Silent Whispers - Revisited

جلتی آنکھوں میں چند راتیں بجھتے خوابوں میں چند صبحیں مہکتی سانسوں میں چند لمحے سلگتی یادوں میں چند شامیں !بے سبب نہیں تھیں دسمبر کی اس شام میں جسے سارے منظر ٹھہر گئے ہیں راتیں، صبحیں ، لمحے ، شامیں زیست کا اب عنوان ہوئی ہیں میرا کچھ سامان ہوئی ہیں

Jalti ankhon main  chand ratein Bujhtay khwaboN main chand subhein Mehakti SansoN main chand lamhay Sulagti yadon main chand shameinN Bay sabab nahiN theeN! 

Between un-clarity and visibility between un-certainty and surety Arises an special moment when dreams become reality, That one moment in time.

In the palm of my fist, I am holding on to moments. Moments that when passed on, will be added as an ornament to the treasure-box of memories.

When begins to appear, expands exponentially, scatter exhilaration, ironically all for such a short while, This tiny Ray of hope.

Sometimes through the windows of someones eyes, The canvas of life appears more beautiful.

As the coffee gets steamier  and the blanket gets cozier as the night feels longer and we being closer Know then that December has arrived.

You can not be perfect in every sense of the word, but You could be among such few people who are blessed in many ways. For beauty and brains, for talents and guts, for intelligence and  manners are rarely combined in a person, and if they do, those are specialized people. There were many who were succumbed to the charms of Parveen Shakir, for she was beautiful and daring, for she was all a woman could dream of being, yet there was just one, she was madly in love with and for whom she wrote her fragrant poetry. She left too early, but her fragrance shall always be missed. وہ صورت آشنا میرا  میں اس کے سامنے  چپ رہ کے بھی یوں بات  کرتی ہوں  کہ آنکھوں کا کوئی حرف بدن نہ آشنا  آلودہ پیکر  نہیں ہوتا  ہوا کی لہر پر جب گفتگو ہو  خواہ موسم پر میرا اظہار ہو  یا ٹیلی ویژن پر  وہ مرے لمحہ موجود کا دکھ جان لیتا ہے  مجھے پہچان لیتا ہے  میری ہر بات کا چہرہ نہ دیکھنے پر بھی  وہ صوررت آشنا میرا ...

At times in the arms of a favorite dream we tend to sleep like a baby and don't want to wake up. These are the rare times when sleep becomes ver y dear to an insomniac.

The tangible becomes intangible The visible goes in visible as the fog of your memory slowly, deliberately,intensely Envelopes around me.

When every hour is a rushing hour When every minute demands attention When the body gets ache and When the soul is being neglected In this quickly evaporating time If You find a few moments to spend With Yourself Believe You me You are blessed.

"The way to a man's heart can sometimes take a woman far away from herself my dear." Desert Rose said ominously. "I don't care." I said. "I am ready to go as far as it takes." The forty rules of love Elif Shafak

There are superficial and deep categories. of behaviors, gestures, smiles and words. Superficial was not for me. Deeper asked me to explore. For once I think Superficial is better. You know You run off. As fast as that. For once I feel Deep is risky. It attracts, drag you inside along its depth, and never let you go.

No it wasn't ordinary, having found You and then, having You gone. It was rather, an experience of a lifetime.

It was not merely a travel. It was a transition. At the Barajas Madrid airport, her landing was much more than an entry into Spain. It was her most earnest wish. But many things were unfathomable. Like her irregular breathing, increased pulse and shivering limbs. Anticipation was killing her. The prospect of seeing him once again was too much to bear. While collecting luggage and helping Bibi jaan carrying her own things, she was slightly disoriented. She could not wait any longer to rush out of the exit door, yet a part of her was stopping her from moving forwards. "You are in danger zone," an inner voice warned her. And then she realized how true that was. Yes she was in danger zone. He was too handsome. She realized as his huge frame materialized in front of her. As soon as she was out of the artificially cold atmosphere of the airport building into the open sunshine, two facts hit her hard. The scorching summer heat of Madrid and the handsome Spaniard standi...

When you write and could not finish. When your characters stop speaking to you. When your story comes to a sudden halt. When words are slipping away from your fingers. When keyboard keys are being missed frequently. When you want to express and feel helpless. When you know what is going on and do not accept. No it is not simply a writer's block. It's something else.

Running away seems so much easier. Is it that easy in real sense? I thought I knew the answer. Deep engrossing in routines may make you feel tired to the bone but is there a way to put full-stop to the ongoing thought processing? Changing clouds and atmosphere for a while, meeting beautiful people, hearing lovely talks, indulging in new passions, simply in the process of dragging yourself away. Doesn't help much really. The tug at the heart, at the end of the day, keeps you restless. Running away used to seem so much easier.

Stillness Loneliness Unexplained sadness This first winter night Is so slowly Enveloping me.

Destiny is not without desires. They are hooked together. The desire of sowing a seed and the destiny to see it growing into a tree. The desire of playing with words and the destiny of an emerging best-seller. The desire of meeting a person and the destiny of falling in love with him. Desire is the spark of a flame.  Destiny is being burnt .

A borrowed Poem. Poet unknown. Muhabbat mein kabhi dorahey ka imkan nahi hota Ye hoti hai to hoti hai Nahi hoti to jitna bhi jatan ker lo,nahi hoti Koi acha agar lag jaye to sab khami’yan is ki Achanak khobi’yon ki ourhni mein chup si jati hein Zamana lakh samjhaye, sambhal jao Samat aur basarat ko sujhai kuch nahi deta Samajh ata hai us lamhey Key jab daman mein lakh’on chyed ho ja’ein Kabotar key par’on key sath liptey Sab ayaa’n jab bheyd ho jain Muhabbat mein kabhi dorahey ka imkan nahi hota .. Ye hoti hai to hoti hai Nahi hoti to jitna bhi jatan ker lo,nahi ho ti

I wrote a few words and sent for publication. It was instantaneous. There couldn't have been a better time, with tenderness in your heart, silent lips and wet eyes, the most natural story may come into existence. It did.

And then suddenly you realize The reality was an illusion.

Under the canopy of illuminating chandeliers surrounded by good looking, perfumed people When I had  just a few moments to spend in my company I heard someone playing an old music on the saddening tunes of violin oh in that very special moment I lived my whole life once again.

To write tender words You got to have tenderness inside you.

There could be ill define margins in tissues under a microscope. A pathologist can pick 'em up. There may be ill define logic in an argument, a critic can catch it. There could be ill define lines under your eyes, an observant can point that out. But when there is ill define pain prevailing inside you, there aren't many who could reach to it. It just persists. at times for eternity.

If you don't love me, Pretend.

What creates taboos? Why there are things which we can not discuss openly. Why there are ruthless, shameless things happening around us and can not be stopped. Why could be people so inhumane, where they lose the integrity and respect of relations to transform into animals? Animals could be much better though, in certain aspects. Why if they do, what they do, could be accepted by society, but when people speak of the issue it becomes a taboo? I read taboo, sometime back. I did not know then, a day might come and I myself would think of writing over a taboo topic.

Why do I have to know the unknown? Sometimes we are better off without knowing certain things. unknown may not bother you, known would follow you to the core. Till you find yourself drowned in its depth.

Thought I was busy, I was wrong. I am extremely busy. And yes I am deliberately doing this to myself. Indulgence for a workaholic is a blessing. A purposeful effort to tire each muscle and bone so that one can not "think". And even then if thoughts keep coming back, you are in a dilemma. Stuck up. Failed.

I heard people may kill softly, Don't know though if a term like soft suicide exists?

Is Waqt To Yun Lagta Hai Ab Kuch Bhi Nahin Hai Mahtab Na Suraj Na Andhera Na Savera Aankhon K DarichoN Men Kisi Husn Ki chilman Aur Dil Ki Panaahon Men Kisi Dard Ka Dera Mumkin Hai Koi Veham Ho Mumkin Hai Suna Ho Galiyon Men Kisi Chaap Ka ik Aakhiri Phera Shaakhon Men Khayaalon K Ghaney Pairr Ki Shayad Ab Aa k Karey ga Na Koi Khwaab Basera Ik Bair Na Ik Mehar Na Ik Rabt Na Rishta Tera Koi Apna Na Paraya Koi Mera

The captivating tunes of a beautifully played sitar stopped my busy nerves and moving fingers I noticed out of nowhere A single drop of tear on my eye lash I blinked It wont go away Either I should not work or should I stop listening to the captivating tunes of a beautifully played sitar?

And today someone came and told me, I admire you for who you are, how do you survive, how do you keep your spirits alive? How do you manage your various inclinations? And There I was not wondering at her admiration, on the contrary, it made me ponder over the time lapse,  the repetition of the same events I went through in recent past, the depressions, the loneliness, the mellow spirits, the shallow feelings, it all came back today. I remember I said those similar words to someone else too, who was my mentor and ideal for striving hard and  surviving and for keeping the smile alive. So it turns out that time repeats itself, today where she is, I was someday, and today where I am , I desired to be the other day. And then how I see from here is that, where I want to be , I shall be there soon too. But does the desire ever fade? We keep on running but are we ever satisfied? For me its a big No. For You, go find yourself. I know one thing, the day my desires are gon...

At times even big jokes would not effect you, and at others a tiny small thing can bring along the most natural smile. Like seeing a lost friend after a long time, Like playing with a tiny naughty toddler, Like hearing a new song that matches your mood!

When You find the gold in my eyes,  the orange in my cheeks, the waves in my hair and the dryness on my lips know that You have colored me Autumn.

Sometimes the realization strikes You with a big bang and you remain bewildered and awestruck. The realization of an emotional jam. They are those times when you hate being in love.

Her MP3 player was on with non stop  Nayyara Noor singing "Aey ishq humain barbaad na ker" ("O Love do not desolate me") Clad in her black pajamas, lying on her stomach with a pillow under her chin, her eyes closed , legs crossed , it was her late night hour , her very own, when she was alone with herself. Sometime ago she was busy with her assignment that was due to submit in the morning when she saw her cell phone displaying a number from Spain. And then she turned it to a silent mode. Still she could see the number blinking and it was enough to distract her from studies and to disturb her to the very core. And now when Nayyara in her tender voice was singing this sad ghazal, a single tear was blinking in her eye. She put the cell phone under another pillow so she could not see who was trying to reach her.   "You can not reach me now, its over." She said to an unseen image. She could not know when her father came inside her ro...

I wish life was, as gentle as your voice, as warm as your hands, as sweet as your words, as beautiful as your eyes.

رنگ ریز مرے رنگ کے مجھکو اپنے رنگ میں چھوڑر دیا دھوپ میں تنہا rung raiz meray rung kay mujhko apnay rung main chorr diya dhoop main tanha

Tell me an untold tale read me an unread book speak to me endless-ly till your voice is absorbed into my very senses.

We do remember the beginnings oh so well Or is it the ending that feels like beginning?

I'm surprised to find one of my published stories being available on 'net. http://freeurdudigest.blogspot.com/2013/06/ik-lamha-e-jawidan-novel-by-nazish-amin.html

When raindrops kissed the forehead of a dry deserted land The essence of love evolves in the form of soothing fragrance Can we play the characters of this epic story While I become the dry land and you portraying the raindrops kiss my forehead with love seal my fragrance forever.

جب دھرتی کے سوکھے ماتھے پر  بوندوں نے پیار کا لمس دھرا  سوندھی متی کی خوشبو سے   وصل کا گہرا راز کھلا صدیوں پرانے قصّے کو       چلو آج مجسّم کر دیکھیں   میں دھرتی کا کردار بنوں  تم بوند بن کر آ پنھچو   مرے ماتھے پر اپنا  لمس دھرو  اور مجھ کو معطر کر جاؤ 

Early morning is so quiet this quietness suffices me the grass is wet under my feet this softness enchants me the plants undergo meditation this stillness delights me

Phases come and go yet some may linger on and paste like a sticky note on the page of your heart.

As an steaming cup of black coffee along with tinge of bitterness brings a sense of relief some bitter-sweet memories may also bring along a tinge of sweet smile.

They say nothing lasts forever but let me rephrase, A Hajj does. It is a memory that is never erased even if the whole clone of memory cells are replenished, even if you are surviving an Alzheimer's disease, even then i am sure, the feeling and memories of Hajj never fade out. This is a blind love, it pulls you towards itself, you run madly towards your beloved, never minding leaving behind your loved ones. The  attraction is so powerful, for once you are trapped, you are gone forever. Even after coming back from the Holy land, one is so equipped with the rituals, that every year the Zul Hajj moon sighting can evoke the same restless feeling in the depth of your soul. You tend to fly away with all the love birds, millions of them, travelling across continents to gain in return, the ultimate reward of Love , Peace, Purity. My heart is one such love bird today, waiting to be clad in white uniform, fly away to the far away Holy land.

I do not know If I could ever be a reason of Your distraction If so, I wish that moment be tonight.

میرے چارہ گر یہ جو زخم ، زخم سے خواب ہیں، یہ جو رات ہے میرے چار سو مرے بےخبر ، مرے بےنشاں ، میں تھا کس نگر ، تو رھا کہاں کہ زماں ، مکاں کی یہ وسعتیں ، تجھے دیکھنے کو ترس گئیں وہ مرے نصیب کی بارشیں ، کسی اور چھت پر برس گئیں Amjad Islam Amjad

Noticed today How the falling leaves  Tend to change colors Akin to your eyes.

Silence can be wonderful. The words that are lost may take you into another alley, A world of feelings only, existent but unexpressed You explore some more, you discover some more The feelings which were yet unknown. Yes, silence can be wonderful.

Dear Insomnia: Please leave me alone for a while. Poor Me.

Irony it could be, but it is more sever than that. When you run away from someone a moment and then the next moment you find yourself  running towards the same? When you smile with the one, you tend to cry your heart with? When you would like to punch him in the nose, yet the next moment you would want to hug him close. When you don't want to hear a name, and the next day you don't catch your breath until you have any news from him? Love stories do exist and so do hate stories..... but when you find yourself in such dilemma , believe me, you are in the making of a love-hate story.

I wish to seek a hideout in a cave. A deep dark cave, where no one could reach me. Where I can cry my heart out, where I don't have to hide my tears. Where there is just me and my Creator, where I can have a connection with Him, the way my Prophet did. Where I do not have to hear the news I am hearing each day. Where my children are not kidnapped for lust and ransom and then killed and thrown down on solitary beaches in school uniforms. Where there is no heartless human known. Where I don't have to sign a high grade tumor report to innocent people who do not know how their life is growing into a misery. Where there is no pain behind smiles. Where there is no tear behind the masked face. Where , if I die, I'm not guilty of not being able to help out my fellow beings.

Go and you can not leave. Come and you can not reach.

At times the color ON you tends to envelope every single thing Around You. I don't know why am I wearing Blue, Every single thing Around me this morning, Appears Blue.

In last night's elusive fog, immersed in serenity, the Moon was rather quiet. Embracing me in a soft hue, It did not utter but silence. A thousand words were spoken then, between the ancient lovers.

Mustansar Hussain Tarar's review of Elif Shafak's "The Forty rules of Love" ۔الف شفق کے ’’ محبت کے چالیس اصول‘‘ میں عین ممکن ہے کہ مولانا روم کی حیات کو جوں کا توں نہ بیان کیاگیا ہو‘ کہانی پن کے لئے کچھ آمیزش کی گئی ہو لیکن یہ ایک گہرا تاثر آپ کی روح کی گہرائیوںمیں یوں اتارتا ہے کہ وہ آپ کی زندگی کا ایک حصہ بن جاتا ہے‘ البتہ اسکے پڑھنے کا ایک نقصان ہوتا ہے…آپ سمجھتے ہیں کہ آپ محبت کے تجربے سے گزرے ہیں‘ اسے پڑھ کر احساس ہوتا ہے کہ نہیں گزرے ! Translation: "Elif Shafak in her novel "The Forty rules of love" may have added some fiction to Rumi's life to weave the story, yet it leaves a deeper impact to your soul to amalgamate into your life. Still one remains at a loss after reading the book.... when You think you know what Love is, after the read up you may feel, You still fail to understand what love is!"

How it happens so often  that a small insignificant event makes a huge difference and tugs at an already tender heart?

“He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.”  ―  Leo Tolstoy ,  Anna Karenina “I think... if it is true that  there are as many minds as there  are heads, then there are as many  kinds of love as there are hearts.”  ―  Leo Tolstoy ,  Anna Karenina

So it is concluded that none of the feelings we go through is unique. Someone somewhere, in their own states of being, have gone through those feelings too. May be since the beginning of times, the feelings are same. May be the tremors of restlessness I am going through , were felt by the very first human being ever created. And yet, still in my madness, this feeling is so unique to myself. What an Irony!

You can run away from all other things but the tenderness inside your heart, pondered Mawra. The geranium flowers lost fragrance.The summer breeze suffocate her The crescent moon made her weep. For days she could not continue her dance sessions and at times she skipped her prayers. She could not fathom the piercing pain that was throbbing in her veins so deeply. Even though she was not sure in the beginning, with the passage of time she grew accustomed to the fact that she was the victim of a single sided crush. A crush that felt like love. Or may be she did not know what love truly meant. It was a mere fascination probably, just that she was hit harder. The day she heard Helen's voice in his bedroom, she was hit harder. She did not know how to respond, what to believe and what not. She was pushed out of her dreamworld and that was like a downfall. The dead end. She threw away her cell phone, stop texting and calling him. She knew she was trying to run a mile, but the...

At times, having a cup of tea alone in the darkness of late hours, can make you feel lonelier.

It isn't easy to be a romanticist To walk on pebbles to get to the sea  Scratched by thorns to reach the flower To bear a burn in lightening a perfumed candle You have to suffer in quest of your desires and dreams. It really isn't easy to be a romanticist

They say every feeling leads somewhere, Every apprehension has a notion, Every tale has an ending, Every desire needs a destiny. My feelings, apprehension and desires, have a notion that may lead to an ending. I do not know where. I hope then, I may find peace.

“It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”  Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez ,  One Hundred Years of Solitude

I wonder if I could express through paintings and not merely through words, how would I illustrate this lovely morning?

And then suddenly You become a feature of past, Everything related to you go still, When death arises as the most harsh reality of your life.

Strangest things happen at strangest moments. Just as I am smelling an English rose in my hair when its no where to be found Just as I am seeing You sitting across me when You are no where to be seen Yeah Strangest things happen at strangest moments.

If You could wake me up from a dream in the middle of a dark night Why Can't You stroke me to sleep Till arises the dawn?

Sometimes I wish Life was as simple As it appears!

A few lines make you go tender,all over. even when you go through them over and again, your own tears may surprise you. See if you feel the same. or is it me alone? Life is a cup of moon.. this night is clever.. All the stars on one side.. have collected the life... This life is a gourmand relationships of flimsy silk, in cold, shiver, shrink and fall off.. for whom we weave the sweater of love.. all the stars on one side, have collected the life.. it's a cup of moon.. these dreams, get thawed in the rain everyday, victims of poverty, we make an umbrella of hands (above dreams).. all the stars on one side,  have collected the life.. it's a cup of moon.

The music system in her bedroom was in full swing. There was a loud dance music emerging out of the speakers enough to vibrate the atmosphere. Clad in her deep pink track suit, her long hair pleated into a french braid, she was busy doing aerobics. This summer when she could not go out swimming due to possibility of naegleria fowleri  infection, she was restricted to home, so the decision was altered. instead of swimming, she opted for aerobics. Though her addicted body misses the feel of water on her nerve endings. And then she could not figure out how and where, as the track changes and Shakira emerges through her song Loca, the momentum changed. Her flawless aerobic exercise steps  gradually converted into dancing moves. After a long time, Mawra was dancing. It was as if she was tranced into the rhythm of music, as if an unseen power was making her move through the beat, as if it was a long forgotten indulgences he was tasting after years. ...

Can You beat simplicity when it comes to beauty? I have seen some of the purely beautiful people in their natural state instead of being all made up and refined.

Just as when I  badly needed someone to hug me tightly I received an unexpected warm hug from my kid. Enough to sooth my aching nerves. Enough to send me to a sound sleep

Waqt bhi thehra hay kesay kyun yeh hua kaash tu aisay aaey jesay koi du'a

And then there are such nights when a dream wakes You up at an odd hour of night. Even that wakeful-ness is sort of delusional. You are awake yet sleepy, Sleepy yet dreamy, Dreamy yet awake! I am lost tonight Let me go back to dreaming.

May we seek independence from falsehood, wrong doings, intolerance as a nation Happy Independence Day Pakistan. May You live till Eternity.

کچھ تو ہوا بھی سرد تھی کچھ تھا تیرا خیال بھی دل کو خوشی کے ساتھ ساتھ ہوتا رہا ملال بھی سب سے نظر بچا کے وہ مجھ کو تھا ایسے دیکھتا ایک دفعہ  تو رک گئی گردش ماہ و سال بھی پروین شاکر 

Some things are Eternal. Some eyes, expressions, words, Some smiles and some tears, Some moments, some confrontations, Some voices and some people, You remember those even when You want to forget. They assimilate into Eternity.

Being with someone does not necessarily mean You got to agree with them on every front. No!

How smoking helps or a glass of wine? how music helps  or a dance session? how meditation helps or a floating Sema? I don't know Nothing seems to help out for a soul seeking indulgence I am not being unthankful but I need to run away from desires from dreams from restlessness from tenderness Help me Lord Grant me indulgence.

As silent as sea? for in the depth it may have a storm flowing and on the surface a secret silence. I wish my silence dies a quiet death I wish the storm never arises!

An unexpected may come without warning. Sometimes in the darkness, stillness and quietness of a night, there arises a revelation. The fact that made you run away from yourself would appear stark naked. The truth that was hidden behind your denial, makes you bow your head and accept. When the tenderness of heart would make you weep easily, On such a Holy night, I bow my head and accept! (On the sacred night of 27th Ramazan 1434 A.H.)

As a student medical science taught me, a person is alive until his brain is surviving. Brain death is what we doctors need to certify Death. Consider me an exception here please. For I shall be dead when my  heart dies.

Inside a shell of indifference, we tend to hide a part of us, that very precious part with feelings and emotions, smiles and laughter, sadness and tears. What we show to the world is may be the tip of the iceberg, something superficial, something not-so-deep. But then again, there are certain moments and a few rare group of people who know you through the core, in depth, way down the surface. With them you feel such carefree-ness, you tend to open up and expel yourself out. All fears All tears All madness All sadness. And then You feel You are truly blessed.

At times one could so much relate to a verse or few lines or an sketch or an sculpture. As I went still when I happened to read this.. "He was larger than life, the close up zooming in on his face causing his sleepy brown eyes to look directly into hers as he smiled into the camera. His hair was still black and shiny, exactly as she remembered it from back then. How many years ago was it? Every so often, she counted.... ten.....eleven....always surprised that the yearning hadn't gone away....." Secrets and Sins. Jaishree Misra.

A warm night it was, as restless as her heart. She was standing on the terrace, there was a quietness prevailing all around her, everybody in their bedrooms fast asleep, except Mawra. Suddenly she had an urge to have caffeine. Her veins needed a rush of blood instead of this smooth flow or may be she needed a divergence. The books and music were no more helping her tonight. Back in her room, seeing her reflection in the mirror, she decided to tie her hair in a loose knot, her light blue pajamas were decent enough, she simply draped a stole around her shoulders and went downstairs to the kitchen. While mixing the coffee she put two mugs on the marble counter. Remembering the weekend night when she was watching a movie and on Daniel's return from Lahore, she was preparing coffee for them both.  But even then they could not have coffee together. When brought her coffee mug with her in the lawn, there was a sacred silence  which she needed at that moment. At times we need...