from between my fingers. Like that memory that lies an
agonizing hairsbreadth from your conciousness. In that situation,
whether the distance is of millimeters or miles, it doesn't matter.
I'm sorry. For myself most of all.
There is nothing quite like having something to wake up to in the morning. Be it someone, an event, a project, or just a lazy day. There simply is no escaping that strange sense of giddy peace that surrounds you, the sweet discontent, the trembling with anticipation.
Everyone should have something to wake up to.
What's your 'something'?
The greatest beauty is that of blindness.
It lies within the beautiful shepherds song- singing his lonely tune for nothing but the joy of the melody. With no one but the vanquished silence to hear witness.
It lies within that instant a dewdrop is born on a vivid green blade of fragrant grass with no one to notice but the weeping night.
It lies within that child in the corner. Understanding everything, saying nothing, and judging only herself. Looking inside before looking outside.
It lies within that millisecond of detached lucidity that flairs into your mind when you actually see how profound the mundane truly is. How every second every movement every breath and every beat of your heart is a miracle.
It lies within that moment in a smokey haze when all the details are distorted and you can see only the outline of your desire and through that find the soul behind it.
The true moments of beauty cannot be captured. Only relived and fretted over as we struggle to protect them from being contaminated by the daily jade.
Yes, true beauty lies in blindness
My teacher, who basically teaches most of the marketing related subjects in my college is a fucking bastard. Gave me bottom marks in the exam. I studied. I'm a pretty above-average student. He gave higher marks to students that I could outclass in my sleep. This is my 4th course with this guy. Never has he given me a decent grade. Even when I threw pride to the wind and fucking begged him like all Yue other cunts do. I hope his dick falls off and his wife runs away with the maali. She'll probably be better off with the maali, looking at the lecherous way he looks at all the girls.
Bastard.
Gashti ka bacha.
When you write, dont think- just write. Let your arms shiver and let your eyes close. Let it all out, and push it out. Don't write like you are digging a ditch, and first concentrating on getting the everpresent topsoil off.
Instead, start from the innermost depths. Get out what you feel from that very core that is so close to who you are, that you are often unaware of it. Push up from the bedrock.
You're not filling a ditch. You're releasing a landslide.
------------
and they sang songs
in order to bring them
to you, my lord
and i lifted my arms
to you, my lord
they looked upon me and said
'woe unto you to call...'
to you, my lord
'...him in such familiar fashion
know you not that he is
the absolute
the ruler
the king
the giver of life
the taker of death
and that you are not even as a speck
upon his celestial concience?'
and i kept my face staring
into the blinding depths
of your vaulted heavens
and i replied
'go back to your supplications
and bow your heads to your king'
yes, i said it to them
enraptured in your waiting, my lord
'i wait for no one and i bow to no one
and he knows the truth of all i do
for he is the knower
he is the lover
and in his infinite patience i shall find security
for he loves me in my naivete
which is, in truth my wisdom
and we know that it means nothing to bow
and it means nothing to plead
but, it means everything to love
we passed by the threshold of such formalities
when i was naught more than
a spec upon his celestial concience.'
and i wantonly held out my arms
to embrace you, my lord
I know this isnt very good... but i try. :-)
I know you'll say no. You've already said it indirectly. I know that
you'll say no. But I'm going to ask you anyway. And then, I'll laugh at myself, like always.
Once I'm ready to hear you say no.
Last chance, this.
I can be rather boring sometimes, I realize. I'm essentially an introvert that now has a clear tendency to keep the important bits inside. Too much risk is entailed doing things any other way. This often makes me quiet or lost for words.
And I do admit that it becomes somewhat distracting, you know, when you're next to me sitting in a country with no electricity and while the waiter puts an emergency light on a faraway table, it filters through a veneer of leaves and illuminates your face with patterns and lines like a roadmap to a fairy tale. Your eyes always shine though. Perhaps moreso because they are in shadows. So kind of you to make what I desire yet more subtly intriguing to my palate. For adding yet another to that masterpiece.
Iamincontrol yes iamincontrol. Youareinmyheartbutiwontletyougettomyheaduntiliminyours.
---------------------
On a separate note: parents are nice. But sometimes you just want to say 'would you fucking wake up?!!?!?'
Haina?
These lyrics are just me writing what i hear- they maay not be completely accurate. But... DYE Corduroy rocks!
Once you had come awake
I slipped under your wings
My whispers all fall away
to the dull of the lull you bring
blue skies were riding on my back
crystalline secrets in my sack
so i made this big mistake
i held your hand too long
and i bled this rattlesnake
our lives just dont belong
then i made your whole world shake
when i wrote you this song
of heartaches
and sorries
of dreaming, of tarry
and hope dies
and you live
and breath... folly
dig in and dig out
through the furnace in my eyes
burnt peices of promises
decoys to trick the rise
blue skies were riding on my back
crystalline secrets in my sack
so made this big mistake
i held your hand too long...
We live on opposite side of this impassable river
i send you over my letters as little paper boats
which sink before reaching you
yet you do not seem to mind, as you know
that they set sail
and yes, you, for me, can launch a thousand such ships
I know that, if you look deep enough
you could see the many constellations in my eyes
and you splash the water at me from so far away
i awate it's caress imagining it to be the moisture
flung from your dew-soaked hair
and hope that it reaches my eyes so that it may
hide moisture that came from more indigeous origins
whisper your secrets into the meandering waves at your end
they echo amongst the rivulets leaving my hands
like liquid silver bells; the sound of solace
you do not realize the great power you hold
in your intense fragility
as every day, the river washes a bit of the bank away
yet you hold me in the same place
ever closer to the edge
You really think you have my number?
Yes, you're right in that I am the guy who generally sits at the back of the room, minding his own business, sipping his coffee.
I am definately that man.
I am the man who sit in his corner, gets up when it's his turn, assfucks your bloated head back into proportion...
... and sits back down with his coffee.
Just so you know...
I am the tiniest bit more than slightly besotted.
But do not think for an instant that I could not live without you. There is not much that i require that i cannot myself provide or that i do not already posess.
I do not need you, and I am not incomplete without you. But I want you anyway- not because of selfish requirement, but because you are who you are and that I am who I am in the deepest sense.
There is no lack of self within me, but in your company there is a strange stirring within deepest caverns of my being. Nor does it appear that you have any need for support that you do not already possess in abundance.
Yet the fact of the matter is, when we are together sometimes it feels like we are more than just the sum of our individual selves.
People 'click' and they 'get along' and some lucky ones 'understand'. Does it not appear that sometimes we harmonize on planes that transcend needs, and desires, and dreams? Does it not feel like we grow together (As infantile as our relationship currently is) as two individual trees with interlocked trunks, self sufficient yet all the more beautiful because they are together?
Mundane discussions often center around people, happenings, credos, and values. How can these manifestations of discourse compare to a synergy of philosophy, of admiration of the beautiful, of the truth contained in the slightest nuances within the paradox of self?
How can I refute that inner harmony, borne not out of a desire to only aide but also from a desire to know? Would it be too much to ask, if I asked you to be mine, not because I need you, nor because you need, but because we are both beyond need?
I have forced myself to earn every little scrap of self respect that i have, I have bathed in the waters of the Styx and have come through scathed in the most beautiful of fashions- I have recognized that beauty lies not in perfection, but in the balance of imperfections.
And so have you.
I am not coming to you as someone in search of security or self actualization. You are not the conquest my ego requires. If you have me, you shall not have a project, but a full man. You will not have to fix me- I'm not broken. Yet our parable can be as such as two mirrors that both exude and reflect light. We shine upon one another and reflect each other back and forth so flawlessly that the result is... Infinite light.
Like Achilles, I shall now go forth and there shall be no victory that will not be mine. There shall be no pain that I will not endure. There is no 'self' that I shall not find.
I do not know what I am in your mind, in all honesty. That is your domain and it is yours to do with as you please. Do not lose any sleep worrying about what will happen. Not having you will sting, but it is nothing that i cannot handle.
But I want you all the same- as I said, not because I need you, but because that even if there was no concept of togetherness between people existing, I would invent such a togetherness simply in order to have you by my side.
I will not die without you, and i do not need you. My desire for you is not like the intense, maddening, heat of a raging fire. It is not all consuming, but rather like the heat of glowing embers- it reaches the deepest corners inside. It nourishes, does not destroy. I am not less without you, there is just more of me when i am with you.
I dont know if this sounds completely transient and unromantic, and insincere, but despite not needing you, I want you. Because you are you.
So don't be afraid- I am Achilles.
Will you be my heel?
Idealists pay the highest prices.
Yet they are also the ones most willing to pay.
Philosophically, pragmatism is usually the easy way out- the most expedient set of actions that will result in a desired outcome. But it is the ideal behind the desire for the outcome that defines the action itself.
Yes, ends often justify means. The significance of the spirit of the means, however, is something we often forget.
Just because we can't see a soul doesn't mean it's not there.
I'm driving and talking to myself and it feels weird because i usually don't do stuff like this- usually i sing to myself instead.
But then there is this specific and current need for me to think of my own thoughts and then thse thoughts come to mind that are distractions and and utterly useless reactions but then we all find solace in these things because we remember that we live through these actions.
We all want to be these human supernovas, or these overrated casanovas can we please stop for a minute and decide that we just want to be us and want to be real and exult in the rain that falls down and not be so worried about skipping right into the puddles all around us. There is always a choice and then there is always the choice to percieve that ther is no choice and it is these perceptions that mak us who we are and thus we are able to surmount impossible odds and fulfill actions and destinies that we would never have been able to fulfill had we just given thought and given ourselves a choice to do otherwise and to not fly off that proverbial cliff and instead just fall.
It feels somewhat strange writing this down and in retrospect it even feels slightly hypocritical of me to express all this dribble about following dreams and divine discontent and living in a perceptual world of your own choosing where I myself sometimes feel caught up in, constricted by the overwhelming needs of today and tomorrow and find it so God-Damned hard to appeal to the x,y, and z axes of my own present in search of some placement and proportionality to my own dreams and instead of that it feels like I'm trying to find some common ground for the desires of a multitude of people and this is a sacrifice I'm not completely willing to make but it's also something I cannot influence right now.
I've been biding my time and though now it's alost my time to shine and I'm trying to work hard and learn fast trying to run towards the future yet slightly wary of the results of the past. I'm not really worried about what will happen, in all honesty, but I feel primed and ready to take the bull by the horns and this last lesson that i have to learn is perhaps the most important at all and one that requires time and patience.
Patience is something i need to relearn. But I AM ready, and I'm not nearly as foolish/naive/lazy as you think i am, father. I'll prove that to you soon- just give me something of consequence to do!
It is my time to shine. I am not afraid.
Alright- so I'm no longer a resident of Lahore per se- just a regular commuter. Life, for the next few months will consist of shuttling between Sialkot and Lahore, alternating between student-hood and apprentice-ship to every laborer in the factory.
Incidently, the first instrument i got familiar with is the 'Richard's vaginal probe #23' or something like that. Names dont matter at the moment- i need to develop the ability to recognize good craftsmanship as well as develop an aptitude for the (fairly technical) production process. Not to mention learn everythig in both english and punjabi.
The workers here are incredible. These people can measure off millimeters without using any measuring tools- just eyes. Their skills with metal and basic mechanical functions is also amazing. They can tighten/loosen joints by deft strokes of their mallets on small anvils at precise angles without leaving a single mark. My futile attempts at doing the same resulted in a scratched-up bent-up piece that had to be completley rejected. This after a good 20 minutes of malleting away trying to do something these guys do in like 10 seconds.
So far, the experience has been rather humbling. It's very easy to write these people off as uneducated, illiterate, ignorant louts. Talk to them, however, and you realize that they are far from foolish and could teach you a thing or two about life.
They have all my respect.
We even have tongue forceps in out veteranary line. Must steal a pair of those and be creative.
And I'm planning on getting pixie a set of personalized instruments once she graduates. :) Sadaf too, if she got into med school :P
I'm back home. After 8 years. Lots happening. Will be back in about a week or two. Pappu CAN dance salaa!
I've got another confession to make
I'm your fool
Everyone's got their chains to break
Holdin' you
Were you born to resist or be abused?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Are you gone and onto someone new?
I needed somewhere to hang my head
Without your noose
You gave me something that I didn't have
But had no use
I was too weak to give in
Too strong to loseMy heart is under arrest again
But I break loose
My head is giving me life or death
But I can't choose
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...
Oh...Oh...Oh...Oh...
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
The life, the love you'd die to heal
The hope that starts the broken hearts
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
I've got another confession my friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new
Were you born to resist or be abused?
I swear I'll never give in
I refuse
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Has someone taken your faith?
Its real, the pain you feel
You trust, you must
Confess
Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?
Oh...
Strange,how the new ones keep coming and the old ones refuse to leave your head.
And each one is as true as the last.
Written by Monidipa Mondal. One of the most moving bits of poetry Ive ever read.
I don't know why I'm writing this down.
I made these stars and put
them in your eyes so that they
sparkle when they gaze at me and I
can feel a little like a goddess.
This is a bit like confession, and
it's stupid because I can't
rhyme or reason or create
coherence for all to see all I
do is shuffle these pictures in my mind - a
dark brown foot in a neon-lit room perhaps
or the curve of a smile.
If I asked you to yield all your secrets
what would you show me? Would you
show me the rawness of sinew the bleak-
ness of thoughts would you shatter
away all walls and suck me in so deep so
deep that all that remains of me is a
tint in your blood a tune
in your head that you cannot
hum cannot forget?
This is a bit like confession and it's
meaningless really like when you drop to
your knees in the rain hands clasped in fervent
prayer although you never knew a god
or scripture, you make up the words as if
words were your only escape, a hopeless
poet without a purpose, a child
with nowhere to go.
And the abyss gazes into you then and you
become a little like the abyss and then
a little more and what's
wrong in that is it that you cannot
break into flowers anymore?
This is the bit like confession and
it's absurd because I look for
songs in crashing silence because this
flesh requires no words no music no rhythm
in iridiscence
in bursting in flames like insane super-
novas they
need not create
art.
And love is just a four-letter word and
so is fuck and so is fool how far
did you believe in those stories they
told you as a kid what
is it that makes you sleep now?
And so, you know, this
is a bit like confession but it's
made to make no sense to you
or you or anyone of you, I
don't know why I'm writing
this down
at all.
We all contradict ourselves every day. Who are we to define ourselves so concretely when, in essence we are no more than a soul- shapeless and formless.
there are few things as profound
as feeling your own pulse
how often do we forget
that we live
while we live.
caught up in
and distracted by
battles fought
both inside and out
yet isnt it nice to remember
that breathing too can be voluntary
if you but think of doing it.
a strange paradox, isnt it?
that such a vital function
is executed without your thought
with nothing more than
subconscious consent?
there are few things as profound
as feeling your own pulse
how often do we forget
that sometimes it is
reason enough to run
simply because we can run
and the fear of falling
skin scratching bones breaking
is forgotten as
the wind
rushesinyourface
and the blood
poundsinyourveins
-----
there are few moments as profound
as those immersed in
bittersweet nostalgia
of moments stolen in
secluded tables in empty restaurants
when eyes behold
bright emeralds and crimson
where dull browns and greys
were thought to dwell
as we let each day of our lives
pass us by, we realize
nothing is sweeter than the past
all the world is mirrored within
and there is no scent
like the scent of newly damp earth
in the first monsoon rain.
a whispering wind blows on
long roads fickle moods twilight shining
invisible lamenting
Thank you for the correction, siimii... no it wasnt done on purpose :)
~It was but yesterday
we met in a dream
you have sung to me
in my aloneness,
and I of your longings
have built a tower in the sky
But now our sleep has fled
and our dream is over,
and it is no longer dawn.
The noontide is upon us
and our half waking
has turned to fuller day
and we must part
If in the twilight of memory
we should meet once more
we shall speak again together
and you shall sing to me
a deeper song
And if our hands should meet
in another dream
we shall build
another tower in the sky~
Childish. A kid. Immature.
And then you say you know all of me? I have more trials under my belt, as many scars adorning my concience as you. I probably have responsibilites and expectations thrust upon me that are far greater than your own. Yes, i will be presumptuous. This is my space.
No one is one-dimensional. Generally, the more intelligent and insightful a person gets, the greater number of dimensions they have. If you dont know me personally, then let me tell you- I am quite an intelligent young man.
Yet people find it easy to forget, what i can be when the situation calls for it. Yes, i will act childish, when i want to. Yes, i will purposely say and do things that are irrelevent, seemingly stupid, ludicrous. That usually is my effort to make you smile. Yes, i honestly like making people happy.
I am the man i need to be, however, when the situation demands a man. I am flexible enough by nature to be many different people- as per the circumstance. I'm very many people rolled into one. I have withstood my trials by fire- and i have proven myself and I have become stronger than i was before.
My childishness is not due to, perhaps, my immaturity, but because, perhaps, i live my life according to certain philosophies? Certain beliefs?
Strength is something i have always searched for. As a source, and as a destination. Strength must be recognized. Strength isnt the absemce of pain- but the ability to bear it.
Yes, I hurt. I hurt a lot, and in all honesty, it's usually my own fault. A lot of those mistakes, however, i would make again because i dont regret the spirit in which they were made. For me, the pain was worth it. We all pay for the choices we make. We all pay for them every day.
I have been rebuked in love, have rebuked others in love, have had to sacrifice potentially mutual affection due to unavoidable pragmatic circumstance. Love, in my arena has always been a commodity whose price could never hope to be justified by the returns.
This, in addition to the fact that i have been living without my family since i was 16- in charge of saving my own ass for the past eight years- of watching myself from humiliating my immediate family at the hands of my ever-so-willing extended family (slipping once, albeit extremely heavily... i.e. 'the triad') have toughened me up more than most people know.
Despite my apparently obvious emotional vulnerability- i am actually fairly resilient. As earlier mentioned- living away from family at a fairly early age has severly limited the emotional support that they were able to provide. Friends have usually, at some turn or the other proved that they can never always be there. Relationships, significant other, love... I've never had. All this, after a childhood of almost continuous ridicule and being raised by parents who say my 'parvarish' is of the utmost important to them. Even more than my dreams, apparently.
Yes, I will be the bright eyed, idiotic child with you. I will look for your approval. I will try to impress you. To make you smile. You matter to me becasue in our idiotic social circus, we are often defined in context of others. Therefore, you matter only becasue I matter and vise versa.
But i will not have the sparkle in my eyes dulled just because yours are jaded and lackluster. My smile will remain genuine where yours are forced. I will always inherently expect good of people, becasue in all honesty, I am inherently inclined to do good myself. For this, i am willing to bear that recurring pain when someone scoffs at beauty so apparent to me; when the unique is sterotyped; and wonder ignored. I will stand there, my wounds healing, admiring the beauty your toughened skins and guarded egos make invisible to you.
I am afraid, much of the time- of either one thing or the other. I use pieces of my vanity like driftwood to keep me from drowning. I use shreds of my ego like blades of grass- clutching them to keep me from falling down the cliff. Life is on a razor's edge and in that perfect equilibrium between life and mortality... One knows what it is to be truly alive.
I do not think much of myself, in all honesty. I make as many mistakes as everyone else. I doubt myself more than most people, as a matter of fact, althoughin this post, i might not sound like it. I just refuse to let that those doubts and fears stop me from what needs to be done.
Just because I can talk about those fears and doubts does not mean that I cannot do what i need to do. Unfortunately, the world seems to take everything at face value. I refuse to demean myself that way.
My life is currently compartmentalized, with no one knowing the entire story, yet everyone entrusting me as secret keeper of their own. Everyone knowing bits and pieces of me, but in the end, it is I who knows you.
But never be under the impression that you know me.
Or that you're even close.
Who knows what is buried inside you that you don't know
about. We have barely reached our actualized forms. We're too young.
Discover.
-HH
When it was needed. Thank you.
A man, within a child, within a man.
Who am I?
if only you could look deep enough to understand.
And I, to decide.
Like I've said before- I care too much. About too many people. It's rather ridiculous expecting all of them to care back. The worst part is, simply caring does not implicitly guarantee understanding.
Needless to say, and as all of you have already guessed, I've been misunderstood alot lately.
No, I'm not trying to make your girl cheat on you, she's an old friend and we're cool like that. As a matter of fact, I'm flirting with the girl sitting next to her. You know... the one that's single and fun to make fun of? Besides, my very old friend... you know, the one that lives in the same city that I'm originally from? The one I've known since i was in the eighth grade? He's her brother. Yes, i actually do have a few specs of decency mixed into my entire being.
No, I'm not disrespecting your potential fiance. As a matter of fact, I'm trying to put him at his ease by making myself look like an idiot- because, idiotically, I love you in my own way and would like nothing better than you two to be happy together. You told me that you understood me. I was there for you. Thank you for coming back- you were missed rather sorely. Did I mention that the reason for your absence hurt? I thought you knew how i am. I thought that the respect i had for you wasnt something i had to repeatedly manifest in words. Perhaps all the times i tried my best to be there for you dont count. I understand that i have my niche, my plane, my level. Your search for stability might be nearing its end, and I could not be happier. You know I love you, because you have seen the child, and the darkness, and the fear, and the weakness, and despite becoming exasperated... you have always loved me back.
No, I haven't forgotten you for my new friends. I just need space. If you felt so ignored and insulted on my birthday, you could have come up to me nd tried to strike up an enjoyable conversation. We've known each other for 5 years out of which we were constantly together for four. Why do i now have to buy your friendship with cloths and expensive food? You too, were precious to me, but you are not my mother hen and i am not your egg to be coveted and coddled. I need my space. I have stood up for you in circumstances that would have broken many friendships. You have used me in ways that would have justified my hatred. Still i have come back for the strange bond we share, never being sure whether I'm the older brother, or you're the older sister. Enjoying making everyone think we're a couple anyway. To resume all this, you first require cloths and food. Insulting me in front of half the college in the cafe at hte top of your voice and still having me apologize wasnt enough?
No, i wasnt taunting you when i told you to have fun. I simply didnt know what else to say. Thank you for cussing at me when i try to talk to you a few hours later. That's exactly what i needed.
And then, one of my oldest friends tells me that I've changed and become an asshole.
Definately emo.
You get?
The night seems to strip me down as it descends.Uncovering layer until layer until the deepest gashes imprinted on my on my barenaked flesh remain. Bones etches with scrapes, scratches, and chipped off edges.
The silence is not now golden, but silver murcurial. Chiming. Silent.
And as I'm stripped down until only the essence remains, I discover that...
...Discoveries never cease.
I've been interviewed by The Pakistan Spectator along with like a bijillion other bloggers. Hurrah!
Check it out: http://www.pakspectator.com/interview-with-blogger-ali-ghafoor/
Do not fly so high
young Icarus
for the sun
burns.
Your wings will melt
young icarus
let not your passions
lead you
astray.
You shall fall
young Icarus
but at least you'll have known
what it meant
to fly.
-------------------
I love you
angel
becasue we have
a matching
pain
and we both admire
cracks in the plaster
with our broken eyes
and chipped-tooth
smiles
understanding and admiring
the beauty
of the house
falling down
around
us.
-------------------
Why do you force
me to say
that which you
can see
in my eyes, angel?
is it not better
to be unsaid
but not unheard
than
unheard
but not unsaid?
----------------------
Apparently, Pixies do not forgive. :-(
wisps of stuffing... from torn dreams
and resonating screams.. of dreams snuffed out.
like children aborted, by an otherwise loving couple
embryonic dissonance
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
Thank you Sidrah. This is a gift.
Added on a bit...
Level the mountains
and raise the seas
'til nothing but plains remain
no bars between us
except for
us.
would you then love me
for me?
as just me?
all social constraits
undone
materialism made
immaterial
would the collision of
heart and mind
body and soul
that is
me
suffice?
nothing for you to withdraw from
nothing for you to hold on to
but
eyes.that.thirst
and a
heart.that.beats.
slowFASTslowFASTslow
would you then love me
would you love me
if every rectangle was a square
and every triangle isoceles
and every angle obtuse
would you love me
if every star
was the north star
beckoning you
with the same glitter
in lands
with perfect faces
shining places
markets that were perfect
both inside and
on the surface
would you love me
if the only variable
was 'us'
would you then love me
ceteris paribus?
She got engaged.
It wasnt supposed to hurt after all this time. It didnt in the beginning- but it is now.
Not as much as i thought it would, although i didnt think it would.
It almost didnt bring back that too-familiar ache in the chest.
Almost.
Half the world
thinks that hte other half does not
think.
.
.....
........
.....
....
..
.
.
.
.
And everyone agrees.
We shall rebuild our home
with it's own ashes
as time wears on
and lightening crashes
where has teh wind gone?
it cannot have so quickly died
like the glint of your teeth
every time you lied
the glint was flecked
in an otherworldly light
a ship was wrecked
so a dream took flight
caressing the sore backs
of ever changing winds
filling the cracks
and lifting the hinge
of ripe yello fruits
the spoils of war
ripe against slender shoots
shaken to hte core
dripping lusty juices
belying the innocence inside
isomorphic tools- so many uses
bitten nails- trying to hide
explosions abound
to restore peace to the land
the sky and the ground
their mixing; so grand
the final crescendo
of a grotesque symphony
I shoot rockets on my nintendo
inside and outide- perfect harmony
You know that place in Model Town, Lahore that got blown up by a suicide bomber? A man and two children died. More were injured. The building is quite simply... Gone.
I used to work there.
I still remember the man who died- the gardener congratulating me when i bought my guitar. A gracious man he was, and the children were fairly adorable too.
It is rather interesting how permanent vertain aspects of life-scape can seem. I never thought that i would never see that building again. But i wont now, will i?
Strange, the situation currently is. Even my beloved Lahore is no longer safe.
Yet, life goes on as it always has. Thesun still rises in the east and sets in the west. Birds chirp, nonchalant and cool spring breezes blow as if to deny anything has occured.
Tell that to the widow who lost her children, her husband, and one of her legs.
Verse 1
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, Worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, Going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, No expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, No tomorrow
Chorus
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
These dreams in which i'm dying, Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it’s a very very….
Mad World, Mad World
Verse 2
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
And they feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me whats my lesson
Look right through me, Look right through me
Chorus
And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
These dreams in which i'm dying, Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it’s a very very….
Mad World, Mad World
Enlargen your world
Mad World
The glint of steel
and glitter of quartz
specs of limestone
and bits of dust
summoned
from distant lands
from Ceylon to Avalon
they here now
yet they shall travel on
from seas to mountains
and from forests to gems
their life is as are ours
for they are lived
as unique specs
in a sea of pseudo homogeneity
cursed to be imprisoned as one
as each and every spec
is free
Inspiration is what occurs when lucidity and the mundane coincide and collide.
--------------------------------------------------------
Just because we understand something, doesn't mean it's not amazing.
The thunder of storms
has been distilled and carbonated
now manifesting itself by a twist
of my wrist
opened billions of times
by millions of sould
the wrath of God
chanted by rote
everytime i open
my bottle of coke
Just a thought.
Had David known
that his slung stone
would pierce the eye of Goliath
Would tehn the books say
that faith let not his throw go astray
and courage strengthened his arm
or would it be just another farce
another false alarm?
I play with words
as tehy play with me
bouncing me about
like a ball made of flesh
or the pupils of your eyes
as they averted
as soon as our gazes met
Something i wrote a lifetime ago... found it in an old discarded notebook
Changes hopes and dreams
tears laughter screams
one within the other
and the other within one
child is child's father
and father is father's son
flowing and blending
blending and flowing
nothing is as it seems
changes are hopes
and dreams are tears
but is that laughter
or are they screams?
I have climbed highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run
I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
These city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
This burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
I believe in the kingdom come
Then all the colors will bleed into one
Bleed into one
Well yes I'm still running
You broke the bonds and you
Loosed the chains
Carried the cross
Of my shame
Of my shame
You know I believed it
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for
But I still haven't found what I'm looking for...
