My blog is my kingdom and words are my subjects
Most of the times, I bury the memory that ignites a piece of writing and over time, I reframe the cause and innovate the reasons and find my new relatables just like a third person reader.
I was going through old pictures and I came across a diary page I wrote back in 2018.
I’m intrigued what inspired it.
It is times like these when I want to stop, hold my breathe and refuse the stench of reconciliation pass me by
It’s like running into a crime scene and leaving footprints around
To be found
A train starts from an abandoned station and the thoughts keep on getting on with no destination in mind
It’s an exhaustive strategy, run round in circles, temples buzzing with the crowd, it’s holiday time maybe
Wish I had locked down my demons for this, vulnerable as I am, it does not do to dwell on the past
Cut the cake today, it’s your freedom at the cost of trust, wish everyone luck who will find the charred bones, of one razed to ash at the altar of deceit.
Love is not enough to feed your self respect, it’s enough to make you believe
It’s never enough for either or maybe both, when ideologies clash, differences bloom
If it were, we’d see more of romance in “happily ever after” moments
If it only were, love would turn beasts into princes
Sleeping corpses into fairies, but eh
It doesn’t matter anyway, love is bound to ruin, to corrode the very essence of humanity we so strive to preserve.
Finding the figures, the statues, epitome of excellence in their eyes
I wonder
Where are mine, if everyone had a few, I had none.
Looking around for context, I find
Put a pin in it, lest I forget
All those who stood up for me when I wasn’t even mine
A stranger in my own self, they recognised me and held on
A scrapped knee, a torn soul, it’s all the same until addressed
I did find the figures in life, and I lost them too, watching a film, scene after scene
The end is yet to come but I hope that I find more to give me strength,
To be the building blocks that I fear I have to complete before the film ends.
It’s been a while, no one has knocked, I stand alone in the valley of death
A gimmick, a closed window, a breathing graveyard
Just opposite to the house, lays my will, my strife, as if defeated under the countless stars
No one is witness to the end of an average life, just decay is what you see
When you see me.
Loss is like a horizon, always within reach but never achieved. One never reaches the end point. There is no end point to this mindless darkness of an abyss. Where horizon takes a break with the night and disappears from the naked eye, the naked soul is always exposed to the rawness of that emotion. Loss.
Loss is an emotion we’ve all experienced in someway or the other. A misplaced toy, an indifferent friend, the abandoned love, peace? We’ve all been there. And it’s horrible. Nursing our wounds, mixing blood with tears, we stand with hope that tomorrow will be better. 2020 has proved that one cannot rely on that thought anymore.
If quarantine taught me anything, it’s the unflinching constant existence of the privileged class, who whiled away time until the world was safe and normal again.
Safe and normal are two things this world is never going to be. Don’t look at me for hope. I carry a deep rooted resentment for the optimistic. So, abnormal is the new normal. And if truth be told, it’s the most ironic phase of life.
This phase taught me that there is no point in racing to reach the top. There is no top. We’re on a flat graph, steadily moving towards death while life is what happens in the meantime.
We’re in the waiting room, waiting for our name to be called. And it’s something that scares us all. Death. Death is a companion of loss. They go hand in hand. Ask me. I’ll tell you.
A friend of a friend fell in love with an ambitious man. And as we all know, love is followed by heartbreak. A deep cut is yet to heal. It’s festering, leaving scars. Never to fade, they will stay as a reminder of the futile reasons the pain was inflicted. Like a saw, it felt the soul split in half. It’s dramatic! You think it’s dramatic but that’s my job. Im a poet. I see the world with intensity of emotions and interpret it dramatically. You laugh? Yes, because you lack depth. You’re not worthy of me, she said. And the story of loss ends.
The feeling never ends. The world is going to shit and the shit people are making it worse. No one wants to die in peace. We all know who is making who suffer. I’m making me suffer for some stupid sadistic reason. I hope to get over my thick skull which has stopped being reasonable and just get on with waiting.
Do you remember Waiting For Godot by Samuel Beckett? There is no other play which depicts us so accurately as that one. I wish you’d understand what I’m trying to say. Loss means a sense of emptiness, a void for the thing that was lost. And I’m waiting for Godot. I am hoping Godot won’t show up and I will still wait for Godot because the world is getting worse and I’m just riding along the wave.
Shadows, silhouettes, and a worn-out soul wander into the night with no destination in mind
On the brink of losing all sense of reality, these companions find comfort in their adrift ship
Desolate roads, empty thoughts, one foot after the other, tread along to God knows where
Anywhere is better than here
In their heads, they find relief, if they have one on their shoulders, do they even have bodies?
Love, they talk of love. It’s funny because they cry when they tell me, with broken hearts and empty smiles
Hearts that are abandoned, hearts unclaimed
Beloveds are scarce in this part of the universe and lovers too many
Some of us are destined to die with time at hand aplenty
It’s funny, I tried to rhyme, what logic will you find on this page?
I talk of fantasy and magic and deserted streets. I speak of fairy tales and happy endings
Never have you heard of those influenced
Horrors unveil as I yearn to get my words immortalised
How will the heart start loving again when betrayed more than once?
Where will it find the courage to hold on when the fires have been building for a long while
It’s time to get out and go and save the skin, but it won’t leave for the sake of loyalty?
How would you ask that heart to survive the onslaught that is brought by the careless and the needy
Circumstancial love, thats the enemy.
In the moment when you drown yourself in the music from a playlist made years ago
To drown the memories that haunt you from recent past, which disappeared like the sky
To drown your broken heart, which makes you spiral out of control every time it beats
To drown the self that once stood tall but has now failed and finds solace at the rock bottom
Shifa Naseer 