//He. Peace. An emotion. A melody. A praise. A moment of bliss. The reason for which your heart skips a beat. He is everything your midnight musing soul yearns for, A desire. But only if words could collect themselves to adorn and define the pieces of his existence. Instead, the lanes of love redefines itself with his name.//
I met the lost remnants of my heart, in him. The warmth, the serenity, the beauty he conceals in every word, could make even night's scarred beauty to fall for him. His purity is that of the north star, which never falls for someone's wish. So reclusive, yet so elysian. But though, his crescent smiles overwhelm solitude. Yet the heart remains there. Barren. Lone. Waiting for him to drench my beats with giggles of the juvenile aura, he conceals with perfectionism. But though, his whispers soothe my existence, like the ray of sun, leisurely staggering the clouds of pain. Yet my breath remains there. Bare. Asphyxiated. Waiting to be imprinted by his croons. But though, he touches my scarred skin, with delicacy, like the rose petals, embracing the letters of buried emotions. Yet my soul remains there. Solivagant. Vagabond. Waiting for his kisses to embellish the corners of my scarlet wounds. I remain there, suffocated beneath an abode of desires. While, I watch him beholding himself, in the name of pain. I watch him resurrecting himself with scattered pieces. But, he calls it a Poetry. And defines it as peace. He defines it as an emotion of heart, which knows no bounds and sees no horizon. An emotion which is havoc in beauty. But serenity in chaotic love. A midnight melody of wandering souls. A melody which mellifluously attracts the goners. And solaces the doomed. A praise. An invincible praise to the mortals who beautified their hearts, just to let their fading love remain immortal. A moment of bliss, which he inhales. To exhale some woven fantasies. A beat, which adorns itself, to let heart fall into the abyss of unrequited love. A desire. Craved by the seduced metaphors. In the name of feign love. He defines his existence after poetries. But maybe, his artless soul doesnt know. Every bit of his existence is A poetry. A Breathing Poetry. ~Iza
You know I still glare at the stars and find you in them. You know I still breathe the warmth of your embrace, while the folioles of fall, fade away for deliquesce crystals. You know I still smell at your diaries, and crave for the essence of your imperfect smiles, concealing the hymns of forelesket. You know, I've been adorning inevitable distances, just to make you eternal through the sonnets, my ink bleeds. But, Though my heart pierces itself. Though every breath strangles my neck, As if death seems to smirk at life. Though every poetry, existing for you, screams in silence. Yet tonight I flame my heart with the ashes of dystopia.
Not because the remnants of my heart have stopped loving you. Not because, my words seem to meet the horizon of our love. But, because I know. Your every breath and every beat of scarlet hues only erect my fantasies and perfect illusions. Because, spilling my artless heart over your solivagant soul is a sin, while you embellish someone else's existence with eternal vows. Because, even though i know our parallel destinies would never intersect, in the name of love, Yet with every second I fall for you, like the sun, seduced by oceans. Whilst now I retain in a chasm. A chasm of you and your unrequited love. A chasm where I inhale stardust and exhale poetries. A chasm where the utter bleak walls embed my elegies, yet I find myself staring at you.
My life. My death.
I let you go, because I know I lie alone in the abyss of love. Your Perfectly unrequited love. On which you once laid me, With care, intimacy And Poesies. ~Iza
--------❀❀❀❀❀------------------- #midnightmusings Why do emotions magnify at night? Specially when it all is fiction :p
Every dusk he wanders midst the horizon of solitude To meet the shore of solace; his abode. An abode which remains abandoned. Abandoned of love, warmth, serenity and overwhelming laughters. Yet he seeks the reason of his euneirophrenia in it. An abode where the frayed walls smell like hope. Hope of resurrecting his pieces into an elegy, once again. An abode where the faded scarlet paint feels like peace amidst mayhem of exulnasis and petrichor midst summer's rage. Where the old wooden floor is more cinnamon, but the clemented ataraxis edges posess his mother's smile. Where every brick of remorse is a turmoil of lament, yet his remnants find tranquillity in itself. Where the rusted chimney remains closed, for the memories would sway away with the vagabond zephyr. Where the roof ostentates a bed of stars. Stars which fell, only to be his wish granting factory. Where the stairs of moonlight discrete four chambers, Of which the first chamber adorns its shelves with: eace and faded warmth of breathing memories. The second chamber is the boudoir of: xymorons; Orphic yet cromulent The third chamber sighs in disguise, for it retains: thereal sonnets, bleeding yet bedazzling The fourth chamber coincides his existence: aidenly mystic, yet sequaciously solivagant. Every dusk he seeks bliss of eternity within ephemerality. Every dusk he wanders midst the horizon of solitude to meet the shore of solace; his abode, which he has defined as my heart. //Concealing the hymns of imperfect memories.// ~sweetlysour
//Good bye to the past, For tomorrow awaits a better you!//
What 2020 taught me:-
☆Everyone is temporary. Everyone is just a passenger in your life, while you are the conductor of your train. We all meet someone. Sometimes they become the reason, you compose your ethereal poetries. Unless they reach their station, and get off. And then, all we are left with is, their luggage of memories, left by them on purpose. We sigh. We break. We heal. Yet our train moves on, nothing changes around us. But we pretend to have changed our tracks. We need to accept they weren’t our destiny, we still have someone waiting for us, on their station. Who would then become the driver of our moving train :)
☆ Sometimes, its good to remain silent, for not everyone is worth your explanations. Let them be them. For you are you. And so, silence and patience is must.
☆Stop expecting from everyone. People might come, and leave. It wouldn’t make a difference for them, but it might be impactful for you. Don’t let it. Don’t let your own self be disappointed from someone who doesn’t care about what and how you think and feel. Consider them as another artist, who gave a stroke of hue in the canvas of your life and left to complete someone else’s. But the rest is still left to be completed with your brush. With colours of achievements, an endless sky of optimism and a luminous rainbow of poesies!
☆Make someone feel special. Sometimes, we might not know but praising someone in the simplest way can make them feel good. Be an ear for them. Be someone’s ray of hope, in the world of hypocrites.
☆Its fine to cry. Not every time you would have someone who’d understand you. Not every time words would lessen your pain. All that what burdens your heart, cannot be healed through silent screams, or midnight rants. Sometimes making your eyes wet, can be a relief too.
☆Don’t let your happiness be concealed by someone else’s clouds of judgement. People are insensitive. Everyone knows how to speak. Speak the harshest. But no word, taught them to prove they do have a heart. Its fine, let them be them, for you are you.
☆“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times”. Dumbledore, indeed was a wise wizard. Not everytime, you’d get a reason to smile. Not everytime you’d get a reason to be happy. The world there sits in solitude, to sigh for the smallest of things. Someone still breathes in regret. But be the one to smile. For, the world needs to be positive.
☆Reality and virtuality can never be one. They are destined to be parallel. All that you scroll through screens would be within these screens.
☆Accept and embrace loneliness. For its not loneliness. Its the solace of yourself, amidst the chaos of world.
Words of his spread hope so big Words so jovial and band-aid banter, His style of comic An effulgent ray amongst the world so dark With a heart so tender, a rare gleaming spark An invigorating breeze chasing away the gloom Spreading smiles and giggles in magic woods tune A brother, a friend, a kind of light Tho, A gleaming star in the blue moon delight
A year back he found a new place to roast, grow and reside Teaching us lessons of unborn tomorrow in the silent night
Words of his spread hope so big A mine of happiness yielding more the more you dig A bright sunshine in a world so sad Infectious humor turning everything good from bad A brother, friend, poet, comedian Living by ideology of carpe diem Full of vigor making life memorable Weaving his own endearing fable Always in our memories and our thoughts All his battles he bravely fought Becoming A guiding light to love our lives His hopeful vivacious spirit surely never dies!!//
This is from the POV of Naghma, wife of a famous Urdu poet Faraz and the mother of Ziniya and Zareena. Let's go with her a decade back in time.
Winds whistled to me all sounds of joy the day I got heartbroken. If some files are stored in a harddrive, as I learnt in college, they can be viewed or manipulated by the user when they wish, if the file format allows it. Nonetheless most files can be easily deleted. But never had I learnt that a piece of information sprung up on display out of nowhere while a user couldn't stop thinking about this new window as everything else ceased to exist in their mind. Viruses caused such a thing to pop up on display, or ransom-wares did but that wasn't very common. Something similar was happening to me that day. My beautiful 7 year old Ziniya and her cute little sister Zareena were almost lost in their own worlds and for a moment I thought it was best because I needn't explain them everything right then and there. It always feels like the questions they asked later on were never really answered the way they deserved to be answered. Especially the questions Ziniya asked. Our answers were never enough to end all her questions. She was searching answers herself. She was gonna do that for a long time.
Faraz, my husband, had met with an accident. It took me a long time to register that in my memory. I was numb like a needle after hearing he had serious injuries and thinking of it now I feel as if the most probable emotion should've been sadness but for me it was utter emptiness that flowed through my veins. As if the most beautiful voice I had fell for just dissolved in the wind. Poems he wrote rose up in air and I could hear syllables ringing through my heart but that voice broke in the middle, as if those poems couldn't breathe anymore. I loved him because it was impossible not to love him. But just like that window which springs up out of blue over a desktop, I was having other thoughts. I remembered far back in time when our dastarkhan was the happiest place to sit around and gossip. Days went by like a beautiful dream one might have and remember some of it while forget the most. Ziniya fought Faraz over Seek Alfam and Zareena munched on all delicacies she had always enjoyed.
Faraz had a special bond with Ziniya. He read to her his ghazals and she corrected him more than any professional editor of that time would dare do. Well, how could someone critique Faraz? He was the best of his time and if time had allowed it, he'd have been the best of all times. I swear to God, I had married and loved the best person I could ever find. Ziniya went with him to everywhere he'd go. She'd sit on the stage with him as he narrated his poems and sung the songs he wrote while she interacted with everyone she could find around. His friends called her Zaheen. "You're wrong, it's gotta be written this way" she'd tell Faraz, "no, you don't know how to do it. I know! I know!" And Faraz would smile and chuckle. Would sometimes even write just the way she dictated. Only that she couldn't write whole pieces until then. Faraz completed everything. From the half verses to the family that we were a part of. He tied everything together in a thread of love and poetry.
Anyways, personal computers were not so common in my graduation days. But I have a more vivid memory for recalling experiences than a computer does. It's not blank 0s and 1s and colours that they create but an image that's engraved in my mind with all its emotions intact. I wish I had learnt something better than computer science. Something that could've helped me with what life was gonna make me go through. But regretting hardly helps, that much I know. This image is of the time when I first heard him narrate a poem.
He was far younger back then and so was I. It came back to me when I read a poem in his journal and something inside be asked - Do you remember? And with all my heart I answered - Yes. I do! I went to tell him I had heard him for the first time when I was a 6th grader and he reacted a lil shocked but then smiled casually. Maybe a part of me fell right there in that hall all those years ago. And doesn't destiny have a way of connecting all our broken parts together? In Faraz I found what happiness looks like. It was his face. The touch of his beard on my fingertips and those eyes in which a shipful of hearts could drown. These modern day maniacs running behind stupid beauty standards can hardly understand how someone becomes attractive by their personality and not just their looks.
He looked to me like a person hailed down from heaven, just for me. Not to blame these kids, coz we were kids too once. But maybe what I saw in Faraz nobody else can ever see. I saw my definition of beauty getting personified in every breath that he took. I miss him a lot. And I know somewhere beyond this universe where Allah will only bestow peace, I'll meet him soon. He's still with us. Just not the way I remember him. Yet the old Faraz is still visible when I look into his eyes. He's still there, just as hopeful as me that we'll see one another the way we did for the first time. We used to have a lot of small arguments and also a few fights but it was always Faraz's heartfelt way of showing his love that made all parts of our relationship beautiful. Not just beautiful but memorable.
Ziniya, Zareena, Yusuf and Habiba, all grew up. But a part of me is still left there in that day when everything changed. Some parts of Ziniya too are left there. A few of everyone else as well. But destiny has a way of tying broken threads together. I believe Allah has something better in store. I was told a lot of times to move on but people don't understand how love never leaves you once it truly begins. Faraz will always be for me the love of my life and it's impossible to think beyond that. Whatever life throws at me, I'll smile and read aloud - Aye sirfiri hawa tu bujha ke dikha usse. Wo nanha sa Chirag jo jugnu ke par me hai.
If you can still hear me before I speak, my dearest Faraz, I'd say,
"Let's dream for us a life so lovely, That nothing on earth could make us unhappy."
That day when he left saying, "It's already too late! I must leave."
I should've uttered, "My love, it's too late to let you go." But everything happens for a reason. I've loved a different side of him in all these years and I can't believe myself how much I loved him. It's beautiful. He's beautiful. And so are all the lives we created together. There's a poet in Ziniya, blooming just like her father. There's something of Faraz in all of our children. I find my love when I'm with them. They're all so lovely.
Sad. Wandering in dark alleys, in freezing cold winters, it's always easy to escape of that lone tear, yearning hard, to flow down my rough cheeks. The clacking sound of my boots adds to that melancholy melody, that helped me make it out, through the crowd of forlorn people. I do not know, the accuracy of someone's feelings because the sun doesn't bring happiness to all of us; like for me, it just strains my eyes, making it hard for me to come out of my comfortable bed which I know has cuffed the freedom of my recovery, from the fear of things, I pretend to be unaware of.
The warmth that I had found, after being handcuffed to the laziness in me, is transient, and would take me to the grave where neither you would visit me with chrysanthemums nor there would be a dandelion plantation, and I do not like to cling onto the hope, of having a visitor.
Comfort. The essence of an embrace, or the warmth I once found in someone's word might have been lost or faded, the way colors of rainbow fade in the sky where they appear like the way we live here to die in the end? I sit under the sky, until the invisible stars in the daylight finally, become distinct in the dark; finding that warmth in the sun rays which strain my eyes or beneath the torn blanket of stars, but then I am habituated, of returning empty handed, giving myself to the shackles of my bed.
Fear. Loneliness. I question myself, looking in the mirror, and I ask the same questions, I used to answer with a silent smile on the outside with the will to disappear, running in my arteries. How many weekends, have you sat cross-legged, taking the support of a white wall seeing yourself in the mirror; highly caffeinated, introspecting yourself, questioning your worth and your existence? The mere thought of losing out and not being able to achieve my daily goals makes me lose my breathe, and here I begin to cry and make an excuse, how I had no one by my side, pushing me to work on myself, and giving me a hand to pull me out of the pit, which I have started considering my house!
How I kept waiting, sitting by the window for someone to help me out of that loneliness but what if it's just the wind that caressed me and the sun rays that embraced me? I know the wait will not be worth it, the wind must have whispered, and the sun must have screamed that it's just me who could help me out of that hole, I miserably fell into. Even after several non-vocalised battles, between the hemispheres of my brain, I still feel a lacuna of thoughts inside me. A loneliness that makes me, scratch my hands and hair; offering me a desire to vanish, disappear and fade away. and everyday when I walk a step closer, to the fulfillment of an unfulfilled desire, I get far away from myself, and from the infinite abyss, which I no longer belong to. So, I am finding directions, of a place where it all ends with an added uncertainty that does that place exist? -nitrousoxide