Tag Archives: philosophy

Am I yours?

I am the taunts of failure
the echoes of death
I am the breaking of hope
the words of a last breath
I am the cruelty of fate
the loss of a friend
I am the road untaken
the path to an end
I am the days of despair
the empty droughts of a desert
I am the bird without wings
the loneliness of hurt
I am the sad farewell
the sorrow in goodbye
I am the pain of a wound
the salt in tearing eyes
I am the ruins of a canvas
the sound of fading colors
I am the wreckage of storms
the parting of old lovers
I am the closing of doors
the breaking of dreams
I am the silence of helplessness
I am the wails of grief
I am everything unpleasant
everything disliked
I am poison
venom
I am the uncured
but however I am
Just promise me
I’m yours.

I’m not mine, but can I be yours?
Poetry from: Curing My Venom 

 

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon from Pexels

 

 

Advertisements

Political games

Let’s wrap ourselves
in these political games
Let’s call it propaganda
and throw out blames
Let’s kill more people
and say it was a mistake
Let’s celebrate the spilling of blood
with coffee and cake.

Let’s take selfies
and watch little kids die
Let’s pray for forgiveness
while we burn you alive
Let’s divide ourselves
in these small little nations
Let’s believe in God
but slaughter his creation.

TIMES UP
Now pick up your bodies
and get out of our land
Just a peaceful message
hope you understand.

Sometimes the monsters we’re trying to kill are residing inside of us. We fear weapons of mass destruction will fall into the wrong hands, but how clean are ours? We act like we’re saints while the rest of the world is filled with sinners. I wrote my first book “The City of Saints,” to show that humans will find whatever excuse they can to start a war. It could be religion, ethnicity, skin color and in this case eye color. The protagonist of my book is a ten-year-old girl, Nuha Edel, whose trapped in a war her elders have started. She’s naive, witty and smart, but innocent. I wrote the book to show that history always repeats itself. The place, time and people are different but the events taking place are the same.

The robots in my book represent the oppressors, and how they’re exactly like us, but we see them differently because that’s what we’re taught. The robots or cyborgs are programmed to kill, but humanity gets the better of them. SAM (Specialized Assassin Military-bot) says, “I have a mind of my own, but I am not allowed to think.” It’s the concept of the “OTHER” and “FRIEND AND ENEMY”. Just because someone disagrees with you they’re considered you’re enemy. Just because someone is different they’re portrayed as evil and vile.

“We fear weapons of mass destruction will fall into the wrong hands, but how clean are ours.” Why do we see others as a threat when we’re no less of a threat either? If we all want peace, then why are we fighting. Maybe because we all have our own versions of peace. Maybe because my version of peace does not align with yours. Maybe we need a common ground.

I wrote “The City of Saints,” as a way to show that history always repeats itself; the people, time, place, and events would be different, but the end result would be the same because we as humans refuse to change. We’re all quick to play the blame game, but we refuse to take responsibility. Why? Why are we like this?

Eleven harsh lessons I’ve learned through life

Ten harsh lessons I’ve learned through life

  1. Sometimes the people that are supposed to pick you up will be the reason for your fall. They’ll walk over you and then blame you for crashing.
  2. People will take advantage of your kindness. They’ll strip you of everything because they want to cover themselves up.
  3. People who mean the world to you, will choose the world over you.
  4. The world will be on your side as long as you’re winning
  5. Just because you’re a kind person that does not mean that everyone else will be kind to you. The world won’t reciprocate the same attitude you put into it.
  6. Having morals and being ethical will sometimes break you to the point where you’ll lose your faith in everything.
  7. Being righteous and just will sometimes be the reason for your failure. Taking the right route will lead you to the wrong destination.
  8. Desperate times create desperate people, who are broken and tend to break others, so they could feel whole.
  9. Sometimes you can work hard and smart, but you will still fail because luck (destiny, God, life) wasn’t in your favor
  10. Life has favorites. It picks and chooses who to destroy and who to create. You’re an experiment.
  11. “God does not play dice.” Everything happens for a reason, but how you react to these events depends on you.

Photo by freestocks.org from Pexels

Failing Physics

It just seems like one of those awfully, odd days where you want to go and hide under a rock. But the only problem is that you can’t find a rock big enough to hide you. You feel exposed like everyone is seeing into your soul.

Interacting with anyone of any species seems like a burden. You feel like you’re in a zoo, and everyone else is human and you’re the only animal. No matter how hard you try you can’t disguise yourself. You’re scared that they’ll find out that you’re the only normal one.

I’m standing in front of the chemistry department in the huge line. The Asian girl with glasses in the front asks me how I did on the physics exam. I blankly stare at her.

Do I even know you? The thought passes my mind. She flashes me a smile, and I unconsciously do the same.

“Amazing” I lie to her. Twenty-four out of a hundred. I think my professor pitied me, so he gave me a whopping 20 points. Maybe he was too ashamed to give me a four. The exam wasn’t hard. I just blanked out. The sentences on the paper weren’t making sense to me. It was like all the letters were jumbled together and they were dancing on the paper. I tried to focus, but my eyes refused to reconcile with my brain. My hands were shaking, and I was trying so hard to concentrate, but the anxiety bubbling inside of me was spilling through my limbs. The walls were starting to close in on me, and I needed to leave the room and that’s exactly what I did. I wrote whatever popped into my mind on that exam paper and ran out of the class as fast as I could.

She looks at me in awe and smiles. “How do you study”? Her voice is cracking. I have the strong urge where I want to hug her and cry into her arms.

We’re both on the same boat girl.

“I got above average.” she sighs. Above average, you’re kidding me right. My sympathy for her vanishes, and I have that strong urge where I want to hang her. I could easily blame it on gravity-It pulled her down. She asks me more questions, and I answer them like a school child being scolded by a strict teacher. When she turns around I slip away from the huge line and run for the library. The b-2 floor. It’s stranded and empty. It’s the perfect place to plan a murder, or even to carry out one.

I slip in between the shelves, in the back and make myself as small as possible.

There’s still the final. The thought is comforting, but it doesn’t linger long enough. I find myself thinking about dropping out.

But it’s not the end of the world.

Well, maybe it is.

But you studied so hard and you knew all the answers then why didn’t you answer them?

Because you’re an idiot.

The thoughts are starting to haunt me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to jam them back in my mind. I’m scared the pulsing headache will come back with shit loads of anxiety. I’m scared I’ll have a panic attack and go into my leave-me-alone mode.

So, I whip out my notebook with the doodles on the cover, and I write whatever comes to my mind. Poems, short stories, and every thought that is hovering in my head.

I’m late for my biochem class, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll fail biochem too. The thought pops into my mind, but I force it back inside, where all my other pessimistic thoughts are gathered. Sometimes these thoughts find a small passage and they flow through, but I have to fight them, to keep them locked up inside. Most of my energy is wasted here- in these battles I’m fighting in my head. How possibly can I focus on anything else when my mind is a battlefield, and I’m fighting the girl looking back at me through the mirror.

But there’s hope. There is always hope. There has to be. Sometimes my hope vanishes beneath these taunting thoughts, but it always finds a way to the surface. It always rises, and I rise with it.

I can do this. How? I don’t know. But I can, and I will. The greatest victories start with will. Don’t they?

Photo by Skitterphoto from Pexels

The Honor Killing

“They killed my brother,” Nano says it so softly that I can barely hear her. Her glassy eyes lock into mine and she half-smiles. I cuddle next to her in her cot and the warmth of her body spreads around mine. It’s cold outside and we don’t have a heater. We don’t even have electricity. The only form of light that is illuminating the room is coming from a gas lantern Nano placed on the table so we wouldn’t kick it when we’re running after each other. It’s so cold outside that my fingers become numb and the tip of my nose becomes stiff. The stars twinkle in the night sky, then disappear beneath each other. We usually bury ourselves beneath layers of quilts and blankets and lock ourselves in Nano’s room because it’s the warmest.

Nano is my maternal grandma, and in Urdu, we say Nano Ami- and I call her Nano for short. She’s beautiful and she has long hair which I cut because Mama told me to do so, and Nano never forgave me for that. But she loves me the most out of all her grandkids. She once told me that my features sometimes resemble her brothers.

“He was tall and handsome and he knew how to do almost everything. When he walked people would stop and stare at him.” Nano heaves in a breath and turns around to face me. I’ve heard the story a thousand times before and I can’t seem to take her seriously. But I know one thing for sure, Nano loved her brother more than anything in this world.

Nano’s older brother was young when the British took him to England. He worked there, and he occasionally came back to visit.

When he came to Pakistan one time, he fell in love with a girl, whose family was culturally strict. They refused to get their daughter married outside of their cast. Nano’s older brother didn’t have a choice, so he ran away with her. They got married and moved to England.

The girl’s brother filled with rage came after Nano and her other brothers. Nano was safe because my grandpa wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with. He kept a revolver at home and my mother and her siblings weren’t allowed to leave the house alone.

But unfortunately, Nano’s younger brother got caught in the middle and he was shot in the stomach. He died on the spot. He was married, and he had a daughter, who now lives somewhere in England and I’ve never met her. She could pass me by on the streets of NYC and I wouldn’t know it’s her.

Nano’s older brother and that girl who ran away got a divorce after a year. Nano’s brother later married ten other women. How romantic!

Nano never really let go of her brother. Even when she had Alzheimer’s she would repeat the story again and again as if it happened recently. At times when I would sit with her, I would see thick tears drop from her brown orbs.

“My brother was very caring,” she would say again and again. Nano passed away this year, but while doing so, she transferred all her stories down to me. Unconsciously I think of Nano’s brother I had never seen. I try to imagine what he looked like, but my mind gives up on me. He was killed for no reason. He was trapped in someone else’s love and hate.

That girl’s brother killed Nano’s brother for his pride. He did it with a smile and he had no shame. Did he not realize that by doing so he wasn’t just ruining one life, he was ruining many? There are so many people out there that die because of someone else’s hate and ego. Why? Can human life be measured in terms of love and hate?

That man who killed Nano’s brother is old now, and he’s probably on his deathbed.

Photo by Kat Jayne from Pexels