Soaz

It was clearly Zardari sitting with the Molvi Sahab in the Masjid, repenting. Then with smoke erupting from the floor walked Musharraf with a microphone, staring at me, looking right through the net covering the window I was sitting behind. It took my breath away for a second. I tried listening and searching for the speakers to his microphone because I couldn't hear anything. What?

He mouthed some inaudible words again.
I tried to listen. What?

It appeared to me only after the traffic got jammed in between Musharraf and the window in front of me that he was making some sort of an introductory speech pointing to a giant room size computer mouse. All of a sudden, it became accessible to me and without thinking I clicked. With no surprise, it triggered a cascade of scientific beeps that increased in intensity with every step. I hurried some steps back, afraid, bit my fingers, my pupils shifted from side to side, you get the picture. And before I could think up something the sun was blocked and I stood beneath the shadow of a giant robot.
What the!
"Ye kiya scene hai bhai?" I called out.
My brother then appeared from no where to answer the question,"jaisay jab murghee ka bacha anday se nikalta hai to pehli cheez jo dekhta hai usay apni maa samajhta hai bus Musharraf ki robot tumhain apni maa samajh rahi hai."
"What the hell! What the hell are you talking about?"

I started pacing my way down the street, the robot followed me and I couldn't believe the words it was repeatedly uttering.
"Leave me alone!" I yelled.
"Preetum mat pardes padhaaro!"
"Leave me freak'en alone!"
"Preetum mat pardes padhaaro!"
Run.. run.. run!
"Should I throw a boulder over this thing's head?" My brother asked appearing, uttering, and after getting no response, disappearing. 

I woke up pulling my face off of Robbin's Pathology, confused, I looked around making sure no robot was chasing me and just when I gained my senses back I heard the sky outside shimmying with firearms. Does anyone know what is up with the Supreme Court, Deedar guy, PPP and people burning cars and I heard there isn't any school tomorrow. Ya? Party!

I am going to go suicide, I can't believe I just typed this up.

Granuloma Observed

Sadness has always been lying around in a small corner of everything. It's a state of mind and has nothing to do with being ungrateful to everything that prevails with subtle accuracy. Speaking of escaping a spontaneous plan for an arranged wedlock in six hours, sadly enticing! Both escaping and the spontaneity.

Like the concentration of a laser, focused in order to comprehend kept the glance engaged while amongst a bunch of others with higher level of keenness to be noticed stood waiting for a breach in the harrowing prolonged instance. They noticed, so did I. They also felt for deprivation is piercing [Hahaha, you read this and make my day]. I blinked away. The glance didn't, but when it did it did so permanently.

I see her shrewd ways of dodging herself out of situations without getting hurt in terms of succumbing to something she had not wished for. As for her, I see right through her and it has struck her that I know what she intends to say but doesn't; It is pretty obvious why she does what she does. Whereas she after accusing me of being obsessed with the letter 'I' proves herself to be equally obsessed with it, only obliviously. The overlapping traits of the people belonging to the gender produced by the bone of the other!

All three of them, the triangle, walk around with an accomplished sense of helping themselves, smart thing to do.

"Daadi jaan, bewaqoof kon hota hai?"
"Kon hota hai?"
"Woh jo khud ko nuqsan pohcha lay!"
"Keh saktay hain."

You see them so strong and then while walking through the barricade you see them scurrying their way to the destination, holding their breaths, pushing their shoulders arranged along the axis of their propagation, shrinking themselves to the proximity of the smallest radius from their centers, most importantly doing so with a sense of fear. The mesh-work of people terrorizes the soul within them, so I have observed.

Dar to sab ko lagta hai.

The urge to have those unlike them wall them from the barricade and translocate the granuloma with safety appears to me as a joke. To me, those unlike them without a label seem something like chronic granulomatous disease, an abnormality indeed.