Speak to me, like the singing of a thousand sopranos; and the way they catch their breath, I'd pause, like the world seeming to be a vacuum, except for all the air in my lungs I cannot expel. Speak to me, like the showers of shooting stars; and everytime like the first, I'd be gone … Continue reading Speak to me
When all but the energy to blink is drained, we all catch a bus to our happy place. There a man, to where his mum awaits with a steamy food bowl and loving gaze. Here a woman, to where her kids play with her man who's putting his sleep at bay. There a child, to … Continue reading Bus-ride to Happy Place
Before the battles had I seen the feathery bird, against the scarlet sky, brilliantly white like snowflakes atop a cannibal bite. And then during the night of strife, again; the black was infinite, so was the red - in your pinions, I know not, or my eyes. Daybreak came indeed, saw us in blood mere, … Continue reading Psychedelic Ruins
“Not even water?” “No, not even water,” I replied to the stranger at the office who woke me up from a nap at the pantry on my first day at work to ask if I was alright. I was fasting, I said, and that I dozed off because of fatigue. The surprise on his face … Continue reading Meals from my ‘Jihadi mom’
Qawwalis eulogizing the Prophet and Nizamuddeen Auliya flowed from Mehfil-e-Sama’a singers as if from enraptured bards of yore, enshrouding the captivated listeners in Rajendra Maidan on Friday evening from all the hubbub of the city. Contrary to a corny image that comes along the description - of men in flowing white pajamas and mehndi-stained beards … Continue reading No Curfew for Qawwali
Four-liner for the muse.
For the Syrian kids, still shunned from all Elysiums, running from bombs to catacombs.