Blessing in Our Life

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We are told that the ladies who are the easiest to look after are the most blessed.
The question remains, do we treat them as the blessings that they are said to be? Do we treat them as they should be?
Or do we, because of their low maintenance, just neglect their needs?
Because they do not make a fuss and create havoc every time their needs or wishes are not fulfilled, do we overlook their needs? The things that make them happy? The subtle forms of care and love that could overjoy them?
Do we forget doing the things we would for other people because they might just start throwing things in our face? And because these ladies make no such nuisances, do we just ignore them? Take them for granted?
Or for that matter, any person who does not explicitly counter our ways, or do not make extravagant demands, do we take all such people for granted?
Planning things, eating out, conversations, or anything for that matter, any plan, we never consider these “low maintenance, considerate” people.
Is this what someone’s consideration is worth? Is this how they should be treated?

Or are we waiting for them to snap and move away to start looking at them and looking out for them? Or caring for them? And if we do, would it be what keeps them with us? Happy and content?
Or would they have moved too far before we realize they have given up on us?

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3 AM Thoughts

Sometimes I want to hold your hand and say,
“Don’t go yet. I still need you around. Be. Maybe just for a little more time. I know there’s nothing more to talk. Savor this silence with me. Let us just be.”
But leaving, you take away your hand abruptly. A strange anger in you. Your eyes rebuke me in a certain manner.
Somehow I know I shouldn’t say anything anymore.

He is a Human Too!

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Talking of home, peace
the beauty of my place
the calm,
Paradise

We somehow reach conflict
the tug-of-war
nobody ready to give in
the dilemma of rope!

I narrate how, every year
we lose sons to bullets
how, abruptly
our streets are painted red

How, out of blues
a pellet hits your eye
How, in an instant
the world turns black!

I explain the mass graves
AFSPA, PSA
Tufail, Zahid, Wamiq Farooq
their graves asking for crimes

Fake encounters, promotions
disappearances
Half-widows, orphans, posthumous
Machil!

Crackdowns, rapes, torture
Papa II, Mama II
Bullets, pellets
Teargas shells!

He asks, “Why are you silent
how can you bear someone
barging doors
killing beloved

Why don’t you retaliate
fight back
serve them as deserved
An eye for an eye!

How could talks help
why yearn for justice
why empty handed
missing rifle…

How could you just sit around
mumb over blood bath
does your blood not boil
Are you so weak at heart?”

How could I explain
I have closely seen pain, death
and when I kill
does his family not die like mine?

Everything is Fair in War!

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“Everything is fair in love and war”

Everyone is well aware of this statement. About how there is nothing defining right and wrong when you have an enemy and a goal to achieve. How no one cares about right when there is a war.

But is victory that important? Is it some epitome of forgiveness that once we achieve victory everything else would fade out? Would our atrocities clean out? Would the blood on our hands turn transparent?

And if so, then are our everyday struggles not war for us? A new battle, a new challenge everyday? Should this philosophy of everything being fair not be applicable there as well? If for being declared a university topper I need to cheat, why should that be deemed morally incorrect? Is this goal not a war for me? And does the society not itself justify the means used in a war?

War or peace does not matter. What matters is whether what we do is justified. Going out killing someone just for its sake is not fair. Having impunity and shooting people around to abuse the power is not fair. Whether it be a war or a conflict, nothing can be beyond a human. Nothing, no victory is more important than a human life. And yet it is the human life we value the least.

It might take a lifetime to put this thought into our politicians’ minds. What is the value of a piece of land without its inhabitants, its culture? And when occupation of land does not matter, why have borders? Why divide ourselves? What high does this wall of separation give us?

Why could we all not co-exist. Peace. Imagine the amount of money this would save us. The amount of work that could be done when the military finances are redirected. Why should there be any need for military and nuclear weapons. Why should we stand against each other?

Sometimes it seems easier being an animal. No set boundaries. No visas. No weapons. No gunshots or blasts. But we were created humans. Superior to every other species that ever existed. And yet we are the only species that stands against each other.

Is the pain of a lost son not same for mothers of warring nations?

 

Desires

I was listening to someone
talking change
How your dreams, your why matters
How it all falls in place

I look around
people with money on mind
how they desire
banknotes!

I wonder, WHY?
was this motivation?
A session for searching self?
I find myself crying!

My heart is somewhere else
Somewhere weaving verses
listening to dreams
A literary paradise

I peek at this sea of people
craving security, finances
I feel lost
I belong elsewhere

I crave that music, verses
delicate, woven intricately
piercing one through and through
An aura of peace.

I want to cry my heart out
the devastation, heartbreak
I sit silent, pretending
lowered head, dilated eyes

A mere physical presence
My soul, peace somewhere else
The inability to freeze time
insanity of desiring forever!

 

A Mirage

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It was blurred
my eyes too damp
it looked like a mirage,
a dream!

Ahead, lay a road
soaked
The heat, sun too harsh
another mirage

I reached a crossroad
a desert, an oasis
peeking, I ask
is this water, mirage?

I go with the charm, bewitched
as if something pulls
strings!
even the dream, mirage!

I seek the lush gardens
an epitome of peace
the sky is ablaze
another mirage!

I could see my dream
at the end of my extended hand
unable to grab, I ask
Is this real, mirage?

Expectations

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When we talk about relations, of public dealings, we tend to expect. We expect people to be accommodating, or preferably perfect. Perfect not in literal sense but perfect as per our liking. My perfect might as well be disliked by all others.

But people don’t come as packages. They are no plastic models which we have to assemble. Where we can change or customise parts as per our liking. Choose the traits we like. Leave out the emotions we don’t want. If it were, life would have been easy.

But people and relations don’t work like that. They come as empty boxes rather than fully loaded packages. You have to put in your efforts to make everything work. To make these relations into what we want them to be. But who has that energy. And patience! I must be kidding.

We all are experts in expecting. Demanding things. Rights. Asking for adjustments and compromises. But how far do we flex to accommodate the other? How much do we compromise to make the other comfortable?

It is easy to ask for favours, adjustments, compromises. Equally difficult is to be the giver. The one who satisfies others’ needs. We all tend to be the asking hand. The one who needs but won’t bend for the other.

Rather than expecting perfect, compromises or whatever, we may as well work together to build a space equally comfortable.

 

Within

Seeking help and crying foul
I kept blaming for my turmoil
And yet, when I could see
I didn’t bother to correct me

I cried pain, sorrow, grief
it all just doesn’t fit in
But I didn’t bother to rectify
thing I found when I looked inside

I cried hopeless, seeking
as if they had all, I none
and yet, when I looked within
didn’t find a thing lacking

I victimised myself for sympathy, maybe
some care, attention
and yet, at the end of the day
besides me was alone

 

 

Forlorn

They thought she was asleep
Bored of class, all the work
They could not see within
Despair, gloom

They thought she was tired
A hectic day, schedule
They could not see through
The lost will, hopelessness

They thought she was overworked staying in for too long
They knew not her fear of world
The will to die, disappear

She probably had cold
A handkerchief in her hand
A wet pillow away from sight
Knew of her agony all through

Tired, separated, dejected
Her life, she felt, wasted
Not a person of same tongue
Not a hand to help up.

Break Point

Everyone studies in schools about malleability of metal. Of how you can hammer and bend it without it breaking. But that is only upto a limit. After that it would inevitably break and fall apart.

Humans have this property of malleability too. We adjust and adapt very easily to circumstances. Making adjustments and compromises. We do all this so easily and put in so much effort into our desired work. For desired outputs.

But when you work too hard and listen to every critic without shouting back at them, you tend to play with your limits. And suddenly even a small incident triggers chaos. You reach your break point and snap! Broken and fallen apart. Just like that.

And then the going back is all the more difficult. Cause you feel so tired. Hopeless. And given up on everything. For beyond a point, stretching yourself is more harm than good result.