Thursday, June 19, 2008

Of Suffering

Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain. The paralysing immobility of a life every circumstance of which is regulated after an unchangeable pattern, so that we eat and drink and lie down and pray, or kneel at least for prayer, according to the inflexible laws of an iron formula: this immobile quality, that makes each dreadful day in the very minutest detail like its brother, seems to communicate itself to those external forces the very essence of whose existence is ceaseless change. Of seed-time or harvest, of the reapers bending over the corn, or the grape gatherers threading through thevines, of the grass in the orchard made white with broken blossoms or strewn with fallen fruit: of these we know nothing and can know nothing.

Excerpt from "De Profundis" by Oscar Wilde

Wednesday, June 4, 2008


The smiling colour of a flower,
The clearness like flour,
Show me All !
BUT wait for my scar !

The path across the shore,
The leaf falling on the floor,
Show me All !
BUT wait till i fall !

The reflector of my soul,
The shadow of my whole,
Show me All !
BUT wait for my goal !

The screaming of a cry,
the hideout of a shy,
Show me All !
BUT wait till i fly !

The Silent touch of dark,
The horrid shrill of a shark,
Show me All !
But wait for my smirk !

The Ballad of my solitude,
The Happiness which has flown,
Show me All !
But wait for my honk !

The dribble of my tear,
The steps of death very near,
Show me All !
But wait till i live once more !

The blasting heart inside,
The restlessness of outside,
Show me All !
But wait for my ride !

The one for me,
The one i need,
Show me All !
But wait till i yearn once more !

~ Faiza Andleeb

This is one of my most favourite poems. Faiza was 13 or 14 years old when she wrote it. She would always bring her poems to me for corrections. When i read this poem i was completely dumbfounded. I stopped writing poems for many years after that. Because at that time it felt that all my writing endeavours would have been directed towards writing something as fulfilling as this. And my four years younger baby sister said some magical words and ended my sway with just this much of simplicity !