Silent Whispers - Revisited

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.

"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

I wish someone would bring back my words to me I am seriously missing them!

رات بھرجاگتے  رہے  مجھ میں   درد، دیا اور تم 

“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 Márquez ,  Love in the Time of Cholera

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 

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

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.

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 _

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 

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.

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

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!

The first magic of love is our ignorance that it can ever end. Benjamin Disraeli

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...

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?...