The Creatively Frustrated

While going towards Gilgit, there is this amusing distinction between barren mountains and lush green foliage.  It captivated me to see such inhabitable environment abruptly burst forth into life! One can do nothing but marvel . Photography by your's truly.

While the corpse rots in its grave, Six feet under, A haven for ants and Flesh eating bugs, The head stone mocks: "Rest in peace." And we, Six feet above, Talk of freedom of speech And of living. Our fate, though the same As of the corpse, Six feet under.

As if obsessively trained to scan Compulsively acting to inspect Her beady eyes, were no more The usual receptors Merely serving to visualize She constantly searched Her head involuntarily turned An intrusive lens, you see Can be installed anywhere Warned about web cams Skilfully performing the famous thumb test Miles away, vivid images are seen Through secretively kept satellites Intercepted conversations Recorded messages From words to movements Everything sells Yes Slaps Maps Sex Anything sells Cell phones I can fight Hidden cameras I can sight But what about those pictures That are taken from above the sky Perplexed for days, She carefully weighed A fearful life or a feared end Can cameras peek through layers of sand? She immediately shot herself Damn Wait "oh great now all the videos are being played."

Tringgg tringgg! Tringgg tringgg! The alarm clock on her bedside table rang. She turned in her bed and hit the snooze button. Her eyes still glued shut with sleep dust. Nine more minutes passed in silence. A bird chirped, a motorcycle passed by on the empty street where her house was. Tringgg tringgg! Tringgg tringgg! This time her body jerked awake. Her hand which was still on the table, hit the clock again, but the clock fell and rolled away, still emitting the annoying sound.   “Aaggghh!” She exclaimed sitting up on her bed, her feet dangling a few inches off the floor.   She went through her morning routine of ironing her clothes, brushing her teeth, taking a bath, brushing her hair and finally applying kohl in her dark eyes, the only makeup that she ever wore. She gulped down a glass of lassi and took a banana to eat on her way to the bus stop. Slowing her walk to a stroll, she let the fresh morning air evaporate the beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. Going through text

Scores of knots tightly interlaced, Clogging the mind and jamming the thoughts. Pulling out small loops day after day, Vain attempts they seem, I must say Existence brimmed with crooked puzzles, Thoughts to escort, yet unaccompanied Silent words and hushed sobs Crafting their way to a boulevard Misty views diffusing throughout Blunt images overshadowing reason Is this a trap? Or a trance Moving in circles; trying to find an end. A step forward and there’s a dread No support and I descend Face down, the ground is less distant The scent of dirt, flickers the senses Jagged rocks pierce the skin Knees raw and elbows skinned I try to regain my stability, but screw GRAVITY! Fighting against it, I regain my posture Still wavering, but on two feet again I continue my path of untying, The scores of knots clogging the mind.

Words betray me Abandoning in the time Of their need Thoughts escape Unfaithful thoughts, evaporate I panic Memories, sweet memories Please come rushing back I need to recall I have to narrate Emotional blackmail Whatever it takes I can beg I can plead Just don't walk away From us From me Give me a minute A minute in exchange of years For I have to search Words, thoughts and memories I grope I grab But they slip Evading my lips I am trying Wait Listen Today cursed, I am Tongue tied, I hear His rationalizations His justifications Babbling Mumbling And then foot steps Foot steps-The last sound of his To echo And it will Forever In moments of my unforgivable silence

At the edge of a vertical cliff, She stands tall, Wind playing havoc with her hair, Arms outstretched, Emotions tugging, pulling, wrenching. A whirlpool. There is a strange serenity, dead calm, before A violent storm. A lone eagle circles over head, Below abyss. Inflating the lungs and arching her back, Scents of earth, A part of her now, conversed. Yearning lust. Adrenaline, burning vehemence, She longed. She faces her fate, bold. A smirk, As if laughing at its face. Steadily, A deep breath. On her toes now, inclining, She jumps! Plummeting, the wind screams for her, Ecstasy. The eagle eyes her curiously, Falling still, The sun burns in protest. A little further, Mimicking a statue in mid air, Almost there, And behold! She soars! Above the eagle, above the clouds, Serenity. At peace. At last.

How far would one wander away from home? Half of me safe, the other lost to the world, Perhaps there’s no want to be found, Am I, perhaps, fortunate this way? In the solitude of confinement, Silence is the loudest of rooms to be, Camouflaging thoughts and fleeting glimpses, Of who you actually are, the lies you set free. I bear the burden that time revealed, Lost in the maze, I need to contemplate, Whether I go across or sit there till My dried bones bleed. I need a story line to rely on, Something uneventful and ordinary, Be kind O’ storyteller, narrate it to me, Until the time of the ultimate slumber. May be in another life you’ll be my friend, In another life where good things won’t end, Where I’ll confess to the secrets, surrender, And may be I’ll find simple faith again.

(This Short Story has been published in a book "Voices and Visions" A collection of short stories from authors all over Pakistan.) (Part 1 continued) She cried silently. After a few minutes, he commanded her to get up. He shook her violently, but she laid there limp. ‘If you tell about this to any one, I swear I’ll kill you and your precious Ammi!” Omer threatened. “Besides, even if you did tell nobody will believe you and every one would think you did all this on purpose. They’ll kick you out of this house!” He laughed. She was so frightened and distressed by all that had happened to her that she believed what Omer told her. She was young and naïve and didn’t understand that this was not her fault at all. She was over whelmed by the control he had over her small body. She started to cry again and at this Omer slapped her across her cheek. “Now go clean yourself up! Wash your face. And I’m telling you again, if anyone gets to know about this you know what I can do.” He l

Shaping my eyes Spindly aligned With an arched crown Visibly proud, He signs In his distinctive style Symmetry with sight Mischievously smiles Challenging science to rival Provoking art to rebel Mould or soul They bring forth But never both Peerless, he stands Undefeated, he flaunts Ever wondered why You willingly bow down? But while submissive hearts pray A rebellious voice From somewhere far Travels Penetrates Sight yours Vision mine With conventional organs Contemporary usage, I acquired Anatomically similar Are all human beings But within ourselves Distinct individually Who created us Our real identities A smirk Being blessed With an essence Manifested as spirit Having it sculptured By my handpicked environment You shamelessly tread a path Predestined Sugar coated With self proclaimed, Self made decisions And you are what You say A creator My equivalent? Churning lazy philosophies , these days Are all, trend following ath

Captured at Bhambore!

Tardy hours of a dark night, Eyes wide open; fixed at nothingness. Visible are the outlines, Of the figures that haunt me. Drawn to some, I am repelled by others. I close my eyes, and the world spins As if tossed over in a centrifuge. Pulled towards the familiar shadows, I am tied with a string. Fastened to a vital part, it tugs with a force Taking me to places I don’t belong, Ignoring the protests, I yell at it. With a sluggish pace; I try to deceive Move away, But ah! it stings. A battle goes on as it dawns on me, A puppet I am, after all Manipulated by thee.

Crossing, or reluctantly moving perhaps. With little or no reason. With utterly disgruntled mood from lost faith and those useless familiar faces. You look up with some intent, with some self belief that what your eyes might see, maybe, just maybe shed some light to where this is leading to. A rope bridge. The narrowest and precarious pathway. Where hope falls like a meteor, ignites with sudden flashes. You cant help but chuckle, after that intended look up. Mist, shrouded clouds of a lost cause, desperation and fucking sighs. And you just have to wonder, about that justice that was said to be, but never heard of. Justice, equality, court of law ?! Heh. There's just a friggin pathway, which itself is dented with desperation and denial. And THEY talk about justice ? You lower your knees for a bit, letting them feel the crooked boards. Some comfort ? And, you try to look behind. Possibly the most disgraceful and an act of sheer dumbness ! Feeling the end level of you frustrati

(This Short Story has been published in a book "Voices and Visions" A collection of short stories from authors all over Pakistan.) “What’s a parrot?” “It’s a bird beta.” “What kinda bird Ammi?” “It’s a very… interesting bird. It can even talk to you. Did you know that?” “Reaaaally??” She said her eyes as wide as saucers. “Han beta! But only if you teach it how to talk. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow’s a very important day.” Ammi smiled, tucked her in bed, gave her a kiss and left the room. How could she sleep? Her mind was like a cyclone that night. The excitement of having her very first pet was driving her crazy. She used to ask her Abu hundreds of times, each and every day, if she could have a pet. And Abu would always patiently reply, “Not yet my sweet.” But poor Abu couldn’t resist the earnest twinkle in her big brown eyes and had finally given in to her wish. “Oh I hope my parrot is pink!” She thought her imagination running wild, “with a yellow beak and… and bl

I walk On a thin metallic needle Behind a plastic seal Beginnings are usually deceptive Wider bases cleverly deceive Towards fine tapering ends, They lead? Mislead. Exploiting my needs Hopeful susceptibility The love for light A little respite Also cheats Consoling myself A dark patch maybe I cement my belief But a distant voice Faintly speaks The needle is painted black Can't you see That you can't? Even if I could I retaliate Your scratched glass This so-called protective shield Would have obscured my vision Curtailed my inherent abilities Perfectly planned Painted black A tapering end I obediently walk Locked The metal erodes Facilitating the final fall Tick tock Tick tock

The northern wind blows, Wicked and wild, A gust of dust, some plastic bags, Debris flying like paper planes, Slamming doors and crooked windows, Shattering glass and dried leaves. Foreboding. The clouds up north An angry mass of grey. Twisting, snarling, a flash of light, Few blinks of an eye and thunder. Pitch black, its only noon. It crawls up his spine, the wild wind, Arms wrap the chest, craving warmth. A few more booms up ahead, The God fearer recoils. Pitter patter, the first few drops squeal, Free of their angry cage above, Dripping down dusty window panes, Rain follows forth. Parched, the sand sighs. Branches bow down gratified. The believer drenched now, No shelter sought. Earth lives vividly, The curse broken, The worst, over. Evil moved on. Rain falls gentler, And his belief, steadfast, staunch. Hymns. Sweetly scented soil. The wild wicked wind, Vanquished.