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Something else

No its not writer's block Its something else Just wondering why am I not writing much these days!

Tuesday, April 29, 2014


Be it an interesting book
An expressive painting or
a half sketched character
Some people leave their footprints everywhere
They do leave yet they remain.

Saturday, April 26, 2014

Too late

"It was too late to object, too late to flee.
She had been right, love was both dangerous and treacherous. It was also more powerful than she had remembered."

All the winters that have been
Evan Maxwell

Wednesday, April 23, 2014


رات بھرجاگتے  رہے 
مجھ میں  
درد، دیا اور تم 

Friday, April 18, 2014

Márquez.... You will be missed

“The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love.” 

“Amputees suffer pains, cramps, itches in the leg that is no longer there. That is how she felt without him, feeling his presence where he no longer was.” 

“Nothing resembles a person as much as the way he dies.”

― Gabriel Garcí­a MárquezLove in the Time of Cholera

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Dhund / دھند

بہت سے روشن ہوتے قربتوں کے منظر 
دھندھلا رہے ہیں 
یہ کیسی  دھند ہے کہ جس میں لپٹا  
بھولا بسرا ایک لمحہ 
ٹھٹھر کرجیسے  ، ٹھہر گیا ہے 

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

It Is Spring Again

It is spring, And the ledger is opened again.
From the abyss where they were frozen,
those days suddenly return, those days
that passed away from your lips, that died
with all our kisses, unaccounted.
The roses return: they are your fragrance;
they are the blood of your lovers.
Sorrow returns. I go through my pain
and the agony of friends still lost in the memory
of moon-silver arms, the caresses of vanished women.
I go through page after page. There are no answers,
and spring has come once again asking
the same questions, reopening account after account.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz


Monday, April 14, 2014


They say when fog envelops everything, there is a haziness that minimize the visual field.

How could I tell them, at times a fog enveloped day could bring out the most beautiful revelation.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

اک سڑک کے پار

دونوں اک سڑک کے پار چل رہے ہیں ہم ١
اس طرف سے اس نے کچھ کہا جو مجھ  آتے آتے 
راستے کے شور و غل میں کھو گیا 
میں نے کچھ اشارے سے کہا مگر 
چلتے چلتے دونوں کی نظر نہ مل سکی 

اسے مغالطہ ہے میں 
اسی کی جستجو میں ہوں 
مجھے یہ شک ہے ، وہ کہیں 
!وہ نہ ہو ، جو مجھ سے چھپتا  پھرتا ہے

گلزار _

Friday, April 11, 2014

Black and White

یاد ماضی ہر گز عذاب نہیں ہے ...... لیکن بلیک اینڈ وائٹ میں ہے 
پہلی محبّت اور شہروں کی جو بھی تصویریں ہوتی ہیں ..... سب بلیک اینڈ وائٹ میں ہوتی ہیں 

ماسکو کی سفید راتیں 
مستنصر حسین تارڑ 

Monday, April 7, 2014


Walking along the cold red-marbled corridors of this familiar hospital, crossing ICU and emergency department, seeing patients and their attendants, thinking this atmosphere so easily could make a working staff go immune and accustomed to dealing with life threatening emergencies and trauma. Everything could become so mechanical leaving behind emotional attachments.

I wonder why. after so many years in this service, I feel myself out of the league of insensitive professionals.
A tenderness still persists, a sensitive heart still survives that does not get accustomed, that does not become heartless.

Sunday, April 6, 2014


It could be an immense pleasure
To walk across the path
That is strictly forbidden.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Breaking the spell

As I am surrounded by
an invisibly drawn circle
You once sketched to cast
your magical spell on me
with candle flames flickering
throwing shadows on both sides
my head down on the knees
wondering what be next?
Will you ever be returning
to move me out of the circle
or should I admit quietly
Never want this spell to break!

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Reminiscent......Just one dance

She was giving away things, attempting at giving away memories, if there existed any such possibility, she wanted to give it a try.

Two tickets of the Flamenco show at Torres Bermejas. She was a keeper and a collector. She kept those tickets safely even if they were an year old. As much as she was crazy about dancing, he treated her to that national dancing show of the Spain, on a stage which was classically decorated inspired by the art and architecture of Alhambra. Everything about him was perfect. And yes it was a perfect evening. She tore up the tickets and throw them in the air, haphazardly they fell everywhere in her bedroom.

 She was removing all the footprints, all the reminiscent of their times together. May be this was the way out, may be this way she would get rid of his imprints in her life.

There were two half burnt perfumed candles, one was pink, other of a cream color. Surrounded by delicately beautiful glass shells, they bought it while roaming around the salamanca streets. Even then, she hadn't told him, she was planning to prepare a special dinner for them both and she needed some candles to lighten up the ambiance.

 She lit up the remains of the perfumed candles and kept them at each of the bedsides. She watched them for a minute without blinking her eyes, as if to say goodbye to them for the very last time. It was always terrible to bid farewells. She let them burn.

Spread on the bed was a plain black pure chiffon sari, with the same colored silk blouse embellished delicately with black pearls and sequences. she gently traced the fabric with her fingers, they begin to burn. It was a burning memory of their only romantic evening together. A tender tear ran though her left eye. Suddenly she was short of breath. Those were the most dearest moments in her memory book and it was hard to let them go. Yet she was trying. In her heart of hearts she knew it to be a failing attempt, yet she was trying. She picked up the far corner of her sari and brought it near the flame of the perfumed candle and waited for a while. And then she let the most delicate chiffon fabric run through her fingers on to the flame. She could imagine it catch the fire but it did not. Oh now she remembered. The pure chiffon fabric never catches fire, some years ago a tailor told her. In desperation she threw away the fabric on to the floor and walk over her favorite sari across the room.

It was Versace bright crystal she was holding now. she moved to the full length mirror of her dressing table and removed the crystal cap, the transparent bottle was more than half full with the pink perfumed fluid. She began to spray, on her hair and then on her neck, on her wrist, until she saw the ring in her ring finger. A wave of anger enveloped her entire being and she threw the whole bottle of her favorite gift on to the opposite wall. With a horrific sound it shattered into innumerable pieces on to the floor. And so did she. Shattered, on to the floor, with a heart broken into innumerable pieces.

She gave away all the reminisces she had. Except the memory neurons of the brain. There was no giving away for that.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Tried & tested.....Just one dance.

Conflicts arise within ourselves. And then expand.

Expand to envelope the thought process and ends nowhere but in confusion. Eventually she found out that she was all but confused and the reason was a conflict arising within herself.

She was the one who was dying to reach Madrid and now all she wanted was to rush back home, to Karachi.

The view out of the window was serene but sadly there was only this window to the outside world, no terrace. She was missing the swing on her own terrace where she used to spend lonely nights listening to music or reading books or laying still.

The wind was soft as she moved out of the main gate of this cottage-like small house to the tiniest of the lawns spread in front. There was this picket fence bounding the house from all side. She did not dare cross the limits. Daniel would be mad at her if she did that at this maddening hour of the night. But then the nights were supposed to bring madness, no?

"Aren't You an insomniac senorita?"

She heard a voice at her back, but didn't dare turning around. It took some courage to look into his eyes.

"Probably" She replied softly. As soft as the wind of the night.

"May I know the reason?", His voice was like a tender touch too.

"I don't know myself yet"

"Will you let me know once you find out?" , gently he inquired

"I shall. But will you be there to hear it? " (She wanted to ask if he would dare to hear it? )

He was standing next to her now. "Why yes. Always". He said, looking intently towards her. There was a certainty in his voice that trembled her.

"Why would You want to know?" she insisted. Why was she speaking like that to him tonight, she didn't know herself. May be in her deepest wish to dig out something deeper from him. And this time she looked straight into his eyes. He was clad in his blue striped pajamas, with a subtle stubble on his chin, it was the very first time she was watching him in such a casual form. Something began to melt inside her.

"Because I care. Because you are my best buddy." Gently he smiled.

"Why would You say I am your best friend. Don't You have other friends around?"

"I have many friends amiga, more than you could imagine. But I like sharing things with you. Things that I can not share with others easily. Probably I share a comfort level with you that I don't share with others." his smile was very genuine.

"Why me then?". She could not find out if she was complaining.

"I wish I could know. We haven't been together much. But there had been an unknown link Mawra. Sometimes it doesn't take long or much to develop trust. Sometimes nature decides matters for us. I do not know why but I have shared with you certain things that I didn't even share with Helen. May be because you can understand them easily. may be because I tested and tried you unintentionally and you came out to be a perfect companion." His words touched her ears like the echoes of a soft blowing wind.

His words shower her soul like invisible raindrops.

She bowed her head silently. She did not want speak up. Probably she heard what she waited so long to hear.