A moment

He was holding her so close as if she was the whole world to him. It was this moment he had realized that no matter how beautiful life was, it was meaningless and incomplete without her.In that very moment he was thinking how hard the past one year was.He was holding her soo closed to his heart that he thought he will lose her if he losend up even a little.

He was so lost in his thoughts when he heard her whisper… I can’t breath. There in her eyes lied his whole world, his prayers were answered and his life seemed completel but he wasn’t sure did she loved him the same as he loved her? This question was going to change his life and all he had to do is wait a few more hours…

She looked into his eyes and felt the warmth of his love. She knew it right away that this was the guy who could kill and get killed for but no!!! It was her that wanted to die of shame, misery and embarrassment. She had cheated the only person who had loved her truely for who she was.

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Thus i waited…

and I felt as tornadoes

were awakening in my mind

and…

I couldn’t do a thing about it.

All I could do then was wait

for the rain to stop

and the winds to calm down.

Thus i waited….

for my heart to pound

one last time…

I waited…

 

How To Write Like Joan Didion

Qwiklit

The Key to writing like Joan Didion is to combine detailed, thorough description with a hint of biting irony. This primer is for both fiction writers and journalists who are struggling to make their work more interesting. Luckily, Didion can elevate the mundane and deflate illusions of grandeur, all in one essay. For this article, I will be using examples from her collected nonfiction, We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live.

Joan Didion was born in Sacramento, California in 1934, and has written many works of fiction and nonfiction the chronicle life in the state. She looked at the insanity of Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s, the rise of militant subcultures like the Black Panther Party and the Manson “family, as well as the intersection of bureaucracy, rebellion and politics. In her later years, her work has become far more personal, with books like The Year of Magical Thinking detailing the…

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Contradictions that I see

The world wants us to be creative, independent, craving for new things, discover new horizons, chase our dreams yet chains us down with laws, conventions and morality. Things, people, the world, all of it is quite confusing and contradictory for me.
Our mind knows no limits but is bound to remain within certain conducts that are approved by the society at a certain point; if so then why is our mind created limitless?
May be I am being too critical about conventions but has anyone ever wondered about being without laws and codes of conduct?

Yes, mostly the logic given for importance of conventions is that back in the stone age when we humans were without laws and conventions; we were  barbarics, killing each other. But who is witness to this and what logic or evidence do they have for it? Are some paintings on the walls (presented by archeologist ) a good enough evidence to mark us humans as beasts? Because we do see our kids running around the corridors and drawing on the walls. May be we were compassionate, loving, caring beings then too. Aren’t we ‘social animals’ who cannot survive without each other?

I may be completely wrong but the idea is worth a thought as, after all, it is a common cliché that “laws are meant to be broken”.  If that is true, then what was the point of making laws at all?

The freak inside is my love…

Dressed in black
This wholesome freak
Walking above my head
by my side, below my feet
Chasing my around.
This hideous brute,
a deformed freak
is an unfullfilled desire .

Desire, to love and be loved
To hold and be held,
To sing and be sung
Us, to be the melody of love.

My prayers, my tears
My waking nights
My wild desires
Is you only you, My love.

میری دُنیا

میری دُنیا،
جہاں میں بستی ہوں
وہاں سب کچھ اچھا اچھا ہے
حساّس ہے سب انسان وہاں کے
وہاں اِِحساس کا بول بالا ہے
نہ جھوٹ بولا جاتا ہے
نہ دھوکا دیا جاتا ہے
وہاں سچ کا راج چلتا ہے
وہاں خوب سچے ہو جاتے ہیں
اور حقیقت میٹھی لگتی ہے

کیوں آوں میں تیری دُنیا میں؟
یہاں خون خرابہ, دھوکا فریب, جھوٹ ہے سب
یہاں اِحساس کا خون کرتے ہیں
اور
پیار کے نام پہ لُٹیرے ہیں
یہاں راج ہے تو بس پیسے کا
یہاں حوس بھی ننگا پھرتا ہے
معصوموں کو لوٹا جاتا ہے
یہاں ظالم کا بول بالا ہے
احساس سے عاری یہ دُنیا
بڑی ڈراونی مجھ کو لگتی ہے
تم پاگل کہو تو پاگل ہوں
میں بے لوث محبت کرتی ہوں
اس دُنیا سے کوئی غرض نہیں،
بس اپنے دل کی سُنتی ہوں
جہاں میں بستی ہوں،
وہ دُنیا مثالی ہے
جہاں میں بستی ہوں،
وہ دُنیا خیالی ہے…..

Lost

I feel so deep and dark inside.
So deep that i often lose
my way back to the light.

Would you be my guide,
to hold my hand
and guide me to the light.

would you be the beacon,
lighted for me, to be guided to
when i am lost in the fury sea?

When the world means nothing to me;
would you be the dream I’d want to live,
the fact around which my world would revolve?