The Creatively Frustrated

Exploring Thar, Sindh. Twilight. Typical setting of villages there. Ingenious cottages these are. On the road towards Thar, I came across a sunflower field. These were as big as my head.

As he entered the room Amused and annoyed Suddenly everything became quiet A chuckle here A frown there And he, at the junction Of intellectual deficit and dearth Looked up Smiled Assalam ul alaikum everyone Silently honouring our latest discovery Me and my friend, inaudibly agreed More about the degree To which it desensitized All these years misunderstood Was Karl Marx's religious opioid Unaffected yet begging for it A perfect candidate combines Ridicule with entertainment Tsk Don't think No guilt Let's just dissect him Starting with that mark, What do you see? Prostrating heads aren't much of a visual treat Is slamming really a religious necessity? I am a Muslim Please praise me Coming down The request gets even more loud With an untrimmed beard, Wildly lingering on Conventional rigidity and rigid convention Rebelliously change forms But one shape Which stubbornly remains the same Is that of his circular belly Consuming per...

Some moments I captured during a trip to Murree and Islamabad.

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.

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."