And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have rewritten mine..

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  • hafeezhmha 19w

    What am i?

    A chunk of meat suspended in a rock which is orbiting a literal fire ball? In a galaxy spanning to vast and unfathomable distances.

    What am i?
    Among the quasars that scintillate four trillion times than that of the sun and Giant black holes that gobble up light in a flash and bend the fabrics of space-time.

    What am i?
    Amid this grand circus of life. Amid all the hollow and shallow dreads of existence. Amid the perplexing carcass of gloomy reality.

    What am i?

    I am nothing but the decimals between one and zero. A scruple of conscious matter fluctuating between nothing and something. A void trying to fill its own emptiness. A tragedy parodying a fortune. A beginning in the course of its own end. A book deserted in the middle of a busy street. Waiting to be read. Waiting for someone to rummage through my mess. Waiting for someone to read my story.

    A story carved on the face of time. Of edges, mountains and rivers to trains, cars and office cafeterias. My entire existence can be compressed into the micro strings of DNA. Forged betwixt hormones and genes. And my life, a quaint burrow of a rabbit trying to hibernate and survive a dreadful winter.

    I grazed at the surface of my own ridiculousness until i could finally convince myself not to. I trembled with fear in my eyes and an lump in my throat, Too busy to see that a cheerful life is a guile tint on the glass of reality.

    Did i turn myself into it. Was it a deal? Maybe. The only thing that changed was time and do i have to tell you that time then changes everything? The involute becomes the absolute. The sight becomes the scene. The portrayal becomes the reality. I becomes us.
    Yes. Us, but without you.
    Us. But without all the songs and shillings.
    Us. But without all the poems and writings.
    Us. But with a pipkin of love lavish in pain.
    Us. But with a smudge on a letter without your name.
    Us. But with a sparkle on a sky of hue
    It's always us but without you.


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    Sometimes i need a part of you to become me. Because without you, i couldn't be me.

  • hafeezhmha 26w

    When i would fall
    i would hold my gaze
    for the path was drifting
    from where it began
    and i held my head up
    mighty and high
    i made no declaration
    i made no sigh
    I play with my boys
    and i climb the giant rocks
    I ran on the fields
    penniless, in my socks,
    and i forged my way
    onto the mountain top
    It was my only journey,
    a beautiful start.

    When i fell in love
    i rolled my dice
    gotta make a move
    gonna break the ice,
    If she is beautiful
    and she is hot
    "this is what is love.."
    That's what i thought,
    With hormones raging
    With emotions blazing
    and of all that i could make
    i knew that my heart was at stake,
    And i broke down
    a king with no queen
    a king with no crown.

    When i saw myself fly
    like a swan on a lake
    there were no heart breaks
    there wasn't anything at stake,
    I made an elevator
    It took me to the stars
    But dead bodies left me
    with remnants of scars,
    I believe not in love
    but more in logic
    I call everything nonsense
    if it appears to me, magic.
    And youth is a song
    that all the warriors sing
    but old age is a gift
    that time would definitely bring.

    When i saw myself fall
    and crumble into fragments,
    With my withered body
    With my fickle soul,
    I sit with treasures
    but no power to play,
    A curse of time,
    an utter dismay,
    But i stood afar
    and saw the sight
    when the day prepares
    for the arrival of night,
    My journey has ended
    and I'm still on my way
    But the sun will shine again
    that's the promise of today!


    The rough four :')

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    The promise of today

    When i would fall,
    When i fell in love,
    When i saw myself fly,
    When i saw myself fall.

  • hafeezhmha 27w

    #guftugu_ - will be continued.

    @raika_ hi.

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    G U F T U G U : گفتگو

    Last night, i slept early. I was supposed to visit the city bookstore to buy Ghalib's clever poetry - My desire to read some beautiful urdu literature took me there. I never considered myself a morning person but that doesn't change the fact that waking up at seher makes me feel like i have an abundance of time and it also changes the complexion of my day. For a week, i was stuck in a constant rut and today i didn't want to be in it again.

    /Sometimes you don't want to rush, you want to experience bliss and stillness. Whether it's a brief moment of gratitude before sipping your hot chocolate in a rainy morning or listening to some of your favorite ghazals on a lawn chair in an autumn evening. I was trying to feel unstuck again. Just trying to be in peace with myself and understanding that i still have a long way to go in getting to know myself.

    I left my home at 7am, right after having a daily-necessary cup of coffee. The air was warm but not hot. It felt like one of those spring days where your head feels light. No real rush to get anywhere, just admiring the minarets and trees towering over me. I walk down the lanes of the city and for the first time it feels like an entirely different world. Maybe i feel this way because my perception of my own self has changed, a fresh new lens just got added to my old collection of perspectives. I see a world of age old restaurants, chai-wala shops and bustling Bazaar, A bazaar where the bandwagon trades spices, nuts and herbs. The street is brimming with the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon bread and khaare biscuits. I saw old country men with big turbans casually sitting under the Bargad tree with their laathees beside them, singing and humming their traditional ballads and reciting folk songs. I saw children flying kites on the roof tops, murmuring, laughing and speaking their minds as if there was no tomorrow.

    There was a café situated at the end of the road near a fig tree. It is a casual-savory spot for people to hangout and gossip. Giving me a deep insight into the lifestyle of a typical shehri. It is an adorable place with ancient chandeliers, long-framed Pashmina's hinged on the walls and Nusrat sahabs Qawwali's strumming until the dusk ascends . A perfect place for those exhausted and tired khana badosh who seek a tranquil refuge from the busy Bazaars and mohallas.


  • hafeezhmha 28w

    On a midsummer afternoon i heard the frantic and boisterous melody of time probing through the impervious pockets of space. My soul was perched with hundreds of arrows and my body was drenched in blood. There was a brutal yet tantalizing pain in losing what was never mine.

    ..Death asked me to leave but i refused.

    I refused to walk away from my own funeral. My body remained on the floor, breathless, shed and disparate, like a chimerical skin of a serpent. No consolation, no assurance could quench my thirst. After all, waging a war against the world was easier than waging a war against my 'self'. There was melancholy in my eyes and a multitude of despair in my mind.

    Every evening i sat near the lake throwing pebbles into water and keenly observing them sink and kiss the limestone floor. The half-cooked rice was cold, The desserts in the fridge were glaciating. Time was ticking but i was still waiting.

    Waiting to see an expression on a blank face, Waiting for this nagging feeling of despair to disappear,
    Waiting for the demons to plunge in and dissect my heart,
    Waiting for the universe to devour me again into its mysterious and obscure patterns.

    On that midsummer afternoon i received my fair share of misery encapsulated in a bitter chocolate bar wrapped in a yellow sachet and I ate it with both my hands cuffed. That afternoon, I could see the wavelength of blue light changing to red as the sky was receding. Suddenly there was a glitch in the matrix and i was back to start, all over again.


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    ...and i
    was back
    to start,
    all over

  • hafeezhmha 29w

    A draft.
    My favorite draft.

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    Our poem

    I lay on the couch
    parched and stilted
    Listening to Beatle's Norwegian wood,
    Rendered ineffective
    on a Christmas eve..

    Pour me some wine
    and play truth and dare
    Then let me take you
    To long aimless drives
    Let me give you a reason
    to dance with me at 2 am
    Are you up for it?

    I'm sick of isolation
    put on your shoes and
    let's walk out the door
    I just want this night
    to glimmer more and more
    I shall get you a jean jacket
    and we shall walk together, tonight.
    We would laugh and cry
    until the black sky turns to white,
    We would walk the streets
    heeding the narcotic beats
    We would talk about
    kafka, bukowski and plath
    while our feet stroll
    on the cobblestone path
    We would then reach
    to our destination
    A timeless journey
    our first ever food vacation,

    And then i want to
    lie back again
    in a long reed
    boat with you


  • hafeezhmha 30w

    The devil in his youth
    laughed and ignored trends
    causing riots and chaos
    until the dawn descends
    He sat on a throne
    made of jager and stone
    slurping yogurt and cream
    with an unthrottled groan

    He promised for a drive
    and a frivolous conversation
    He was sick of dancing
    And had no further ambition

    The evil of man,
    He knew how to make
    him mourn
    But women were beyond
    him, a charm he couldn't own.

    It was a dream
    when i saw the devil
    with my woman,
    he smothered from
    her breasts,
    locking his head
    with her,
    Wrestling and letting
    her pin him down
    and stroke her hair
    whenever he
    fought her.

    Love is an art
    and art is where
    insanity should
    prevail, he said.

    Squeezing her waist
    kissing her tongue
    holding her tightly
    melting what was tough
    and letting her play rough

    And then wadding hues
    in her scars
    And sneaking with her
    into bars
    meddling with the taboo
    for a sampling cocktail or two.

    Who dares to find the devil
    in his own Wonderland?
    It's a kingdom of havoc
    A folly to command.


  • hafeezhmha 30w

    Tark-e-wafa ke gham mey madhosh hai ye raahi, qamar ki roshni se ek toot ta sitara usey nazar aata hai. Beyqabar, wo hokar, chala uske peeche.

    Sabr ko hatheli par lekar, nikla wo apni larzishon ko manzil dene. Shikayatein toh bohot thi apnon se, par aaye nahi lafz labon par, guftagu yaar se wo kar na saka.

    Jo lutf intezaar mey tha wo ab duniya ki aab o hawa mein reh gaya. Mashgooli-yat toh itni thi ke bhool gaya ke kuch lazzat sa tha bhi uske intezaar mey.

    Mohabbat ke jamaal par toh likhe kaee'
    Ash-aar mashaaikh ney, par zaika-e-shikast koi bayan na kar saka.



    @siddiqua_ hi :')

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    Kai fi yat

    Tere intezaar mey
    meri ibadat qaza
    ho jaye

    Reth ke zarron ke
    maan'ind ye saahil
    kinaaraa ho jaye

    Musalsal keh rahi
    aaj ye siyaah

    Ke aaj aasmaan ke
    tabe'y ye sitaara
    ho jaye


  • hafeezhmha 31w

    ad infinitum

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    I spend all my time
    in total seclusion,
    scrutinizing a part
    of me which i had
    considered to be
    dissipated in the void.
    Examining a structure
    of austenite, under a
    microscope, embedded
    in a polymer mold, and
    beside that lay my
    thoughts and my
    incubated ideas in
    a test tube.

    For a brief moment,
    i found myself playing
    with all the
    permutations and
    visualizing the existence
    of a wormhole lodging
    near Alpha centauri.
    I would laugh at my own
    and moor the fragments
    of my racing senses with
    the lacquer of rationality.

    But as someone who loves
    learning about numbers
    that later can be used to
    mimic reality whilst
    surmising the inner
    workings of dimension/s,
    I wonder about apanthasia
    and how visualization would
    leave me and my senses.


    Sometimes poetry is
    just a function of
    emotional entropy.
    I store my poems as
    a binary string of pixels
    and characters,
    Such that the dimensions
    or data or any algorithm
    that isn't just the word
    used to create the poem
    will only add size,
    and in those poems, i
    search for infinities.
    Just as a sphere has
    infinite faces, a circle
    has infinite vertices,
    and so does the universe.

    A crazy man asked me
    once : If fourth dimension
    is time so does it mean
    my twin experiences
    reverse time because he
    just got reversed by the
    fourth dimension? He
    calls it the sorcery of

    - Tick - Tick -

    The transparent clock
    of the universe is ticking
    and i see the numbers
    from my side are mirrored,
    perspective matters and so
    does the content of it.
    It ticks again and the
    universe unfolds many
    secrets that were concealed,
    where? you may ask,
    I point at 'c'.
    So we wakeup each morning
    to wait for the new day,
    When 'c' finally moves
    towards infinity.


  • hafeezhmha 32w

    I wake up dreaming of Japan and all the old feral cats bawling on the pavement, mourning the loss of pedestrians. I love music. I miss the days of cars and bicycles in the rust belt of tokyo, laughing, transacting, forgetting. Now, i sit bent on my laptop screen hoping a song or two comes to me. I have to stop myself from breaking into a rhyme, my days are filled with vigorous activity, I've become an amateur at playing piano, But if i play any more than five notes, my fingers start hurting. God bless those pianists who smile through the pain but do nothing to fix it. Cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, slot machines - all members of the great forget.

    Last night, i sent a rough draft of what will become my last letter to many of you. An old friend remarked it was clear but didn't had ME in the capital letters.

    I get lots of ideas when I'm walking in the park, i take notes on my phone with radwimps covering my ears. But the low hum of sadness persists in the background. I know it's origins but i won't tell you, not for free. If you want to read about my misery you better pay up motherfucker.

    I now bid you farewell to go enjoy a non-organic, country egg omelet prepared by my sister. I spent the last five minutes explaining to her why our father is going loony over the classic shoyu ramen i've ordered. I forgot the hindi name for ramen so i told her it's "Sewaiyan".


  • hafeezhmha 35w

    Peer inside the lancet
    of my mind and you will
    see yourself in a denim
    jacket holding a box of
    dark chocolates and
    vesicles of my love letters.
    On the hedge there's a
    swarthy silhouette of a
    diary with dry rose petals
    cloistered under it's old-
    sallow pages

    I Read you
    like i read the
    rousing fiction,
    For thrill and

    I remember how my
    nights echoed with
    your whispers and
    the ecstatic taste
    of cigarette after i
    kissed your lips twice.
    We sipped mocha and
    frappe with a mulberry
    ice cream next to our bed,
    the texture was somewhat
    Gripping and
    Yet a luscious treat.

    Love and lust would flap
    their wings together and
    fly towards the sultry sky
    and we would be in each
    other's arms all over again.
    Dwelling into our own

    I was helpless and
    deluged in the abyss
    of your thoughts right
    from the start.
    I wanted you to melt in my
    arms and paint my lips
    with the finest of your shades.

    So let me have
    one last glass of wine
    before the night falls
    and the beauty fades

    Let me make
    love one more time
    before death calls
    and nothing remains