Off you go, 2020!

 

The year is over, almost over and I feel like I ought to say something, for I was audacious enough to crack a joke about an apocalypse in 2020. 

Well, well, well, look who is the joke now?

 

Speaking of apocalypses, I always wondered what it'd be like to live through one. But of course, when I imagined apocalypse, it was more adrenaline rush and less of a, well, no rush whatsoever. Besides, the rotting brains in my scenario were of the zombies, not myself stuck in quarantine.

 

Of course, I am just calling out on quarantine for the sake of it. My whole life has been more or less the same. Anyway, now that the year is finally on the close, I have but no words to express what it has been. Gradually getting worse by the day, what hopes does the new year offer?

 

After all, time is but an illusion.

 

I wish to crack a joke, I really do. I wish to end this tragedy of a year on a lighter note, but the truth is, nothing about the year was actually light.

 

Sure thing, it started off as a joke. At first, it was just China's problem, you know. Damn you China and your stupid bats. Who cared? I'll tell you who didn't, I didn't.

 

And then it started seeping in. Closer, and closer and closer.

 

As if death itself stood outside the door, ready for you to open it.

 

When it started inching in towards us, it felt like an alternate reality, sort of a hazy dream. But it didn't feel like a big deal even then. After all, when the pandemics hit before, humans were ancient. We are advanced, we have the technology, and we would magically be able to whip out a vaccine overnight.

 

So, when I stood with my friends, outside the cafe, bidding them farewell, because the institutes might close for 2 weeks and my friends asked jokingly for one last hug, I shrugged them off from a distance. 2 weeks. We've been apart longer than that.

 

When the screen started flashing numbers, it started putting a little weight on my heart. Like a brick, and soon, it was a stone and then a feather, and then before I knew, every time, the screen flashed a number, my eyes would just go out of focus.

 

Then death started knocking on doors, loud enough for everyone to hear. Families, friends, neighbors, it was everywhere.

 

The year is on the close. The virus has evolved to the worst it has yet been.

 

So even though I wish to somehow turn it into something hopeful, what am I ought to say at this moment?

 

Life sure is different now. Be it the pandemic or adulthood, whatever the cause is, the blissful days of childhood are long over.

 

Time is an illusion, and so is life.

 

I know the pandemic will settle, sooner or later. Life would be set to a new normal, no matter what it feels like at the moment.

 

Man was never invincible, and he never will be. No matter how much he evolves, no matter how advanced science may get.

 

Life will carry on, for as long as it is meant to go on. But the inevitable truth now reinforces itself in my mind. The truth that life is going to go ahead, leaving us behind. One by one.

 

So, when the year is on the close today, I stand here, far away from that frozen frame where we all stand together, one last time.

THOU WARRIOR OF THE DARK

For you, with love 

You carry the weight on your shoulders so well,

It feels unlikely you ever stoop, 

Light as a feather,

You tread so carefully, 

as if on a glass, 

Your beaming smile,

Your hearty laugh,

You laugh as if there's no care in the world,

And I follow your eyes,

Where your smile never reached,

Say how many days

Do you walk around fighting the tears back?

How many nights

When your world falls apart,

do you seek shelter in a battered camp?

How many times

When the burden gets too heavy,

Do you try to catch your breath,

And it comes, unlike your own? 

Painful, in bits and pieces? 

Oh warrior of the dark, 

Bless thy heart, 

For you're stronger than the tempests

In the sea of your life, 

Oh warrior forget not yourself,

When you pay your debts to the world,

Pay yourself with kindness,

For no one else sees your bleeding scars,

Hold on to yourself with love

Till the storms last, 

and the storms do last,

Hold on, 

till you see the dawn

breaking through the edge of the sky.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE!

Here's to the 72 years of freedom that we have earned, wait, correction, our ancestors had earned. We, on the other hand, have done our best jobs to damage it and we have served well. Now I apologize if I came down on the patriotic mood of yours. I meant no offense.

Our beloved homeland has made it to 72 years, all bleeding, all scratched, all withered but nevertheless all beautiful. Our roads are loaded with charged patriots. We love our land. We are happy, happy to be free. Happy to have been bestowed with the gift that our ancestors presented to us. And what did it cost? Blood. Sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, grandfathers, grandmothers, the unborn.

See, I share your spirit too. I don't share your way celebration, perhaps. This day isn't a happy day for me. Of course, I am grateful for it. When I think about the ‘what ifs’, what if we never had won? Where would we be now? Dead? Caged? At war? Maybe we'd be coexisting peacefully. But that's a far-fetched maybe. And I am talking Timbuktu far. When I think about the lands that are not quite free. The ones at war. The ones where human life has no value. Kashmir, Syria, Sudan, Yemen, Iran… The list goes on. And what breaks my heart even more is the fact that it has only just begun. Peace takes years and years of blood to prevail and it takes one moment to break it.

Wars, on the other hand, wars are easy. Hatred is easy. It doesn't hurt the way caring does. Political games.

And when I think about them, I feel relieved to be here. And I hate myself for feeling it but there is nothing wrong with it. It's human, if not really humane.

So when the day comes, it's a blend of emotions. I am happy to be here. But it breaks my heart because the day is always sad. The aura is always sad. Because the sacrifices never faded. The horrors never ceased. Maybe they never do.

Maybe someday I'd talk about the irony of this situation but not today. Today is about independence, the happiest sad day, or the saddest happy.

While we have the independence, that we owe to Jinnah and Iqbal and the ones who got wrote down in the history and the ones who never made it to be known, they all did it for us, selflessly. They knew they wouldn't make it, but they had faith that we would. And so we did. But we ruined everything along the way.

Happiest Birthday Pakistan. Long Live my beloved homeland. We're sorry to have failed you, to have failed our ancestors. We're sorry to have taken the sacrifices, that were already beyond our bearing, for granted. And in doing so, we have made them heavier. We're sorry that our patriotism wakes up for one day, or when we're challenged but sleeps all the other days. Because we're so ready to defend but we are not ready yet to amend.

We can lay down our lives for the country but that's about it because working to make it better is a bit much to ask.

Dear beloved, I wish you recovery for we have damaged you a lot. Dear beloved, I wish you the best people because you deserve them.

I wish we find it in our hearts to do something for this country, and for our people suffering in our neighbor land. They came so close to being with us, and they're still suffering. Our land maybe diseased but it's not rotten yet. It's survivable. May Pakistan live long. May Kashmir be free. May all the lands be safe. May we find it in our hearts to do more than mere talk. May God be with us all.

REST IN PEACE?

Amidst the desolated terrain of the broken, the stories have etched themselves in the sound of the wind, a wind so hollow that even the rustling of the leaves reeks of death. Oh, how the atmosphere is filled with the foul stench and yet there is no smell. How the silence shrieks of the cries it has so cunningly but dutifully engulfed in itself, as if paying its respect to the deceased. Oh, how this land is diseased. And yet it appears as nothing but promising of peace. Death has been looming over the horizon. Death has been scattered over the ground. And in here, steps a man with spirits as high as a mount where he masks the sense of foreboding with a sense of accomplishment. Nay, it wasn’t a quiet death nor was it quick. It was slow and painful, where the wails echoed for a time so long, it felt like an eternity. Humanity. Humanity died a long time ago.

It is easy to walk in a place and not hear nor sense the devastation it has once witnessed. If it were the case, it would have haunted man forever. Here’s a funny thing about cruelty, it is often attempted with a process of cleansing. Where the mess has been taken care of, and the broken replaced while the scars, hidden, who would hesitate to step in it again?

Who said “war” is how matters are taken care of? It’s not patriotism. It’s hopeless romanticism we have associated with the concept of war. War as a concept, ay, what a notion! At what point does a man decide that spilling of blood would solve a crisis? At what point does a man decide that taking a life equals eliminating a threat? You see threats have this ability of rooting themselves deep in the surrounding. Sins sprout up as a fruit. And sins don’t fade away easy. Your ritual of spilling blood, of sacrificing for the cause of fending off this demon, this immortal beast of a sin will never succeed. Violence is never the answer. It’s a cause. A lost cause.

It’s not funny. I find no humor in a situation where lives are at stake. How is strength associated with who gets to kill more rather than with who gets to save more? When did we become so lost, so deluded, so failed that we stopped seeing the suffering. When did killing more people become a notion of victory? When did the greatest of all creations descend so low that they found peace in destroying lives?

You think war is fun? Snap out of the fantasy. This is not where the heroes you have so idealized fight off with all their skill and might and bring victory to home sweet home. It’s not where a few days of darkness are followed by the sunshine of freedom. War does not free you. It chains your mind for as long as your heart beats. Because you die the moment you are touched by the war.  

Don’t you know what it does to people? You think there are survivors of war? That’s the biggest lie. Truth is, nobody survives a war. Nobody ever comes out of it alive.

See they say, writers have this inner eye where they can just see. And yet after all this time, I have never once managed to even catch a glimpse of where war is an answer. Guess what I am trying to say is that it is, indeed, good to have the spirit to fight for your nation, for your loved ones, for protection but why do things have to reach that stage? Why do humans always try to bring others down while attempting to climb up? Why can you not lift them up with you? All for what? HATE? Should love not be stronger than this? We have misplaced our love, in love for violence, how have we misused this emotion to the worst cause ever. Agendas. What the sung and unsung heroes died for. AGENDAS.  

Consider me naïve but I will tell you this, War is a lose-lose situation. Nobody, NOBODY wins a war. There is no victory, there is no success. There is only loss and causalities and suffering and dread, it is the dearth of the souls, it is the end of a whole world. Those who lived, lived in vain. Those who died, do they rest in peace? Oh the silence after war isn’t peace. It’s the dread. It’s the loss of sound. It’s the loss of all.

IF I MAY

Remember how we all thought 2016 was the worst year but boy, oh boy, did 2018 take up the competition. Now I don’t know if it was just me or did you guys also sense that 2018 was cooking up something really rotten before the year even began? Then January took up most of the year and the rest of the year, I don’t know where it went. But it still feels like ages have passed since we last saw each other alright. I would, most willingly, pin this all on growing up but why is every single person messed up? Did someone jinx the even numbers? It was always the ODD numbers that made you uncomfortable. But as the years are turning up to be, 2020 is giving me a big fat scare from around the corner. What has it in for us? World War III? Zombie Apocalypse? Alien invasion? WHAT?

Now as I sit down to scribble these messy thoughts of mine, I don’t know if I saw more marriages or heart breaks this year. Has some cloudy wave wandered off of my thoughts so that now I see how broken every other person is? Or is it this year? I am gonna repeat my favorite statement again. I.DON’T.KNOW.

What I am trying to say in the middle of all this blabbing of mine is that, I know how this year messed all of us up. We lost, all of us, something, some part of us. Maybe it was the alienating friendships that tore us apart; maybe you had some worse experience. Maybe you failed at something you never thought you’d lose. Maybe you didn’t understand everything that happened to you. Maybe you got tied up into something you never wanted. Maybe you had to let go of something you wanted too much. Maybe you lost your support system. Maybe you bled because you held on to something too tight. Maybe you got tired of holding on for too long. Maybe your faith quivered. Maybe your heart, with all that pain, shivered. Or maybe you just sat back and witnessed how everybody around you fell apart and broke down into pieces while all this time, you couldn’t do anything, couldn’t say a word of comfort, couldn’t offer the perfect advice, even though you’re always the one with the right words. Somehow we were all not okay and somehow that was okay.

It’s not over yet. It’s life. Nothing lasts here anyway. Maybe what I am trying to say is that now is the time we lose our stupid grudges. Now is the time we all feel each other, understand. Maybe now is the time that we all help each other out of this crisis. Maybe we are already in the middle of an apocalypse. This? Not knowing, this anxiety, depression, heart aches, distances? Aren’t these apocalyptic enough for us? We are all fighting battles to get through. We are all aiming at survival. By our choice or otherwise. Be kind. Be kind to each other.

You know what matters the most? Keeping faith. You can scoff, call me naïve. Maybe I haven’t walked in your shoes and don’t understand your problems. But at the end of the day, what matters is keeping faith. You have to know this. You have to know Allah is there for you. You have to believe it. Maybe you won’t see it today; you’d see it one day. Maybe you saw it before and it’s all vague now, but the clouds do pass. The day does get clear. Life is a test and you will survive. Reach out, seek help, it is your right. Reach out, help others, it is your duty. Let us all try to find life again. Be naïve, give life another chance. This may not mean much, but I wish you, all of you, a life of faith ahead. It might not really be okay but you will get through this. Hold on. 

DEAR PATRIOT.

First of all, I am going to apologize for all the hatred I might spring in your heart as I offer my ignorant and “jahilana” views because they’d be different from yours. And I am saying this now because it’s all about to be over. Or I certainly hope so. And with all due respect, I’ll say I do not want “naya Pakistan”. No, I don’t. I don’t want renewal, I want revival. Laugh at me for my orthodox thinking but I want what Pakistan meant at one time. I want the passion and the spirit where people didn’t think twice before sacrificing their lives for the sake of this country. I want the determination where people were willing to let their blood nourish their land, fight a real battle for what mattered, not some stupid social media troll war, where bashing and trashing and abuse wins a war. But above all, I want the country that was made in the name of love, and not the hatred. I thought love is what wins us above all but oh sure Lord Voldemort, you can disagree.

Our generations were capable of hating. I realized it when it hit me that our ancestors never hated India, it was us. They loved the land, the people, and everything about it till they had to divide the land because of the conflicts between the people. But they never hated it.

 For the past few years, I have seen nothing but escalating hatred. And I am sick and tired of the abuse and the intolerance. How are you so absolutely sure about your choices? Why are you so convinced that you are the educated, well-reasoned, understanding intellectual and everybody else is a dumb retard? I mean really dude? That much arrogance? Have some humility brothers and sisters. Part of being human is our ability to be wrong. Sometimes, awfully wrong. So settle down, please?

Pakistan has suffered too much but I tell you it’s really hurting. I don’t think this much hatred was foreseen by our ancestors, or they might have reconsidered their decisions. You want democracy yet you cannot stand your fellow countrymen with a different opinion. They love this country as much as you do. Just because you have considered yourself a die-hard patriot doesn’t make you one. If you did love Pakistan as you have been claiming (which, of course, you do), you wouldn’t be so intolerant towards other people. It’s not just our politicians, our leaders, our rulers that are damaging the state. It is us. Our politicians are merely our reflections staring back at us but we refuse to call them that because we cannot accept how we have wronged the state and each other. We have divided and hated on each other. We have turned a blind eye to the matters that should have shaken us to our last cells. And we have stood there with the audacity to call each other a liar, a thief, a fool, all in the name of wanting the better for our country.

You want change? Well, change yourself. Accept the differences. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Stop ruining your relations over stupid politics. Politics has a lot of dark pathways you are not even aware of. Love each other. And oh, you call for change when you still think calling someone a “khusra” is a joke. What the hell is even funny in that? They are people like us. Better than us. They are not a joke. Minorities aren’t a joke. Somebody having a different religious point of view isn’t kaafir. We are all humans. We err. We sin. We are flawed. We have differences. Accept that. Be loyal to your country and do your duties because we all love to cheat a little when it’s not threatening enough (be it on an exam or a little lie we have just told). FOR THE LOVE OF ALMIGHTY, STOP THIS NONSENSE, THIS HATRED, THIS DISGUST. STOP IT. I don’t know if you can’t sense the pain we are causing Pakistan and might even think I have got a flair for the dramatic, but I am telling you, Pakistan is hurting. Because I have felt it. So I request you, please, please, for the sake of our beloved land, stop this, dear Patriot.

Peace.

HEAR, HEAR!

Even if you do enjoy your reputation as a mysterious Pandora box, at some point in your life you’d want to be understood or accepted or at the very least, heard. And it’s a beautiful feeling knowing that there is someone you can rely on, to shower down your rants on, because you know they’d listen, they’d understand, they won’t judge. As a return, you’d offer them your ear. In short, you’re there for each other. But are we though? (If you don’t get this reference, I hate you.) Anyway, the point is, why are we all so miser to offer our services to a limited few? The world is in chaos. Moral, psychological, emotional chaos. You’re not the only damsel in distress. There are ones who are suffering and they don’t have the kind of support you do. Maybe you’re one of them. See the point is, we are so drenched in our own oceans of tears, we barely notice someone who is one step away from tearing apart. We might assure someone we are there for them, we may even listen to them, but why do we keep failing to hear it? The desperate need to be actually heard? To be helped? To be held together?

We are losing too many precious people. Because we didn’t see it. They weren’t the type to do such a thing as to kill themselves. Hey, you know what? Maybe they weren’t the type, but we weren’t the type to kill people either but our actions, our neglect did let someone to take their life. And we are okay with it? Because we have ourselves convinced it wasn’t us. It’s like handing over a loaded gun to someone and saying it was them who pulled the trigger. So your honor, might wanna consider hanging their dead body for it?

Yes, suicide isn’t the solution. It’s not the answer. A person committing suicide is as much responsible for his death as are the other people. When you let your thoughts strangle you, choke the life out of you, when you swallowed the pill of your self-created poison, when you removed the safety from the gun, knowing that there is a weak point. Maybe you self-designed that bullet of your doubts; maybe you polished the blunt of your knife with the edge of your self-esteem. Now I apologize if I sound too insensitive towards your struggles, or depression or anxiety. I am not being insensitive. There is an underlying truth. And I apologize for being carried away from the point, it just seemed important.

Okay, let’s just leave the worst case scenario behind. There are lots of reasons we need to hear out other people. If you wish to be understood, try to understand other people as well. In that inside out world of yours, maybe you’re always the right one, but let’s face it. There are times when you are wrong. Stop being so rigid and take other people’s point of views. And respect them enough to at least agree to disagree. Trashing people around for having different views than you is not making you a better person. In this world of social media addicts, it’s so cool to be a savage troll. Oh, you don’t care about other people? You must be awesome. And stop. Just stop fooling yourself by saying it’s just a joke. If you’re leaving behind respect, going around telling people what ignorant fools people are for holding a different political perspective than yours, you're a horrible person. Because they don’t support your leader, it’s okay for you to bash them with anything that comes in your mind. Oh, they are not even real football fans. Well, congratulations, 10 points for your originality. No, STOP! Shut up and let people live. Stop being such a bully. HEAR THEM OUT. 

And when you start to actually hear people, when you respect them enough to try to see the point of view from their perspective, life would be better. I mean you’d be willing to do it if it was your crush, wouldn’t you? Hell, you’d even hang upside down from a tree branch to see it from their perspective. Why not let it sink? If you still don’t accept it, respect it enough; at least tell yourself they are different. Hear them out. Hear yourself out. When your own soul is screaming for attention, not of others but yours? Give it the freaking attention. And once you start hearing with an intention to understand, you’d even hear the silence. 

SILENCE

In the sky rose the screams,

The shrill wails roared,

A drop landed on the soil,

Another,

And another,

A blotch appeared,

As if a painting,

All in red,

The evil shrieked somewhere in the background,

A chaos broke,

The buildings crumbled,

An image of a broken land appeared behind the dust,

The dust trying to mask it,

Humanity suffered another blow,

Its roots staggered once again,

And long after, silence prevailed,

Everything appeared to be normal

yet nothing was normal,

When the cries faded,

Silence echoed,

Louder than the howls of evil,

The silence screamed,

And when nothing spoke,

Silence did,

The tales that vanished,

Silence carried them all.

When there was nothing to say,

Silence said it all.

THE UNDEAD

In the dimly lit room she sat, her eyes gazing in the dark as if it carried all the wonders of the world. Anyone entering the room would have suffered from a sheer sense of claustrophobia but somehow the boundaries didn’t seem to bother her. She sat so still as if posing for a portrait, or if she were a statute. She was a piece of art, so magnificent that she carried a thousand tales within her. It’s not always the words that dictate the stories, sometimes it’s the silence. Sometimes the silence screams louder than the words. Sometimes not saying says it all.

The absolute stillness was broken by a loud thud at the door. Someone had brought her back to the reality as if some paint splashed over the portrait, or the statute came crumbling down to the ground. Her eyes widened. An expression crossed her face but lasted only a moment. Silently, she slipped out of her dungeon into the living room. It seemed like someone had tried so hard to give it signs of life, all the artificiality failing to provide so. Twenty seven years!

Twenty seven years ago, she had decorated this very room with her beautiful bony hands. Even when everything seemed to be falling apart, even when her dreams shook under the immense weight of the reality, even when every promise, every hope seemed a fallacy, she worked. She worked to beautify her castle, the castle she was a prisoner of, the castle she was meant to never leave again. Somewhere in the darkness, she waited like a princess, like Rapunzel hidden away from the world. The only difference was, there was no one coming for her rescue. Twenty seven years ago, if you had seen her, you’d be baffled. If you had bumped into her younger version of twenty seven years ago, you wouldn’t have recognized her. Twenty seven years!

Pacing into the kitchen, she turned on the stove, her hands following the rhythmic patterns as if encoded to do so. The spark of the fire lit her eyes for a moment and faded. In the background, someone was loudly talking. Provided she was the only other person in the house, it was directed to her. Her demeanor didn’t change. Her hands worked at the same pace they did before. Years ago, she would have panicked, her hands would have moved faster, her heart would have thumped louder, but now, there was no rush, there was no panic. The speaker was standing in the doorway now. He did not look happy but her serenity never broke.

The steam escaped the kettle as she poured the tea in the cup and at the moment, it was the only thing that seemed free.

Some order had been directed to her, to which she had silently complied. She was back in the dungeon which was now lit with much more light than the tiny room could afford.

Her now wrinkled hands reached the cup-board, flashing it open like a gateway into the past. The red dress glittered before her eyes, hitting her with a sheer nostalgia. Twenty seven years! Twenty seven years ago, when she had first set her eyes on this dress, she had beamed with such pleasure, she could have gone hysteric. Her mind had wandered off, far away into the wonder land. She had so excitedly chatted about her wedding day, and the life she had planned afterwards that her elders had to silence her.

On the day of her wedding, she had carried this dress like she had carried all her dreams, fancy and sparkly. She had been, without a doubt, the prettiest bride there ever was. Not because her beauty was unmatched, but because she had that glow, the spark of life. Her smile had shone brighter than the jewels around her neck.

A curt voice shook her out of her memory lane, the very voice that had shaken her out of her dreams years ago. There was no evidence of violence because she had never been physically hit. And that was enough for the world to confirm her safety. Because invisible scars, no matter how deep they penetrate, never burst out on the surface, because no one wants to see them. Her hand shifted from the red dress to a dull grey one. She closed the cupboard shutting with it, the small hints of life.

Once again, she had to go out pretending to be alive, because to the world, she wasn’t dead, not yet. Because to the world, she was still scar-less, bruise-less, only old, withered out lady. The world was only willing to declare her dead, once she would stop breathing, once her heart would stop beating. Little did they know, she had stopped living a long time ago.

BLISS

Amidst the dust,

And the foul stench,

The loose torn clothes hanging on their bodies,

Strained to the very core,

The cold breeze waves past,

Yet unlike the others,

They seem unbothered,

As if their bodies are immune to it,

As if they're cold blooded,

Their tiny hands gripping the plastic bags,

Like there's some treasure hidden inside,

A cherishing laughter echoes in the street,

As they run after each other,

Their eyes lit with excitement,

A smile brighter than the stars,

They break into run, then walk,

Playing around never minding the surroundings,

The cars honk, the people stare,

Complain as to why they stand in the way,

But they never care,

Neither do they easily scare,

There is never a truer smile the world has seen,

Never a truer form of bliss,

The rich doesn't know it,

For he runs away from the foul stench,

For he masks away from the dust,

For he runs after the worldly wealth,

For he thinks he's acknowledged,

But the truth is,

He is as ignorant as the poor,

Maybe even more,

Little does he know,

The happiness he's running after,

They've already had it,

Look at them laughing around,

You'll know it's pure bliss.

Because their hearts are pure,

It's not the unclean clothes,

It's the dirt in hearts that's a problem,

Look at their crystal clear eyes,

Followed by a sparkly smile,

You'll know it's pure bliss.

THE BEARER OF THE BAD NEWS

I have been hated and worse.

I have been despised.

Remorse,

I have been forced to feel,

For not who I am as a person,

But for what my job demands me to be.

The bearer of the bad news,

The partner of the grim reaper,

Are the names they call me by,

And I am no bad guy,

I tell you.

I am not the enemy,

If it wasn’t me,

There would be someone else,

‘cause someone had to step up.

To bring home the news,

That no one wants to carry.

I am, indeed, the bearer of the bad news,

As entitled by the haters in my common views,

I had thought to have seen,

The worst out there that’s been,

When I told the widows,

Their husbands couldn’t make it,

And watched them fall to the ground,

Like a damsel in distress,

Or when I told the parents,

About the burden of carrying,

The heaviest of the coffins,

Their own blood,

Their own child,

Over their own shoulders,

The silent tears rolling down the cheeks,

Choked me up at nights,

As I gasped for air,

The atmosphere didn’t have to offer.

That one time I had to tell,

A dreamer,

His dreams had fallen,

That he had to call it off,

The wedding, a day before,

Because his dream breathed her last.

She was there but in the past,

But the worst of it was when,

I brought along the news,

To the child who clung to me,

As soon as I stepped in,

Her little beady eyes,

Beaming full of hope,

As she whispered in my ear,

That broke me down to tears,

And even though it was a whisper,

It echoed in my head,

The words that slipped her tongue,

“DADA” she said,

Repeatedly,

That was the day I broke,

Into pieces I couldn’t collect.

My heart splintered open,

Splashing far away,

The only thing that remained,

Was an immense darkness

And pain,

The pain like nothing before,

The agony there was,

The despair I felt,

Shook the last of my courage,

And I knew it in my heart,

I would never be able to do this again,

As I walked back home,

With a heart so heavy,

I stooped under the weight,

I wondered why it had to be this way,

A human killing a human,

Freeing the soul of the other,

While having his own trapped,

In the darkness of the evil.

I pondered as I passed,

A Street that had bathed,

In the blood of a thousand fallen souls,

And in a distance the gunshots echoed,

The war was carried on,

The war of nothing.

THE SOUL THAT WE SOLD

Can you hear the screams and the wails, those helpless cries that fill the sky with the first ray of light at dawn and echo when the dusk settles in? Can you see the now spotless streets still bathed in the blood of the innocent when you walk on them? Can you feel the gloom in the aura even though the trees appear to be dancing with the wind? Of course, you don’t. Because the mother nature does its best to mask the brutalities of mankind. The sky absorbs the grieving yells before they could travel a distance. The earth sips in the blood so that no trace of oppression remains. Maybe because the nature is more ashamed of a man’s crime than a man himself is.

I was startled to find out how easy it was for a human to numb the pain, even easier to block it before the wound even gets the chance to settle. Shield: what a glorious invention or must I say, a discovery? Because a physical shield might stop a physical injury, but the emotional shield shelters you from the fatal blows to your soul. Or apparently, it’s what it seems.

The world, my friend, is a dark, dark place. Sometimes, the darkness consumes every bit of the hope. There is no light. And in times like those, it’s the best to block the thoughts because the pain would be too much to bear. Nobody likes the feeling of helplessness and that is exactly how we feel when we look at the world.

I thought immunity was a gift till I discovered the cost that we had been paying to have it. We have been trading the bits of humanity to keep the peace of our mind. So now when the bodies fall in front of our eyes, we are too blind to see them. And when the wails echo in the sky close enough for us to hear, we are too deaf to listen. And when the humanity is at stake, we are too dead to care.

As Muslims, we are supposed to be a family, a family that shares the pain of its members. Yet we scattered and divided ourselves because apparently our differences mattered to us more. How do we expect to unite ourselves when we part our ways when going to bow to the same God? We are too busy judging each other for sinning differently. Nowadays, we get to decide who is going to heaven and who is going to hell. Wow, sit down- you self-appointed judge. It’s the matter of that person and Allah. But you know what your matter is? That you are so negligent of? Helping your brothers in pain.

It’s happening in Kashmir, in Syria, Palestine, and now it’s happening in Rohingya and half the places that we are unaware of. And what did we do? We turned a blind eye to it. Why? Because it’s not us? But it is us, isn’t it? It is our family. And our family is suffering and we are doing nothing about it. Because we can’t. For the love of Almighty, there are so many Muslims in the world. If each state starts contributing, I don’t believe it would be that hard to free them. If Muslims of the entire world unite, who would dare to harm them again?

We sat back and watched the world bash us as terrorists and the world got silent when the actual terrorists attacked Muslims. And yet we are too blinded to see the obvious strategy lying behind. Kudos to our ability to ignore. Imagine having to answer in the court of Allah, why did we let our family die? Imagine having to answer at what cost did we buy our immunity? Imagine having to explain why we thought selling our soul for some apparently peaceful moments was worth it? Just imagine.

THE TRASH BASH

Have you heard that really great joke about women? Yes, I am talking about whichever came to your mind. Funny, aren’t they? Stand up against one, and suddenly you’re a feminist- the most loathsome thing there is to exist out there. No, I am not saying there are no jokes about men. Of course, there are, just not as many as for women. Do you know how easy is it to set a man off? Say the three magical words, “fragile male ego” and boom, you’re golden. You could, of course, use the alternate three words and say, “men are trash” – the explosion effects are pretty much the same. And now that I have established quite the reputation of a feminist, hate to break it to you- but you’re wrong.

It’s dark ages. We are at war. You’re not doing social media right if you don’t indulge in one. It’s either men are trash or feminists are trash. It’s either the fragile male ego or stupid feminist thinking. I mean, come on? Why do they ask for gender equality when they can’t treat men the same way? They can’t stand in the bus, and they want to demand equal rights? For the love of God, they can’t even open the jar lid by themselves and they want their names put in with the jobs alongside men? Such dull-witted creatures they are, women. They are better suited in the kitchen, and can’t they just stick around their gossips? Their arguments are pointless anyway.

You know who else loves to shop? Men. Go on, call me a liar. Maybe they are not as indecisive as girls; maybe they don’t melt over the things they weren’t supposed to buy, maybe they don’t buy the things they surely didn’t need- THAT FOOTBALL JERSEY WAS IMPORTANT. Do you know whose mood is unpredictable as well? Men. You can set them off by something so little, you wouldn’t understand. You think all men make sense in arguments? Whatever lies get you through the night. Do you know who else likes to gossip? Men. Of course, they are not as such tattle tales and they have the bro-code so they don’t go stabbing their fellows in the back and plotting evil strategies, but don’t tell me they don’t gossip. Who do you think has spread all these things about women? Their gossiping, shopping, mood swings and on and on? MEN. But, of course, as long as it’s the truth- it shouldn’t be rendered gossip, right?

It is cool to say you hate everyone and there is a generalized understanding that exceptions are made even in that case, but not when a gender is involved. It’s stereotypical, it’s racist, it’s sexist. There is so much hate in this world. I haven’t seen as many feminists out there as much I have seen the haters of it, the anti-feminist club.

Women should not take offence of all the jokes because they are just jokes (with the hint of truth obviously). I mean, come on, where that sense of humor at? Laugh it off, be the laughing stock. Shouldn’t hurt your feelings, because seriously, girls- you know you can’t drive, you know you’re shopaholics, you know you are dull-witted, you don’t know your way around the car’s engine, you don’t know the specs when you buy your gadgets. You do betray men with all that make up, and you do look like a man because you don’t keep yourself groomed. No, I am not body shaming you; I am just saying you’re not curvy enough for my liking. Why do you complain about your weight? Nobody’s calling you fat, (well, not out loud, at least).

Am I a feminist? Well, if all men are trash is the new definition then I most certainly am not. I don’t hate men. I honestly find women more evil than men. I do envy the bro-code and the friendships boys have and damn, I love those side hugs. I know how it sounds. But see, I am not taking any sides. I don’t believe all men are horrible- I have seen otherwise. The world is a diverse place.

Here’s the thing- there is no such thing as gender equality. Genders were not created equal; the differences were created to complement each other. I believe there was a time when feminism meant for something. There was an agenda, not hatred. It’s not about gender equality, it’s about gender equity. It’s not the similar treatment, it’s the treatment deserved by each.

Tell you what, if you’re offended by something as pointless as a statement like fragile male ego- YOUR EGO IS FRAGILE. You’re not supposed to empty your seat for a girl if you don’t want to. You don’t do it because it’s a custom, you don’t hold a door for a woman to be a man, you do it because you are one, you do that because you’re a gentleman. And if you wanna go rub it in the faces, please don’t do it. And if you wanna question why that had to be the grounds for being a gentleman, again, don’t do it.

Not all men are same. I have seen men accepting the shortcomings of their gender. I have seen men being protectors just like I have seen women accepting their mistakes and apologizing (though once in a blue moon). I find it adorable that girls have to go ask boys to open up the lid, yes, because that’s complementing the shortcomings. If the male gender is blessed with greater physical strength than the female, there is no need to boast about it.

Enough with the stereotypes of the society, when are we gonna get past those? Stop bashing each other with labels. Crying is not for the weak, a man can cry and a man shall cry when he wants to. A girl can parallel park if she’s into driving. Stop being so obsessed with your narcissistic self. Get over yourself, there are a thousand better than you. Get out of that small little box in your head, learn to think beyond it. Don’t make a girl wish she were a boy, make her feel safe. Don’t plot your evil strategies to get the guy or his money; he did not earn it for you.

Everything is not a joke. Why is to so easy to label and bash women and joke about them? You know why women started asking for equality? LOOK AT HOW YOU TREAT YOUR WOMEN. They are not objects of your fascination. And most certainly, they aren’t your house-elves. They have desires that are often masked by the fragility of their own gender. If women had been treated the way they deserved to be treated, they wouldn’t rise up against men. They wouldn’t have to feel harassed enough to develop hatred. Joke about it when you know they have been treated the same. The whole lot of you, none of you would make it out sanely if put in their shoes. Joke about it when that little girl did not have to mask her desire because she was a female. Joke about it when that girl did not longingly wondered that she were a boy.