These Iterations

x equals two
then four
then ten
then fifty
then one hundred million
whatever… who cares?

x should equal two
then zero
and stop at one.
These diverging equations
are breaking me apart,
my pieces are flying off
and never returning.

These iterations never
tend towards convergence,
if only there was a way
to truly find out:
the answer, the purpose.

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A little perspective…

Your mountains and your hills,
Your sunrise, your sunset,
Your waters, your rivers,
I wish I could have put them
all in a suitcase and stolen away.

There was a sweet smell
in your atmosphere;
the beautiful sounds of
your beautiful people.
I brought some of it with me.
I left some of me with you.

 

Blog Resumed

Hey folks…

So I have been away from writing and my blog. I had lots of things happening at my end. I tried to keep a blog about daily inspirations but that didn’t work out so well either…

HOWEVER…

I will be resuming this blog from now on. I have lots of ideas for new themes 😀

Hope to catch you around.

Taking Flight -For the love of God, don't change the flight of the bird. This bird will lose its wings if it has to bear the trauma once more. -Oh but don't you remember what Iqbal said "Tu Shaheen hai, parwaaz hai kaam tera / Terey samnay asmaan aur bhi hain" (You are an eagle and flight is your vocation / There are other skies stretched out before you)

Her Tale – Chapter 9 (A Crossroad)

There only remained one lesson to be learnt: Life brings you only to one crossroad time and time again. One path leads to what you know but do not want to know, the other to what you think you know and what you wish was true.

Every time you choose the later, you drown a little. Every time you choose the former, you die a little.

A/n: So folks, this is going to be my second last post on this blog. I hope you guys enjoyed my crazy thoughts. Thank you so much for reading and sharing your views too. Take care! Bless you all! 🙂

~Anum~

Her Tale – Chapter 7 (Cleansing)

As the water filled her lungs and the iron hands inevitably strengthened their grip around her lungs, she heaved a sigh and welcomed death. The water did not bring her to an end. Instead, it began to cleanse her insides and the spring of a new life gushed out from her soul. She was no longer drowning, she was rising. She was no longer fading into the darkness of death. Instead, the waves cradled her as she entered into an era of rebirth.

Silence The awkward moment when you read "Silence can never be misquoted" and think "Oh love, you don't know the people I know. They are expert misquoters of EVERYTHING including silence."

Black and White

There was a white dream surrounded by black blotches.
The death of dreams is painful but nothing encompasses,
the bleeding heart that wails at a lost hope
that was hopeless since the beginning of a sad kaleidoscope:
this life with no color but black and white shards
of broken dreams that were never explored.

You stand near me from afar in a window;
the hope that surrounds the empty tears on my pillow,
resonate your hopeless aura in that silhouette framed
in a picturesque darkness of desires inflamed.
The white dreams turn into a dark red nightmare;
blood flowing out our hearts without care,
and we die a little, no screams heard,
just a passing wind, carrying broken wings, but no birds.

And I hope with a heaving heart for a lost cause,
and you move on into a new window with a new vase
that caught your eye, and I stand here deprived,
of a dream that was never meant to be strived
for or against in this world of blackness
that has no light and melts only into a pool of sad demented darkness.

A/n: Inspired by a beautiful painting I saw by Shen Wei today! Hope you enjoy! 

Time Remember, you DO NOT have the time or the energy to change people or try to fix them...

Nunha Farishta

گلِ بہاراں، چمکتا چہرا تیرا
ہنسی تیری، مسکراتا چہرا تیرا۔
کدموں کی چاپ، بھاگنا دوڑنا تیرا
شور و غل تیرا، ڈانٹ دینا میرا۔
کہاں گیا وہ زمانہ میرا؟

دنیا خالی خالی سی ہے تیرے بنا
ننھا سا فرشتہ کہاں رب سے جا ملا۔

Pardes

جیسا بھی تھا دیس میرا
مٹی کی خشبو میں ماں تو تھی

کہتے تھے سب پردیس اچھا
کمی تھی تو کیا، اپنی تو تھی

وہاں کچھ نہ تھا، پر ماں تو تھی
یہاں سب کچھ بھی ہو تو کچھ نہیں

جب نہ یہ در اپنا، نہ زمیں اپنی
گویا کھو گۓ سے ہیں، نہ خبر اپنی

Diversity The problem is not that we don't have the right government or we don't have the correct system or we don't have sincerity or we don't have the right people... ... ... The problem is we REFUSE to embrace much less celebrate DIVERSITY. We want all to be ONE and we want all to be one as WE WANT one to be. It is an impossible predicament we need to let go off. There is no ONE WAY in any direction. Unity is unique to only ONE. We fail to realize that and hence, move around in circles blaming each other continuously. In the process, we have almost lost our culture, our language, our values and our people.
People They are just that... People... People... Somehow a little different but really just the same...

Her Tale – Chapter 4 (Waves)

Red and pink corals surrounded her and the fish welcomed her with their fluid choreography. However, she could not see their hospitality, because all she could feel was the water in her lungs. Drowning was the only thought that engulfed her. So she did the one thing, she should not have done: she fought the tide, she kicked and shoved against it. The tide responded, and before she knew it, she was shoved to the bottom by an enraged Aegaeon.

Her Tale – Chapter 2 (Past)

In another life she could have been a spy, but never a thief. She got caught too easily and too quickly. The good thing was she always found out when she was caught and knew how to run away. The sad thing was she was never fast enough. The tides always caught up with her. She always drowned.

A/n: I know it is more than a few sentences, but this is an important chapter in Her Tale. 

A Simpler World The world would have been so much simpler if every question had only two possible solutions: A. Yes and B. No, instead of three possible solutions: A. Yes, B. No and C. What If?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Whoever said that "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" did not take into account the human capacity to forget.

Chocolate on the inside, chocolate on the outside

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, for us,
too good to be true, oh no,
too much to be hope, for long.

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as us,
locked in a world, our own,
too far gone, to really know,
what was inside and what not.

Did you ever think, my dove,
there was such a thing, as love,
glee captured inside, outside,
too much to be thought, as fun.

Did you ever think, my love,
there was such a thing, as too much,
sweet on the inside, outside,
middle, up, every which where,
chocolate suffocating us.

A/n: Too much of a good thing can never be really a good thing. This one was inspired by a long forgotten conversation. Have a great week you all! 🙂

The Performer

She stood on the stage, smiling at her audience sweetly. The music began to play loudly and she moved, losing her senses to the rhythm of the sounds and her body both in sync with each other. The world was painted a sweet shade of blue and green. The people blurred out and their presence turned into distant shadows indecipherable from the dark that surrounded everything that ever was and that ever will be.

The vast expanse of the universe engulfed her into its welcoming arms and she moved into the rhythm sashaying into the arms of the mother and the father, accepting it and rejecting it simultaneously. Her existence was forgotten and any thought of the world was relinquished. Yet, there she was embracing everything with every cell of her being.

The people were cheering, but all she heard was a distant murmur of the universe beckoning her closer and closer into its arms. She walked into the darkness omitting all the light by engulfing it in her growing existence. She twirled and turned, her ghungroo bells chiming loudly as her pace took up. The audience expected something wild and erotic, something slightly scandalous and yet appropriate enough to pass of as silliness born out of innocence. She appeared to be bent on disappointing them today as her body began turning round and round and round, a hand up towards the sky and a hand down on her heart. Her pace picked up, the music already engulfed by the universe’s silence. The audience would have been disappointed indeed, but they were too enthralled to think about their dissatisfaction. One ghungroo bell broke and the chimes scattered on the stage and the other began ripping apart but she turned, oblivious.

She caught an invisible arm that didn’t feel so much like an arm. She gave in to its iron grasp. Something fell on the stage as she rose entrapped in that permanent grasp. She didn’t know how, but there she was enclosed in a darkness greater and grander than any she had ever seen. There she was flying high above everything that she could not see. There she was, LIBERATED!

A/n: This piece was inspired by a beautiful painting in one of the reading rooms at Cornell’s Kroch Library. 🙂 I wish I had paid more attention to its name and the painter, but alas, may be next time. 

No means no… All the right answers are derived from wrong questions. So is there any such thing as a wrong question? A/n: Completely thrown today. In more ways than one. Tsk. Hope you all are having a better week than I. 🙂