Why don't I want to write anymore?
Why did I write in the first place?
I sign into my blog every day. I click on 'new post'. The blank white box stares at me, eager to sate the aggression these haphazard alphabets have aligned themselves in penitence for. I stare at the cursor blinking at me for minutes. I click 'Sign out'.
There was a time when ideas were fluid. The flaring dance of the fingers and the para-dance that is the sound each hit produced would some how decipher before my eyes as my own thoughts. Random. But mine. My thoughts, mine. All mine.
I have none. Any more.
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho kay teray dil ki thakan
Teri aankhon ki udaasi, teray seenay ki jalan
Meri dil-joee, meray piyaar se mit ja-ay gi
Gar mera harf-e-tasallee woh dawa ho jis say
Jee uthay phir se tera ujrha howa be-noor dimagh
Teri peshaani say dhul ja-ain ye tazleel kay daagh
Teri bemaar jawani ko shifa ho ja-ay
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Roz o shab, sham o sahar main tujhe behlata rahun
Main tujhay geet sunata rahun halkay, sheereen
Aabsharon k, baharon k, chaman zaaron k geet
Aamad e subha k, mahtab k, sayyaron k geet
(Faiz)
Perhaps the life in me is the absorbed energy waves of personalities in my surroundings; a consolidated part or is it all the life I have?
Lock her up somewhere and she is lifeless. Let her out and she reflects.
Bounces, shines, flies. So lives. The life in her, the reflections.
Up stairs on the third floor, the marbled, dusty, corner that she often found herself crippled in, she could smell the frozen axoplasm. She rubbed her scalp, massaged it, covered it up. Kept it warm. Peeping, passing diagonally in mid air, the rays hit her toes. She glared down at them. Tinkled her toes. Warmth!
She walked out side chasing the gleam, ripping through the cold out under the glassy sky. She didn't know something that lifeless can leave an impression that too so purely warm on her. A shaky pigeon with head dumped in feathers gave her a look. She didn't know something that couldn't even speak to her acknowledged her. Genuinely pleasant.
She lived.
She moved deeper and into the assembly of those who could speak. She sat on her mount in the corner among countless mounts of countless lives that were meant to be comprehensible. Right after the rush of genuine anger the disgraceful incidents of radiation of those countless lives on her that killed her she sat with frozen blood this time.
She has never felt anything that wasn't pure. Anger. Love. Patriotism. Indifference. Perhaps that's why she should go back to the state of her frozen axoplam because she rather be dormant than be negatively influenced and corrupted. Until she returns to normalcy, of course.
Parwardigaar nay sab sehal kar dya Sana kay liye.
Siwa-ay Sana kay.
Meray bus ki bat nahi, meray humdum, meray dost.
Tum geet sunao, Bintul.
Shayad main behal hee jaaun.
<3 <3 <3
Why did I write in the first place?
I sign into my blog every day. I click on 'new post'. The blank white box stares at me, eager to sate the aggression these haphazard alphabets have aligned themselves in penitence for. I stare at the cursor blinking at me for minutes. I click 'Sign out'.
There was a time when ideas were fluid. The flaring dance of the fingers and the para-dance that is the sound each hit produced would some how decipher before my eyes as my own thoughts. Random. But mine. My thoughts, mine. All mine.
I have none. Any more.
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho kay teray dil ki thakan
Teri aankhon ki udaasi, teray seenay ki jalan
Meri dil-joee, meray piyaar se mit ja-ay gi
Gar mera harf-e-tasallee woh dawa ho jis say
Jee uthay phir se tera ujrha howa be-noor dimagh
Teri peshaani say dhul ja-ain ye tazleel kay daagh
Teri bemaar jawani ko shifa ho ja-ay
Gar mujhay is ka yaqeen ho meray hamdam, meray dost
Roz o shab, sham o sahar main tujhe behlata rahun
Main tujhay geet sunata rahun halkay, sheereen
Aabsharon k, baharon k, chaman zaaron k geet
Aamad e subha k, mahtab k, sayyaron k geet
(Faiz)
Perhaps the life in me is the absorbed energy waves of personalities in my surroundings; a consolidated part or is it all the life I have?
Lock her up somewhere and she is lifeless. Let her out and she reflects.
Bounces, shines, flies. So lives. The life in her, the reflections.
Up stairs on the third floor, the marbled, dusty, corner that she often found herself crippled in, she could smell the frozen axoplasm. She rubbed her scalp, massaged it, covered it up. Kept it warm. Peeping, passing diagonally in mid air, the rays hit her toes. She glared down at them. Tinkled her toes. Warmth!
She walked out side chasing the gleam, ripping through the cold out under the glassy sky. She didn't know something that lifeless can leave an impression that too so purely warm on her. A shaky pigeon with head dumped in feathers gave her a look. She didn't know something that couldn't even speak to her acknowledged her. Genuinely pleasant.
She lived.
She moved deeper and into the assembly of those who could speak. She sat on her mount in the corner among countless mounts of countless lives that were meant to be comprehensible. Right after the rush of genuine anger the disgraceful incidents of radiation of those countless lives on her that killed her she sat with frozen blood this time.
She has never felt anything that wasn't pure. Anger. Love. Patriotism. Indifference. Perhaps that's why she should go back to the state of her frozen axoplam because she rather be dormant than be negatively influenced and corrupted. Until she returns to normalcy, of course.
Parwardigaar nay sab sehal kar dya Sana kay liye.
Siwa-ay Sana kay.
Meray bus ki bat nahi, meray humdum, meray dost.
Tum geet sunao, Bintul.
Shayad main behal hee jaaun.
<3 <3 <3
