On misplaced egos and broken friendships.

I have met very few people in my life with tandency to stay objective in a situation that had transpired because of their own flaws. Most of the times, we resort to blame game and choose to see perspective that validates our beliefs about our inner goodness or at least the will to be good intentioned. Then our brain looks for little things that could validate our version of story. It seeks out anything that could fill in spaces. It filters anything that could corroborate our narrative while subtly ignoring the opposite account.  People choose to be biased or emotional because its hardwired and doesn't take any effort that is usually involved in being objective or in accepting that they could be wrong. Perhaps it's easy to live with sense of being a victim of someone else's actions than to be perpetrator following his inner darkness. In fact, it's a defense mechanism we use to alleviate guilt that could splurge every now and then, and make us miserable. Its how we sleep at night satisfied that whatever damage had happened, wasn't our doing. It was because of other people, circumstances, life phases, age issues or anything that could fill the puzzle for us. Anything that could dim the red light of responsibility. It's true these thing have their own roles to play but a lot of times mistakes of individuals cannot be hidden under these tags. When we say to err is human, at the same time we need to accept that to realize is human too. In fact, realization is the first step to wash away mistakes without even leaving scars.  Realization is important because only those who have guts to even consider for once that they might be on flaw and reflect on their own wrong doings can grow in life. Those who choose to sideline their subjectivity,  negate their ego and see everything through window of different perspectives can become persons who are better than what they were yesterday.  If that could happen more frquently, there would be lesser ruined relationships, broken friendships and dysfunctional families.

On passing time.

As you grow up, the crowd around you shrinks. That care, love, and support you have been cherishing since your birth starts reducing slowly because the givers are not there anymore. Some die, some leave, some get too busy, some find other distractions but your inner child stays in denial for a long time, clinging on things too hard that the grip hurts your palms and blood oozes out. You hold so tight that it digs in your skin and leaves deep scars.  Every goodbye, every heartbreak inflicts a mark on your heart, like a diamond cutting through glass. You cry on some, scream on others and sob silently on most of them because you're forced to come out of your warm, comfortable cacoon and face the cold winds of emptiness. That's why adult life is so challenging psychologically. Oblivious to the cruelty of time, you get attached to faces popping up in that comfortable maze around you and get blown away when they fade or disappear soon. Time makes it happen, it makes people grow out of your maze and fly somewhere else. The circle goes on until every wrinkle on your body has a story to tell. A story of pain, a story of parting, a tale of laughing and forgetting, a tale of crying and loving again. Yes, loving again, growing fond of those bleeding wounds and chasing butterflies again because time may be cruel, it may take dear things from you, but it gives too. It leaves a beautiful souvenir of healing. That's why wrinkles are said to be full of wisdom because they have endurance hidden in them gifted by time.

Bliss of Solitude..

The best thing you can do to yourself is getting comfortable with your lonliness. Embracing it not as a liability but as a blessing, with open heart, because desire for companionship is like being tied to numerous invisible ropes, with their other ends attached to beings surrounding you. An insidious tug makes you fall at your face, bleeding from places it hurts the most. One little jerk in attempt to gain freedom can spread to the other side and come back to clench your own heart. But once you learn to be comfortable with being truly alone, you get rid of the repressed anger, broken expectations and insatiable need to depend on a friend, mentor, lover or anyone, everyone. You convert it into this magical, delightful bliss called solitude. It's not about building walls around you, protecting yourself or hiding from people. Its about eliminating the need for building walls altogether and coming out in the open fortress of love for your own soul. Because, once you roam that field of happiness, you truly achieve validation of existance and begin to look beyond it, persuing universe in all its glory, with steps that are unshakable and gait that reflects grace embedded in fierceness and strength.

Killing healthy dialogues!

What's with this opinion-shaming?  I've often seen people making fun of and mocking those who are vocal about their opinions for being "wanna-be experts" on the subject at hand. The trend of being vocal has upraised due to availability of social media. So, if there's any terrorist attack and public at social media discusses its causes- it's an attempt to become scholars on religion. If there's a shooting and people participate in discussing gun laws-it's an attempt to become political analyst. We saw it with wife beating fiasco and Hamza Ali Abbasi incident. The most recent is Brexit (UK exists EU, Big news!). Masses are merely expressing their respective views but there's a group who doesn't participate in anything productive. Instead it retorts to mocking others who consider it important enough to discuss. I can quote plenty of examples but I think it would suffice saying that some ignorant and lazy individuals with a notion of high intellect just sit behind their keyboards and judge others for raising a voice and think that they are making a difference. Like their own selfies, emotional rants and travel logs are only crucial things that world needs to know about. You say writing long Facebook posts won't help anyone? Let me teach you a thing or two about how power of masses works. Raising a voice is initiation of process that stirs a change and having a productive discussion is first step of staircase of betterment. But how will we ever know that? We are Pakistanis, remember?

It's a curse of totalitarian society where raising a question becomes an anomaly. People reach a level of self-loathing where Stockholm syndrome kicks in and everything looks like a rainbow. When flux of information is controlled by a certain fraction, ignorance seems like a strength. Does it ring a bell? You got it right! George Orwell's 1984 is still relevant.
Our society is immature and intolerant to its core because of same lack of dialogue. If you don't make it comfortable for people to say their hearts out, how will you learn being tolerant to others views? But we are not ready to learn this lesson yet. For now, we find it entertaining to humiliate people who try to indulge in dialogue by calling them attention-seekers and laughing at their desperateness to look cool. Anyone who dares broadcasting an opinion or holding a discussion is seen as an outcast striving to jump on a bandwagon. People call him madman! Maybe being sane in insane times is itself an insanity! But mark my words, this mockery is nothing but satisfaction of your fragile egos. It's just another way to validate your ignorance or lack of willingness to say something that world deems important. Anything that happens in the world can be discussed, should be discussed and there is no shame in it. Only shame is doing nothing and airing a sense of superiority in ignorance! 

About time!

My eyes closed, my body awake

I felt softness touching me somewhere

Something running down my spine

Sweetness making its way into my body

Pleasure seeping into my mouth 

My breathe trapped through my lungs

Something thumping against my chest

In a brief moment of vivid consciousness 

I recognised the taste of your lips

My mind numbed with rhythm of your breathe

And body smiling with touch of your hand 

Soul cherishing your ethereal lips

And my hands caressing silk of your hair 

We housed heaven in our little world

And wrote our story in the book of memories

With the pen of our lips and hands and bodies

Intertwined with each other, singing songs of desire

Melodies of love enwrapped us in that moment

We found each other and lost ourselves 

Body stories

The bed sheet felt comfortable against her bare skin. She tightened the blanket against her torso to keep herself warm. It was a particular December evening outside. Forlorn, dark and cold, her favorite kind of weather. Her side table still had a pack of cigarettes and an ash tray. The ash tray bore witness to her companion who had now left but his half burned cigarette was still there. She made a mental note of getting rid of it but not just yet. Not so soon. First, she wanted to see these trophies of her rebellion for a little while longer. She partly thought it was an attempt to make herself believe that she had finally done it. She closed her eyes and thoughts came rushing. She remembered how she was tired of demons that lived inside her. The demons in the form of guilt, fear, insecurity and conditioning haunted her as long as she could remember. She used to think she was free, she had a choice and she was making it happily and willingly but no matter how much she repeated this mantra in her mind that her body belonged to herself, it was empty noise. It wasn't hers. Its pieces had their stings attached to someone's honor right from her birth to her death. It belonged to men in her life. Her brother, her father and when she finally gets handed over to her husband, it would be his to protect.  She was supposed to embrace it, swallow her pride and wrap her mind around it because that's what good girls do, that's what chastity demands.

Her desires were slowly choked and strangled in a tender age by women surrounding her. Right there, at time when her innocent mind couldn't register that little spark inside her, down there. She was taught to hate it, kill that itch or it would taint her honor. Their words, subtle and tightly woven, gnawed on her natural instincts, piercing them, shredding them into pieces until she became oblivious to their existence. She forgot her recognition. They never died but she starved them to a point that made her believe they don't exist anymore. They became faceless. Time and again, there came men who fed them just a little to make them purr again like a baby who wanted to grow. They wanted a share but she was taught to protect it for someone she didn't even know. So, she never let that happen. She never allowed them to swell because she believed if she lets them swell, they will eat her tortured soul. Twenty one years she did her duty diligently, fending off men politely and restraining herself forcefully. Those demons were hooked to her body, sucking her liberty, snatching  her right to blossom under someone's love. She was scared and tired of living a double life, running between her tortured pieces of body to a free soul. It was costing her sanity. But then, she met a man who taught her to gently probe her tattered soul and uncover her power. She learned to accept herself a little. She managed to believe that she had a right on her own flesh even if no one was ready to give it to her. She had to choose a side and the one she had been towards for the past twenty years gave her nothing and cost her liberty. So, she decided to rebel. She had finally done it. She stripped her demons layer by layer with every touch of him. It was like she sucked them out of her soul with every kiss. She was light as a feather. The sin tasted like heaven. That ash tray with burning ash and her bare shoulders still feeling his touch were witness to this treason. She bought her liberty at a risk of her life. It was tragic but life is unfair especially to women who seek liberty. It was a heavy cost to pay but what is the point of  living anyway without freedom? So, she smiled while lightening the last cigarette and and saw her demons puffing away in its smoke. Through the smoke she looked at the door he left partly opened behind him and decided to open it more often for him.

To the boy who roams in my dreams

Oh dear boy who roams in my dreams

Never you worry about my admirers 

They are no more than strangers in a crowd 

Faceless men 

Awed by my smug face, bold words and composed silhouette  

Oh sweetheart, they only see my shadow 

Upright and spotless

Not my wounds but the glittery scabs

Not my tattered soul but embellished patches holding it together 

Not my scars but the light coming from them

So, my dear beloved 

When you see them displaying their awe

Treating me like I've grabbed their hearts

Don't you compare yourself with them 

Not for even a slightest of a moment 

Because my soul longs for you only

My breaths escape my lips only to leap towards your ears

And my heart has your name etched on it 

Oh my dear beloved

I'm yours 

And they are just faceless men

Moving beside me in a crowd

Oblivious to chaos inside me..