Charm.

There is a flicker of a curious charm in being an immigrant. From being courageous enough to let go of the known and embrace the unknown, to walking towards a new existence, comprising of soil with a different taste; there is a certain appeal. There is a richness, in the wavering decision to not return, in case you are haunted by the uncertainty of belonging or not belonging. And the way you succumb to the natural transitioning of your accent, you are amused with a hint of astonishment. Your voice seems to have a mind of its own, but your tongue deceives you at times, by unintentionally regressing to the past. Yet I find myself longing for a glimpse.

There’s a part of me still standing at the fruit and vegetable cart, bargaining prices with the stubborn vendor. There’s a part of me still telling the kaleidoscopic-patterned rickshaw drivers, who stop by every pedestrian, that I really don’t need a lift. There’s a part of me still sweating during our regular power blackout sessions, swearing at how the government can never make things better. 40 degrees Celsius, is no joke my friend. I miss being part of a nation that got crushed every day and yet picked itself up overnight to salute another dawn, with the same fearless attitude as ever. I miss the innocent Pakistani ability to suddenly burst into merriment over just the slightest of delights. There is perfection in every imperfection. But there’s one thing no one can take away from me. My strength to trace back into my memory, and replay the echo of every voice, every footstep I hide with me. No one can take away that faint scent of the scorching hot summer I ache to feel just one more time. I find comfort in the familiar ambiance of a blackout, silence being it’s best friend. I would often go out to the rooftop, and crickets would cheer with every step I took. Fireflies would ignite the seemingly endless fields; stars would twinkle in the reflection of my eyes, and a not so silky breeze would attempt to amuse my hair. At that moment, I remember thinking there is beauty in everything. You just have to look carefully.

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Seasons of love

It was summer, when we fell asleep with hopes of rain; and dreams of a soft sunrise radiating through your body. You said you’d never seen a spark glow like me before. Cupid stabbed me in the heart, and I felt beautiful and broken all at once. Our bodies trembled and my eyes begged you for more. Gravity was a friend and passion pulled us to the floor. Night after night, we slumbered in an idle trance, in a plethora of love swarming the air. Wishful thoughts captured my mind and I reassured myself that happiness could never hurt anyone. Misery is always refundable I believed, a beautiful fantasy condemned to be.

It was winter, by the time moments diffused into days and days assembled into weeks, which meant lonely coffee cups, sombre mornings and black roses. Winter avalanched into every atom inside of me, and shattered the illusion of the happiness that once existed; I was living in a fool’s paradise. We said goodbye to the summer rain while you clasped my beating heart in your hand. You held me for another moment, just to let me know it meant something to you too. There was no more us, just you and me. Then the nights became too cold for me to bear, and Insomnia became my master. I gazed through the window and watched the night move with grace. I yearned for that peace to follow me in my dreams but instead, I started thinking of the girl who lived inside me, living a beautiful lie. She was a melody trapped inside a snow globe, a genie caged in a magic lamp. But my body was no longer her home; she always fluttered to a place where there was hope and warmth. They called it lust; I called it life. Numb struck between the seasons of love, I longed for my Peter Pan, to take me away to Neverland. And that is when I fast forward my life, making seconds diffuse into months this time, so it would be summer all over again. Time stops, yet everything moves in fast motion, except for the glitter in the snow globe. You see exceptional beauty in the ordinary, from the crunch of the leaves to the dance of the fireflies. Voices and laughter spiral together with incandescent lights, into a magical force; a rush so hurried, that you could see the colours of every moment in eternity. And in that moment, I oscillated between the real and ethereal; the pragmatic and the divine. In that moment, I lived a thousand years and died a hundred deaths. The snow globe burst into glitter, and the girl inside me began to sing in a melodious lullaby; with an enchantment that burst all the weeds into flowers and witches into fairies. The summer of your life becomes nothing comparable to that moment, that beautiful, twisted dream, even when he held you close and called you his spark in the dark.

When the years pass by…

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When the years pass by and we’re grey and old, would you meet me at that same place we used to go? Would you hold me in those arms I call home? And hide me under your skin, your hauntingly beautiful skin? Would you tell me you never think of me, except every day? And that I’m not just a half remembered dream? Because you didn’t just love me. You pierced through my flesh, invaded my blood, and held my heart captive. I come to life with your touch. And when I recall your hand touching mine, my heart flutters like daffodils in the wind. Without you, I am just the dust left from a butterfly’s wings, a sad beauty that could have been.

Why We Shout In Anger.

 

A Hindu saint who was visiting river Ganges to take bath found a group of family members on the banks, shouting in anger at each other. He turned to his disciples smiled and asked.

‘Why do people shout in anger shout at each other?’

Disciples thought for a while, one of them said, ‘Because we lose our calm, we shout.’

‘But, why should you shout when the other person is just next to you? You can as well tell him what you have to say in a soft manner.’ asked the saint

Disciples gave some other answers but none satisfied the other disciples.
Finally the saint explained, .

‘When two people are angry at each other, their hearts distance a lot. To cover that distance they must shout to be able to hear each other. The angrier they are, the stronger they will have to shout to hear each other to cover that great distance.

What happens when two people fall in love? They don’t shout at each other but talk softly, Because their hearts are very close. The distance between them is either nonexistent or very small…’

The saint continued, ‘When they love each other even more, what happens? They do not speak, only whisper and they get even closer to each other in their love. Finally they even need not whisper, they only look at each other and that’s all. That is how close two people are when they love each other.’

He looked at his disciples and said.

‘So when you argue do not let your hearts get distant, Do not say words that distance each other more, Or else there will come a day when the distance is so great that you will not find the path to return.’

Reblogged from Ganesh: http://arganesh3.wordpress.com/

Perfection.

To you I’m invisible, floating in vacuum. You are blind to our holy connection. When the thorn twists in your heart, I wince in pain. When you speak beautiful lies, ashes smudge my lips. You pierce me with the splintered dreams in your eyes, smearing mine with cinders. You burn slowly in the flame of life, melting my tender body away. And every time Karma slashes you, my delicate skin bleeds.

But I see you searching the world for Perfection. Perfection no one has ever seen. You search in holes of black walls hoping to find her huddled in a corner. You search in the deepest pits of the earth hoping to see her sleeping on the moist soil. You search beneath layers of the intimidating ocean, believing she will be bathing there. You look in the infinite sky, hoping to find her wrapped in a bundle of clouds. At last, you stop time and ask about Perfection. I stand right behind you, and whisper in your ear, that Perfection may also exist in Invisibility. But you are deaf to my murmurs.

You turn your back towards me. The sun is setting. Merging our shadows in a way that all the creatures of the sky freeze in awe. They cry out to you to look back. But you do not. Because you are still in search for Perfection.