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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!

Sunday, February 28, 2016

The half

It also happens that our words sound strange to us when coming from a distance.

While composing my poetry, I keep wondering, if this is truly my work. And if so why not now?

Why my own words seem strange to me?

Where did I lose my other half?

The half which was so vibrant, so alive.

The half which was the real I.


Life is so fierce.
It can make a healthy person go sick
A pretty face look ugly
A creative person stop writing
A sensitive person make feeling-less
A vocal person go dumb
And a living person feel dead.

Thursday, February 25, 2016


we somehow survive
the hard times and bad too
the all so unexpected ones
even though in hearts of heart,
we were already expecting it
But in that survival
we lose our spirit
which does not replenish

Monday, February 22, 2016


So many nights were spent, staying up being alone
Now its the fear of this loneliness, which
makes me fall asleep, well before midnight

Sunday, February 21, 2016

Steady state

When you want to achieve a steady state of emotional life, stop expecting.

Stop expecting good times to return
Stop expecting people to be fair
Stop expecting love in return

That's it. No ups and downs in life.

Monday, February 15, 2016

Love lock

The beauty of love lies in its confinement to one particular being, after all the openness and freedom of choice, if your heart comes back to the same person over and again, that is enough to rule out all possibilities of not being in love.

That's the beauty of love. 

It doesn't need a lock

It's free and open.

Sunday, February 14, 2016

محبّت راس نہیں آتی

محبّت  راس نہیں آتی 
یہ جس پر مہربان ہو 
اسے بے چین رکھتی ہے 
یہ جس کے پاس ٹھہر جاے 
اسے نا شاد کرتی ہے 
یہ جس کے اندر بس جا ے 
  وہ  جوگی بن کر جنگلوں میں رقص کرتا ہے 
سکوں کی چاہ میں آستانوں پر بین کرتا  ہے 
مگر پھر بھی 
محبّت مہربان نہی ہوتی 
یہ ایسی  بد دعا ہے جو 
لحد تک ساتھ چلتی  ہے
سکوں برباد کرتی ہے  
بہت ناشاد کرتی ہے
محبت راس نہیں آتی  

Friday, February 12, 2016

Romanwi film

Ajeeb rut hey 
Sard hoti shub ky
Is aakhri pehar
Jub neend ki aaghosh 
Main sapney bunney
Sey bahter kuch nahe hota
Jub sub dukh andheray ki
Chaadar aurhey so jatey hain
Is aakhri pehar main
Neend ky fason se kuch bahar
Jagtey huey zahan key pardey per
Jese koi film chalney lagi hy
Koi romanwi film
Jis ka ikhtitam
Judai thi

عجیب رت تھی 
سرد ہوتی شب کے 
اک آخری پہر 
جب نیند کی آغوش 
میں سپنے بننے 
سے بہتر کچھ نہیں ہوتا 
جب سب دکھ اندھیرے کی 
چادر اوڑھے سو جاتے ہیں 
اس آخری پہر میں 
نیند کے فسوں سے کچھ باہر 
جاگتے ہوے  ذھن کے پردے پر 
جیسے کوئی فلم چلنے لگی ہے 
کوئی رومانوی فلم 
جس کا اختتام 
جدائی تھی 

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

The pain of un-said

Some moments can't be valued when they are happening
Some pain can't be measured when they are being felt
Some people can't be forgotten when they are away
Some words can't be spoken when they are are supposed to be said

Monday, February 8, 2016


Now they are two entirely different phenomena

saying and doing
forgetting and remembering
smiling and sighing
knowing and seeking
having and missing

And the tragedy hits harder when the two become one.


Besides so many things at KLF2016,  I heard MHT saying that as a man grows older her becomes more mature more cunning more selective.
As for love,  the initial feelings of love, as a first time experience of being naive and pure and selfless diminishes with time. Andcthen later on,  on multiple occasions whenever you encounter such feelings which could be termed as 'love',  they are not as pure and selfless.
As one grows cunning and specializes in lying,  although things may appear as if they involve true emotions he they do not. And we keep on deceiving ourselves and the one involved on the othe other end on the receiving side.

It is such a hard fact and needs a lot of courage to admit. At least he had the courage and most others did not.

I wonder how life has this unique art of teaching after we stumbled already. 

Friday, February 5, 2016

Ask me

Ask me , if you wanna know
the reason of my stitched lips
some words are not for the world
some whispers are only for the one
some secrets are read in the eyes
some pains are reflected in the soul
Ask me, before I cease to express
the pain, the words, the whispers.