The Creatively Frustrated

Wave after wave hitting the jagged rocks, Spraying the salt water all over me, I lick my lips and taste the salt, I take a breath and smell your scent. Your presence besides me Makes my existence, My hand covered by yours, Says more than words ever can. Your eyes searching mine, Find the long lost answers Of love, of truth, of hope. Overwhelming emotions, Dampen my eyes and I look beyond the vast ocean, And whisper the words in my heart, For sure you know me inside out There’s no need to say it out loud. My heart is empty of all wishes, For it would follow your soul, Whether up as you flow with the wave, Or down as it recedes. Hollow before but not any more, For your laughter fills me, Your touch ignites a longing, And your love, an eternal solace .  By: Misha.

Ever had that feeling when you wished that you could just run away? Spacing out into your own self created world can be quite handy at times. For instance, there are times when you just can’t bear the insistent ‘yak yakkity yak’ of that plump woman standing next to you in a queue. But you’re too polite to shove a sock down her throat. So, you create an imaginary world of which the details are so vivid and crisp, that to you it’s almost; almost real. The ‘yak yak’ is tuned out to subtle hum, barely noticeable. The frequent, automated nod of your head and the occasional ‘jee jee’ assures her that you are listening. Here, your ‘escape’ spares you a bad headache later on. Like I said, it’s handy. Let’s take a grimmer scenario. Sometimes it happens so that there is such an emotional turmoil within you, that the pain no longer just remains psychological but you feel it in your bones. This is when you prefer to ‘space out’. You recreate your happy events, something that made you truly, j...

Rows and rows of memories, Stacked together and tucked away, A few neatly, the rest in haste, Its just a thing of past anyway! An idle mind browses through, The young leading to the old, ‘Handle with care.’ Said one dusty volume, And my curiosity was easily sold. The pages yellowed and cracking, It started with a steady hand, Curving and looping the letters linked, ‘Once upon a time,” the writer began. Living and dying with the words, Time lost all grip and slipped a decade, Gliding and slithering as if in a ballet, Enslaving. The scripture danced. Just before the final chapter, Just before the terminus, As untouched as a virgin The leaflets were empty, vacous! Page after page they were turned, Longing to find an end, Old and yellow, the blank parchments, Have no ‘Happy ever after’ to be told. Rows and rows of memories, Stacked together and tucked away, A few neatly, the rest in haste, Conclude what you want, say what you may. (P.S: It still feels a bit incomplete. Cant figure ...

Obscure shadows in the niches of conscience, Blunt images of guilt; truth is a pretence. Following unreal pathways forged in the mind, Crumbling, stumbling, where hopes are knotted, wills tied. The serpentine trail extends endless, Between peaks of elation and gorges of sadness. Nude feet embarking on self discovery, Left, embossed, are steps of his uncertainty. Hallucinating mirages exploit and bewilder, But thirst persuades to seek the last wonder. Frail now, with blistered feet, the pathway ends, Blood stained hope extinguishes with the last bend. Anguish overwhelms; the toil gone to waste, O, ye fool! Gaze up! Man is, forever in haste. Upon the call the head is raised to see, Beyond the cliff, a brilliance, in the midst of a sea. The tolling lighthouse calls the ones led astray, The seeker sighs, finally! The end of his mind’s play.

(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...

(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...