Every self-respecting bicycle should be red
or at least black,
so that when you ride it with other kids
your father can
clearly notice which one is you,
and see how good you are,
or run to you when you fall.

When you clumsily bandage your wound
by pulling up a layer of torn jeans,
unsteadily sitting on your knee,
you wish that you had a red bicycle
so that your father could
see how good you are,
and run to you when you fall.

Ok. This place has been dead for too long. I’ve been lazy and I’ve been an idiot. So many things i thought I’d write, amazing ideas came and I forgot them eventually. I’ll start writing again.

This is just something I wrote so I can break that writer’s block which wasn’t really a ‘block’, I was just too lazy to write. I wrote it in five minutes so that I can just post something. Anything. To break the spell.

Bleeding fireflies.

I remember when I first saw a firefly,
naturally, I was amused
and curious, so I cut off its rear end
carefully, with a blade, to see if it still glowed,
but I don’t remember the results of that experiment anymore.
When it rained, I stayed at home,
thinking about sunshine,
and what I would do when I go out.
When the rain stopped,
it was too hot to play outside.
That was the time I learned that a spider,
can still crawl if you cut off two of its legs,
but not if you cut off three.

It was raining when you left me,
I took out a blade and cut myself,
into pieces, and learned
that no amount of physical pain can
take my mind off my broken heart.
My whole childhood was suddenly,
as simple as a Beatles song.
When blood oozed out of my skin,
I learned that I had learned, nothing,
nothing at all.
But if you gather enough fireflies,
I’m sure you can read a book in the dark,
or light up your life,
whichever you want.

I am not dead (yet). Ive just been busy. And might remain till i don’t know what happens.

God!!

Ok. This is a sort of a formal announcement for whoever cares.

Although it is a fact that there are too many political blogs already, especially about Pakistan n etc related to it, however, I have been feeling that those are mostly stupid. In light of the above, i declare that a new political blog shall be formed within a week or two, the aim of which will be to enlighten the willing learner about the intricacies of Pakistani and world politics.

As soon as i overcome my laziness, it shall be done.

Seriously.

After years of worrying about taxes
You remember almost suddenly
(When on the floor you see
Toy fire-trucks that stare back, innocently)
The land of peter-pan.
Vague, self doubting, fleeting
Like a shooting star,
A memory, still seems real
Of a happy land, so far
Away in time
A land of coconuts and of lime
And of easy rhymes
A land where you could fly
And make pirates cry
A land of glowing fairies
And of fruit laden apple trees
Where you didn’t have to wait
For the reddest of them all
On the top-most branch
To fall
Where tears left stains
And salt when they dried
And there was always someone
To laugh at you when you cried
But now that you have grown
It all seems a lie
Or an innocent, imaginary,
False memory.
Now tears flow through your wrinkles
Like canals in an arid land
And on your side you have no one
To laugh or to hold your hand.

(This is something from my lost archives, lol, written way back in god knows what year)

In a movie in black and white,
Smiling upon the ghost of the yellow tea rose,
Is a memory of a golden
Spirit lost far out in a sea,
Memory of a sudden explosion
Of orange flavor in the mouth,
Of rabbits following a girl on TV.
A memory,
Smiling upon the ghost,
Of the yellow tea rose,
Benevolently.

Water dripping from the beaks
Of birds that woke at dawn,
To a hot summer day.
Prepare for life and prepare for death,
Prepare for the burning coals ahead.
Moon shining upon layers,
Of grass in empty space.

The sky is clearer,
In the blackout, she said,
And then kissed
His lips, which
Would be the bloodiest
Shade of purple in a few days
And colder than
The ice of north,
Colder than the
General’s heart.

rainbow colored lights
dance in the surreal graveyard
unaware of death

in hot dark sunshine
tears evaporate noiselessly
quiet, hear the sobs