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
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
WAIT !
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 !
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 !
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Faith, an illogical Belief ?!
"Faith may be defined briefly as an illogical belief in the occurrence of the improbable. … A man full of faith is simply one who has lost (or never had) the capacity for clear and realistic thought. He is not a mere ass; he is actually ill. Worse, he is incurable, for disappointment, being essentially an objective phenomenon, cannot permanently affect his subjective infirmity. His faith takes on the virulence of a chronic infection. What he usually says, in substance, is this: "Let us trust in God, who has always fooled us in the past." "
~H. L. Mencken (1880–1956), U.S. journalist. Prejudices, ch. 14, "The Believer" (Third Series, 1922).
~H. L. Mencken (1880–1956), U.S. journalist. Prejudices, ch. 14, "The Believer" (Third Series, 1922).
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Art of Losing
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (*Write* it!) like disaster.
~Elizabeth Bishop
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! My last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (*Write* it!) like disaster.
~Elizabeth Bishop
Monday, April 14, 2008
Ho Sukta Tau
Ho sukta, tau honay na daita
Jo hoya, ussay khonay na daita
Teray meh khanay main, dil kau doobnay na daita
Gur teray honton kay jaam say pya na hota
Na chaha tha, aur tujh jaisa khud ko mangnay na daita
Uss sukoon main, kaash khuda kau pukara na hota !
Ho sakta, tau hurgez honay na daita !
Aur jo hua, ussay khabi khonay na daita !
~Saira Andleeb
Jo hoya, ussay khonay na daita
Teray meh khanay main, dil kau doobnay na daita
Gur teray honton kay jaam say pya na hota
Na chaha tha, aur tujh jaisa khud ko mangnay na daita
Uss sukoon main, kaash khuda kau pukara na hota !
Ho sakta, tau hurgez honay na daita !
Aur jo hua, ussay khabi khonay na daita !
~Saira Andleeb
Self Ache
Yes my tenderness inflates, to see your eyes shine for me
Yes my integrity deflates, to look closer when I try to lean
Yes I sob, letting go of the fervor
But it makes me even by emanating firmness
Yes my piety arouses me, to feel your arms around
Yes my trust fails me, to feel a shrink when I try to give out
Yes it pinches trying to forget your warmth
But it makes me win one more breath, without a gasp
Yes my insanity soothes me, to see you boast for my wins
Yes my rationality questions me, to look around and find someone else therein
Yes it seethes me, to give up on the pride
But it makes me wiser than the one you tried to ride
Yes the air melts me, to hear you call out for me
Yes the reality freezes me, to sense infidelity as I try to decrypt
Yes it breaks me, getting out of your oily spells
But it makes me soar and feel my own self
Yes my passion unbinds me, to know that I mean the most to thee
Yes my knowledge binds me, to realize that it has all been a fantasy
Yes its hard, to open my eyes and forgive
But it makes me nurture my soul and know that I exist!
~Saira Andleeb
Yes my integrity deflates, to look closer when I try to lean
Yes I sob, letting go of the fervor
But it makes me even by emanating firmness
Yes my piety arouses me, to feel your arms around
Yes my trust fails me, to feel a shrink when I try to give out
Yes it pinches trying to forget your warmth
But it makes me win one more breath, without a gasp
Yes my insanity soothes me, to see you boast for my wins
Yes my rationality questions me, to look around and find someone else therein
Yes it seethes me, to give up on the pride
But it makes me wiser than the one you tried to ride
Yes the air melts me, to hear you call out for me
Yes the reality freezes me, to sense infidelity as I try to decrypt
Yes it breaks me, getting out of your oily spells
But it makes me soar and feel my own self
Yes my passion unbinds me, to know that I mean the most to thee
Yes my knowledge binds me, to realize that it has all been a fantasy
Yes its hard, to open my eyes and forgive
But it makes me nurture my soul and know that I exist!
~Saira Andleeb
Sunday, April 13, 2008
All shadows disappear in the dark
"... Without stopping, she looked back but couldn’t see any feet making that sound. She made her feet race each other a little faster. After a few yards she turned right into another street. The moment she turned, a shadow wavered in front of her eyes and a rough-edged hand was posted firmly on her nose and lips. A very thin space between those rugged fingers showed the way out to her torn breath. A loud scream started off from her lungs, into her throat and then went straight into her head instead of coming out of her mouth. Her brain reverberated with that scream and she felt as it would burst into pieces ...
... Some moments never leave you alone ...
... Love did breeze through her heart once when she was in college. But it didn’t sail smooth since her boyfriend was more interested in short and sharp fists of passion than in long lived emotions. She would only give herself to a person who would sail through the troubled waters of life with her. That breeze of loving whispers turned into a sandstorm of arguments and she had to leave it behind her... " Read full story
~ Amir Saleem
(The worlds bestestestest story writer)
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