old posts, few of them

'Denting daunting Baluchistan'
Drifting away
in different directions.
dissent is meant to depend on definite decorum of deplorable power. 
Games are defensive attacks are offensive there is a place
where even dreams are dissenting displeasure. Divide it might not,diversity it may dwell in. Decode the code.
Let us speak the decree of a disease,
double edged sword of a delusion.
Depends on defending what?
demons or diamonds. Development or destruction.
Rights of defendants against defenders or defenseless.
demanding a discourse on a dream or destruction or development or decay of deadly descenders.
Say it loud, defenders of my country that you will protect my right to disagree with you.

'Happy Birthday Mina'
Yours is a special day,
Like a canvas painting
A beautiful portrait. touched and brushed by the hands of angels.
You will always be an epitome of love that surrounds us all.
your first birthday recalls, all that is pure in this world.
All that is good, all that you will always be,
A sweet smile of heavens. You are special
You are ours
and you will always be
a pretty soul
a pretty little doll
Growing in a person
With all the love and heavenly feel.
This is time to be grateful, blissful and say a little prayer.
Mina, Happy Birthday.
your first year,
your new world
and only yours special day.

Destiny's wild child
Come to your resting
afternoon,
draw close the sweet moon.
bring your worries a fitting doom.
come home to your resting afternoon.
Dare the sun,
the blazing heat of misfortune.
spill away, sprinkle
the dewdrop
of your sweet stride of belief.
Ah!
We with the broken wings
learn to fly high on simmering dreams
we sit next to you,
we pray and play along
in our imaginary world,
we create the absolute. we with so much dump of life on our souls
do not lumber in our walk we stand tall
we wink at troubling times
we win the wars inside our hearts
we stroll fast on a destiny strange charade
We play, we pray, we believe
With faith in unseen.
we go on and we don't let us down.
Not anymore.
we with broken wings make others fly.
We see the world with hope of a dying wish,
we believe in dying to be alive again
We will we can and we must
defeat the echoes of gloom
the whispers of grief
we must go on to set ourselves free

3rd June 2015

Don’t know if I can possibly decipher these mounds of absurd yet fiery thoughts in to articulate words. I seriously no longer wonder but desire the coherency so very much.
Imagine, a raw and crude passion dripping with so many emotions drifting away instead of reaching its logical end. Yes! Passion can also have an organized pattern leading to a rational path, people call it success, some say, “a moment of exhilaration”. Some align or maybe malign it by correlating it with Power, money, recognition. Some hop on to spiritual precision and name it peace, happiness, acceptance and so much more but what about tragic reality, when you, yourself become the biggest hurdle in fulfilling your passion, how could passion and love for something so strong can fail you so effectively? But being a Pakistani none of this sound absurd. It’s not, its flagrant reality that we 180 million feel for this country.
A boundless love,
A deep feeling,
A burning passion,
So strong, so true and so pure
So fragile, so perceptive, so volatile
Yet so fake
Like a case of dual identities,
A spy thriller with turns and twists
Where paranoia writes the story,
of your life not the truth,
A bizarre pathological existence
Echoing a sullen sense of belonging,
A classic love and hate affair
with your own existence.
Your lost identity
Your roots
Your very incomplete being
your love your Pakistan.

Tit for tat
Pat me on the back
I earned my blunders
Locked in wonders
Of my arctic eyes
I carried the world inside
I nourished the vicious words
I used them against me
I stutter to bring the rainbow
Bring my night
Sultry, Hazy , dark hues
Lost in meddling truce
Peace with sadism?
Breaking news
Of nothing new though
I am perturbed by you
I am intrigued to push you
to the fence
And hold you back from falling
Cruel and sullen
My being is done
My guilt is flamboyant
Flirts with indulgence
And rejoices the vice
Feed me,
Some sweet lies
Some more of sour lies
Please!!!
You can’t beat me
In beating myself
You can’t win me over
with love in your eyes
You can bring
Me to my knees
When you unleash the malice
Doomed, dark and hedonist
Wonders of my parallel world
Nothing concrete
Please don’t write
on my murky tomb
I resign in darkness of the follies
A jungle of nothingness
I cease to exist
In YOUR world
Yet I am,
tormentingly yours
Like an offense so pure

Naeem the muslim

Naeem The Muslim
I must write or must I stay quiet? Should I write once the dust is settled? However, dust is not going to be settled any time soon in the land of the pure, it seems. 
On 15th march, like majority of Pakistanis I was glued to TV, watching the match, and in between tweeted few times from my brother’s phone about the match, not really read anything else.
I don’t recall the exact time when I actually read some tweets condemning twin blasts at Lahore churches, right there and then, the momentum of winning turned in to a strange sense of perplexity of irony, why can’t we even enjoy little things in life? Why it had to happen? Why? Why another blast? Why can’t we enjoy the match? Also knowing that attack on minority is the one of the most humiliating incident for a nation and its rulers, then aint we all minority in our own country, whether Muslim, Shia, Sunni, Ahemdi, Hindu, Christian, poor, middle class, rich, privileged or not, women, children, doctors, LEA, Army, shopping malls, bazaars, schools, mosques, Imambargahs, churches or temples etc ???
All these thoughts were coming in and out of my mind while eyes were fixed on watching Pakistani batsmen chasing the target with ease.
Once the match was over, attention was then turned to the event unfolding in Lahore and I am going to be honest, a part of me was happy that our Christian community was on streets protesting, even damaging public property, they were mirroring the desire of violence in all of us to justify anger especially at an inept, corrupt to the core government and system. I was also recalling Kot Radha Kishan incident, Joseph colony fire, Gojra tragedy, I was feeling like a Christian, a minority in Pakistan, how they had been treated not so well by fellow Muslims, and there can’t be 2 opinions about it, from calling them chooras, karantey, bhangi to what not, yes! I was one of the minorities that night.
I was sick and tired of government, its condemnation and ineffective governance. And in my heart I was sure that 2 people who were burnt were suspects since police had arrested them, in short, the whole anger was directed at the government, their failed policies, injustice, lies, they were responsible for each and everything going wrong, police failure to control the mob effectively, police apathy or fear to protect the burnt suspects. 
That wasn’t about religion but it would be a lie if I say it wasn’t, because whether you are secular or not, anything in this country would always be seen with that lens. It was about the marginalized community of my country and by night I was so upset that I wrote a poem in haste and slept away.
Yesterday, by evening, news were in of more riots, and then news channels with all their maneuvering, flashed the screen with ‘Naeem the innocent Muslim’ killed by the violent Christians, yes, it was true but how media kept on playing it in news bulletin was enough to imagine the aftermath, communal tensions, havoc on social media, liberals going too far to justify lynching, religious brigade quickly forgetting about all the injustice and bomb blasts, just focusing on those2 lynched and to be precise one Naeem who was a Muslim. 
By the way, why our channels had to rush in to interview the family and flash it in faces of an extremist society? sick of its rulers, sick of terrorism, sick of injustice, sick of poverty, sick of corruption, sick of themselves ,sick of their lives, sick of their existence, to be told that, hey you Muslims! You are in majority; the minority Christians has lynched your brother in faith, have some shame.
Don’t you know that is enough to bring out the best violence from the worst of the Muslims in the name of shame, don’t you know it? 
Why being so precise about this? Why can’t media be as responsible as it was last year during Muharram and unfortunate incident of Rawalpindi? Was it to provoke emotional Muslims and make way for the professional army as a consequence?
Today is 17th, I haven’t watched the TV yet and I don’t how things are right now.
But I am praying that things get back to normal, as if normal is a state we can ever witness in our lifetimes any more, lets us be generous and not blame the whole Christian community for action of few. Let’s not make it an interfaith issue or justify one type of violence and condemn another.
Terrorism is appalling, crazy and sickening, so is the lynching of human beings in reaction. And why it all got to this point? Only has one explanation that exists, writ of the state doesn’t exist.
Important to note that situation got better once paramilitary force ‘Rangers’ were called in. This one simple fact tells thousand tales and trust me such tales aren’t fairy ones and they have a very bad and unfair ending.

Just Now

Just now'
Losing hope in a country 
Once named Pakistan 
Let’s cry to sleep tonight 
And for the whole life,
This is who we are
Victim of an inevitable war
I swear by my God
You swear by yours,
We didn’t want that,
We just can’t,
We are the bodies burnt,
we are the hearts torn,
we are the casualties,
we are the bloody fatalities....
calamities,
natural deaths, accidents,
give us that,
not a bomb in your hand
blowing my head away,
not your fire to burn my shroud,
not your belief to annihilate mine...
.fine fine secular or not,
this country has gone
to the dogs,
dogs who aren’t even loyal,
and dogs who bite bearing a disease
Infest our souls to the last bit,
served as a feast
who are our care givers our leaders
our armed forces..
how much more to see
good bye Pakistan
i am forgetting the name,
the love and patriotism
that we feign
yes we lie to love thee,
and even die for thee
but who are thee
the land ?
or parasites? who inhibit it,
or am i the parasite?
Waiting for my turn to be done with
over and out
Completely Incomplete
attempt to write my thoughts