We all thrive…but some of us thrive a little more.

the imperfect stroke.  

Bewildered by the chaos that time often makes, the sky was brightly and colossally grey. A stroke of orange ran across it and a Tint of pink was glittering on the edges. this atemporal scene showcasing the reflection of heaven. the stroke of some hidden sunlight drenched in the ink of sky just looked liked somebody accidentally spilled some paint over a blank blue canvas. Or Might be something like when the painter magically works out a brilliant stroke with all the correct proportions of colors carefully blended. I wonder over this pretense in utter amazement. The pretense that pulled me into a vortex of comfort where I forgot how to fake a smile and my eyes couldn’t help but sparkle. the same scene that has enchanted a lot of people, has also been effortlessly ignored by the other whole lot. the more I stare at it, the more I make threads in my mind. I bet , it can’t be a carefully planned and calculated stroke. it’s clear that pre-planned things are sometimes perfect but they lack the beauty of randomness. Oh well, in my view, Perfect things aren’t beautiful. this might be just a consequence of nature’s innocence  or it might be some coincidence.  some things are only yielded by mistakes.  I picture, of an artist in my mind.  He is probably captured in his own thoughts and dillemmas. His sighs are making the atmosphere cold.  amid all this uncertainty, He accidentally yet beautifully enhances a certain piece of art. see? that’s how mistakes are meant to beautify life by playing their own game. effortlessly and simply.  



In oblivion with time.

“Amid the dried up & cold woods,

under the charisma of enchanting darkness ; there lies time.

Held back by breathing mannequins, embodying the blend of silence and echoes.

The atmosphere smells smoke, the bleak longings linger all over, leaving their silage.

Every plea, etched on the soil, the weepings found dancing around and the spirits buoyed down to ground.

These souls tired of ranting, just hide their misery in the embrace of dusty layers of time.

Often, a merely ecstatic nostalgia hits them and they lose their selves

whenever they get an equally comforting proximity.

A pretense that pulls them into a safe solace in the form of a richly satisfying company.”

Safe feelings. 

What is this feeling, when you feel so safe and peaceful. In your bed, on a cold day. It’s a holiday and you are in your soft, warm & cozy bed. Yeah same, feeling like heaven. So safe and protected. It’s one of the best feeling, no insecurities and no fear just pure comfort. The lavishing feeling of this warmth, is not something to trade. It still is second to the one you feel after realizing that your love is being reciprocated. Obviously that’s the best feeling in the world.

 Then, being the reason of their smile, whose smile means the world to you. Knowing that you are the reason behind their genuine giggling , yes the genuine one. 

In the morning when they cross your mind, you feel like your head is in the clouds, proudly screaming out to the world. When you are talking to them and you feel like laughing so hard because it all comes naturally. You put your hand over your face to hide that, but guess what? They won’t let you. They will hold your hand and put it over their heart and let you laugh, open and free. They’ll embrace your flawed but perfect smile and you don’t have to hide this genuine gesture. Sometimes their eyes would whisper a hundred thousand secrets and you’ll just cherish their ecstacy. For the eyes are pure, gentle and they can’t portray something less than the truth.

What about the feeling you get amid some awkward converstaions, where you both are sitting in your balcony, the weather is just the right amount of cold and the wind carries the sillage of smoke in it. When you both laugh at your own weirdness, embrace each other, talk about from everything to nothing in particular, the comfortable pauses in between, yes the  silence that  makes it sound real. For some things are not said, they are just felt. 

The best feeling is knowing, all of this is not something unrequited or a mere infatuation. The best feeling is being sure of the validity of this reciprocated unconditional love. That’s raw and gentle at the very same time.

 When you want to be there for them on their bad day, to hold them. Keep them from falling apart and recollecting their soul, bit by bit. For some things are really fragile and not everyone knows how to take care of them. Knowing that you can handle them, is another best feeling. Accepting them with all their doubts, thoughts, insecurities, beliefs, their interests, their musings, their rants , their obsessions and their miseries, their demons. Falling for them means falling for all their obscenities too. The best feeling is when you have a tiring and bad day, all what you need is a break. Your break is only they ! Their smile can enlighten you, their eyes will melt your heart; million times a day. Their voice calling your name will be your favourite song of all time. Hence you’ll feel so comfortable talking to them just like you feel on a Sunday morning, when you are curled up in bed, the golden rays piercing through your window and you don’t want to leave your bed ever. You feel all the very safe, protected and comfortable. It’s the best feeling. At the end, you have to get up and leave your safe heaven ; to grow and to live. May be somethings aren’t there forever. They are just meant to be their for some time. Hence this time would mean like centuries. Sometimes  this is all what you need. Good things don’t last long, you probably  know this. Good memories do, they are always there to help you all through your life.

The Hapiness in little. 

*Little things*Happiness is verily the outcome of little things of life, often ignored yet the most cherished ones. Like the smell of soil after rain, the giggles of a child, chocolates? Yeah. Smiling at random strangers, laughing at yourself when you see in the mirror. Tell yourself, “There’s a whole life for being a jerk, just take one day off. ” Happiness lies ardently in the abyss of a contented heart. Take time, reflect and learn to accept yourself, tell me your OWN name whenever I ask about your ‘first love’ because your heart deserves it virgin, before the world. For Happiness lies in sprouting buds, late night conversations, hiding your blunders, putting the last night effort in your exam, the warmth of your bed on a cold sunday, the flow of coffee down your throat on a crisp evening, the aroma of freshly baked cake, in the layers of lasagna, in the tempting drink that you hold. Happiness is knowing someone smiled because of you. It’s all about the felicity which stays even when you don’t , right? Nobody stays, only memories last, feelings wander and nostalgia lingers. In the end, all dies. Except abstract.Wait. Happiness is this sun smoothly fading into a mere darkness, carefully leaving it’s orange tint over the horizon, as I click the final fragements of it’s ecstacy. Hapiness is there, where you find it. Where you perceive it, make it, discover it and produce it. Moreover hapiness is right inside you, deeply embedded onto your heart. Hapiness is in you, hapiness is you! 


Another memory of Human Love.

3:40 AM,

Saturday night. This night surely has something. I usually don’t sleep on weekends at night. My room is dark and silent, with the only dim light of my laptop screen and the sound of these keys. Yes, I type hard and my keyboard kind of screams. Nostalgia has taken over me.

A quote flashed through my mind “If they can not handle you at your worst then they don’t deserve you at your best”

And with this quote, several memories followed. The person who used to say this a lot. “Sometimes people come and go, some stay for a while and leave footprints on our hearts.” No matter how short the stay is, some part of it is always left. Right now I am just having flashbacks of my last year in school.

In my senior year, I was not much involved in all the fun stuff and was too much into studies. I can take this intro too long but cutting it short. There was a girl named Menahil, in my class.She used to sit in the corner of the class, at the back. So silent and still, she had rough hair; carelessly tied up. Huge eyes and black spectacles over them, braces and a dry face that looked hardly washed or fresh every morning. She was so cold and firm, talked to nobody. The whole class kind of avoided and ignored her. They used to call her with weird names.

picture credit: Google images.
It was third week since the term started and nobody heard her voice. I was new there and I was more curious about her than any one. One day, I suddenly realized that I’ve met her before… Yes, we both missed our chemistry practical exam in our junior year so we were called for a re-exam. I went to her to talk but she was very ignorant. I initiated the conversation by complimenting her shoes and she gave me a frustrated look, “Duh, I know! You see, they are new… so.”



I was not taken back by such a reply to my sweet interaction because I wanted to talk to her for real.

I continued with my conversation, I reminded her of the day we took the exam together. She was still very cold and firm but gradually she became more open. I knew it, I was right. She needed someone for her stories and thoughts. She always wanted to speak up but no one was there to listen to her. We became good friends, I usually talk a lot but for this time I reserved my linguistic skills and focused on listening to her, more. Eventually, she told me some of her secrets too. I hardly took them seriously because maybe one can’t understand the suffering when they haven’t gone through same.

She was an only child and her mother was a professor and father; a government official. They both were mostly at work and she, at home. She was alone for so long. She was silent for so long too. She used to write; to be more precise scribble on her notebook during the class. No one could read what she wrote. Mostly, teachers used to hate her because her papers were a real struggle to check. All the teachers kept telling her to write with hands and not with her feet. She just ignored them. Only I could clearly read her diaries and journals, even though I also had much difficulty but I liked her so much that I never considered this. Her speech wasn’t eloquent. She used to stammer in between her talks, a lot.  I realized she had a warm heart hidden behind that cold smile, she had a fierce blood flow buried inside her lifeless body. She had a healing touch. She was a piece of Art who was just thrown to trash by time. She was a great story-teller. (even more than me! *whispering* I like to call myself a good story-teller though) She was a gymnast too.


I remember that day, It was January and we were making cards and stuff for the victims of Peshawar APSACS attack. We were in the physics lab and were talking about the untimely demise of so many innocent kids. A smell of fear traveled across the lab, since we were also in another branch of the above mentioned school so it was a matter of deep concern. As it went, our conversations took the topic of death and trauma. There, she told us a story that explains some of her condition.

   “It’s about the time when I was 12, one warm evening my elder cousin sisters took me out for shopping. They both were sitting on the front seat and on the way back home one my them called me and told me to sit with her. I was so attached with both of them, so close, even more than my parents. I rested myself on her lap, we were talking and I was in a safe heaven, I never wanted this car ride, evening and this time to end. Sigh, it never goes as we plan. One moment and my world turned upside down. A truck from the front, reversed back abruptly, the long iron bars entered our car piercing through the wind screen. The girl who was driving got a pointed iron bar straight into her head and died on the point. The other one got the iron bar in her shoulder. I was luckily saved; I just got minor injuries from the broken glass. The second one insisted me to get out of her lap and run. I was too scared and numb to think of anything. She opened the door and forcefully threw me out of the car. I called my parents but couldn’t speak anything. I saw my other sister died too.”

It was surely not an easy story to share, she stammered a lot. My warm smile and a kind tap on her shoulder from another friend was all she needed in such cases.

She continued, “The blur memory of my mother yelling at me to speak up made me worse. I was silent, I never spoke to anyone. I wanted to but my voice was lost in all those fears and my strength to move my vocal cords, was buried deep along….”


She never spoke to anyone in the next six months, despite getting all kind of help. Then, her paternal Uncle took her to England for further treatment, therapy and her well-being. She had an elder cousin brother named Rehan. He was very kind to her, he did everything to cheer her up, to bring her back to life. She was just like a baby girl to her. Again half a year went and she couldn’t speak. Although she was feeling much better.

Rehan took her to a roller coaster ride, after all other fear and shock therapies failed. Finally, her voice escaped her feeble soul as she let out a scream in mid-air, an occasion of extreme felicity for the family. Now she can speak, thank God! The only issue is she can’t speak a couple of sentences without stammering. People always left her in midway, before she could even complete her part. That is why she stopped talking to people and avoided them but Humans can’t live alone!!!

I repeat! Loneliness can’t accompany you forever. It may be a blessing when chosen by self but it’s a curse when given by others.

PICTURE CREDIT : Google Images.
I always loved listening to her stories. Though she wasn’t that much frank but I made my every effort to lend her my ears. I used to read her written pieces, listen to her. I always had ways to keep the conversation going on. It’s not that I was so happy and free that I had time for her but I had my own demons too, and talking to her kept me distracted. I am not boosting, I am just sharing this happiness you get by cheering others. As the year ended, we both parted our ways with a last hug.

She wrote me a note, “You are a beautiful person; the only one who waited for my words with the warmest smile. Protect your inner beauty always. Never Change.” 


I never knew, after some time I would miss her too much. She was a beautiful soul too, I lost her. Even today, I can’t find her. I know she might be feeling the same. Sometimes I miss her so much. I only shared one incident from her life. She had so many of them. Some stories of her are even darker than this one.They are too difficult for me too share but they always gave me strength and secretly I would feel more grateful to Allah Almighty for my life. We both were of help to each other in one way or the other, thought we were complete strangers. It might sound peculiar but yes, we weren’t that much frank and we never even told each other to take care.

The feeling of contentment you get when people find you to be of help; is the best feeling in the world.

Look around yourself; share your passions and little moments with people around you. Don’t rant over your life, love it. Learn to love it. I know it’s easy to say but hard to move on. Trust me; it’s not that difficult too. Listen to other people; you’ll see there is much more than the issues in your life. We all are playing here; all of us are stuck on some level and need other humans to level up. Actually all of us are heroes; we inspire others and get inspired by others too. It’s just an endless circle of sharing and care. We all grow up amidst humans, either avoiding them or depending on them.

Do share your thoughts friends 😀 . Share with your friends and tell in the comments if you  ever had or still have such friends or listeners. Cheers!

Living again.

Sometimes when we are tired of trying, tired of struggling and waiting & when all the hope and all the positivity suddenly vanishes. We wish to quit!

There’s a void inside us, silently wishing and asking for more. Unfortunately, the brain shows it a dismal portrayal of locked possibilities, ignorant crowds, sharp cliffs and rocky paths with no turns. These voids then become more hollow, the screams of the soul continue to echo in them. The human body just sink deep down in despair.
Suddenly this illuminated world becomes irritating, it’s hustle turns silent. At such times we just wish to get lost just ignoring the fact that being alive is no less than a blessing.

The worth of safety is only realized when you had suffered the curse of calamity. Again, the taste of hapiness only pleases if you have tasted pain before.

When I feel like having such times, I just recall how many times I have been lucky(as people say) to be alive. How many times I’ve struggled, how many times I’ve not given up and how many times I’ve stood up.

In your life too, if you turn some pages back… You’ll realize how many times you have been saved from tragedies.

I am doing same right now. Sometimes a revival and revisit to the past is all what you need.

Your past made you into who you are now. Don’t let it haunt you, make peace with it.

I just happen to remeber a sequence where I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, between this world and that. My conscience wanted me to stay in the soully world. While my curiosity urged me to get into this world. ‘After all, our curiosity, desires and wishes are more powerful than our conscience and will!’

At last, I was welcomed to this world, though not warmly. With those huge dreams and a little heart. Never knew that I would always want to go back, never thought I would repent on my desicion of entering in this land of illusion where breathing cupboards would be walking on and ruling this land.

At times like these you just need to remember some good old moments. Everytime you were lucky or considered yourself close to that. I know there are many moments like these in your own life so I don’t need to tell much. Search them all, remember those times you have felt lucky and blessed.

Next time, you feel low, underratted and worthless. When life seems to be a serie of constant blunders, just count your blessings and ignore the blemishes. Re live all your safe moments, cherish your childhood memories. Bring that felecity back into today. Make your past strengthen you and make you prepared for your future. Your past is
what made you “who” you are now. So don’t let it haunt you, make peace with it. Grow with it and grow out of it. Just remember you are not alone in this, you are loved by people around you. If not all, then one…In the end God always loves his creation more than anything. Stand up, love yourself first and then love others. Be happy and spread happiness. Happiness is contagious, thus pass it on and share for, there were days when you needed it, and someone shared theirs with you. 

Love to all those who are trying to live again, Cheers!

Daily Prompt: Realize

via Daily Prompt: Realize

When I finally stood up,

wiped off my tears. Tied up my hair.

I gathered my body, stood up

put my heart back in place.

Cleaned the convulsions of my mind, straightened up my soul.

I realized, I am alone.

I’ll fight alone, they are no longer there to hold my hand,

They did enough. They will only push me to hell now.

I searched my journals, turned pages.

Looked into all, one after one.

Only to find weepings and rantings, scribbled with blood.

I realized…in the past 8 years, there wasn’t a single laugh marked.

All I found were tears that washed the time written with grey ink.

And my smiles after midnight, yes! Struggles of pretending to smile.

I realized, I was alone. Everyone of us is.

I repented, bowed down.

As I realized I have a booked apartment

waiting deep down the city, in solitude.

My head kissed the ground and the last tear

moistened it, whispering in the name of God.


Dark Amour 

Somehow in his priority list,
she was second.

With love

“you need to go” she said
When her face was red ,
Her feelings were something she didn’t wanted him to know ,
Because she knew it wouldn’t let him go
She pretended to be strong,
When inside everything was wrong ,
Every passing second she wished she could stop him ,
Every passing minute the light of hope was getting dim .

“I’ll be okay ,
Without you I’ll be able to stay “
Were her next words ,
Knowing that this isn’t the reality,
As his love was her only remedy,
Knowing that with fear she’ll have to live everyday,
With thoughts like
“What if he never comes this way ?”
“Is he okay ?”
“What if today is his last day ? “
“Why is he away ? “

“You’ll be fine without me ” he replied
Hiding the fact that he already cried.
He very well…

View original post 594 more words

Her, His.


Her Diary,

I am not on this ground for sure, I am up in the black sheet somewhere. I fell for him days after I saw him. My conscience tells me that he is a wrong person to love and I remind myself that love is always blind. It started just from a crush and I thought I will be over it soon. I was wrong! It hurts when people show me his demons and rebuke me for my choice.

The more his negatives come at the front, the more I try to paint his photograph.

It hurts me when he calls himself ugly. He is hard, firm and rude too. Sometimes he is so gentle that I doubt the time and I have this strong urge to hold his hands and gather all his pieces whenever he faces a break down.

His rude replies and often half left conversations made me stay back. I don’t know where this all would go, but I have this desire to have long deep conversations with him at night. Conversations that go nowhere, that leads us to nowhere but still they show us everything in little fragments of logic. He replies me and I am thankful that he is always kind to me. This love is increasingly growing. I am finding excuses to justify his immoralities. He seems like an isolated soul wandering in dark shadows. For me he is the most musical symphony God ever created, he is a piece of art that has the perfect brush strokes. He is painted black and white. While people try to instill colors in him, I only cherish his clarity. I am very fond of black color and when the white collaborates, he becomes a master piece for me. Wait, what I am doing? I am again finding justifications for him.

I need to accept the fact that I can’t buy every piece of art neither can I own the whole gallery… Yes, He is a gallery of mystic strokes for me.

Love from a *purple soul.


His Diary,

I am not high today, the fact is I am never high. I know what stories I leave behind but Do I care?- No, I don’t. People say she likes me and this doesn’t intrigues me. It’s just lust and not love, she will soon be over me. I’ll even fade out from her memory as I always do ever since I entered this world. She doesn’t need to justify my acts. I am ugly and worthless.

I have a thousand fragments of my soul, delicately tied together. No one can even gather me. I am the faulty photograph that everyone crushes down to bits.

Yes, sometimes I do become weak and people think I am calm and gentle but it’s just that my inner demons are having a holiday. I need no one to hold me, I am good on my own. I don’t want her to hold my hand because I know the sight of my scars will hurt her even more.

I am rude at times with people because I hate unwanted sympathy and overrated love. I respect her feelings and mustering up every inch of goodness that’s left in me… I try to reply her. There’s not much of kindness left in me so I don’t let my ruthless soul into long gossips. I cling to isolation as my solace and my pleasure is only found in my roots. I wonder in dark streets because they portray the most honest tales. I am a worthless piece of creation, who needs the glamour of luxury to add in me…to look a little acceptable. I am the first draft painting that never caught anybody’s eye. I belong to the dark in the storeroom.

I may be plain on the surface but I hold maroon demons inside me. No color stays on me, they all fade away.

I don’t want to hurt her, there is a human lost in the corners of my body too that screams out to her. It tells her not to spend any of her worth on trying to get me. How can you expect shelter and protection from a broken and rusty house? And how anyone can except love and warmth from a porous heart? I am not even close to mysticism. No need to spend for the one who is on Satan’s side.

Care from a *blue soul.


Partly fiction and partly based on real life.

Guys do share if you like it and your acknowledgement and criticism, both are  highly welcome. Cheers.



Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑