Humans fly

Have you ever seen birds fly? How they flap their wings and then hold them still mid-air? After having done their part, they let the wind carry them. Still they do not relinquish control completely. They control their direction, steer themselves the way they want to. Even though they depend upon the wind to carry them, they do not let it control them. Such intelligent creatures they are…

Have you ever seen humans live? How they breathe in and out, and let nature do the rest? After having done their part, they hand themselves over to nature and to fate. They relinquish control. They take a silver platter, decorate themselves with achievements and degrees, and hand themselves over on it to fate, for it to do with them as it pleases. Very few of them control their direction and steer themselves the way they want to. Very few of them step off the silver platter and make fate follow them. Of course, they depend upon nature and fate truly does control them. But isn’t that why they’ve been equipped with such intelligence and the right of self-determination? Isn’t that why they’ve been given a will to do as they choose? Why then, do they cower in corners, clutching on to fate’s pinkie for dear life? Why do they not hold its hand firmly, and steer it into the direction they want to go? It would follow. Surely, it would follow, for it has no choice. It is chained to them. It is not the other way round as humans have mistaken it to be. But of course, if the jailer hands the keys over to the prisoner, that is how it shall be.

They believe, while relinquishing control, that they are free. Why do they not scoff at their own naivety? The word “free” they have made up to delude themselves. They have tried to define it in dictionaries. When will they figure out, freedom is not to be defined? Because to define it is to confine it. And confining it goes against every definition that they have tried to place upon it. When will they realize that freedom exists only within themselves, and can not possibly exist in any form anywhere else? Within themselves, they have a funny freedom. They have been given a “choice” to be free. They’ve been given the choice, and then a permanent, overbearing partner called fate. Fate has been given a plan which it follows to the dot, which is why it can be overbearing. But it is also permanently chained to humans. And humans have been given a choice to be free. That is the plot twist. Humans have the choice to pull the chains in their direction. And fate, being its overbearing self, will always follow. It is a prisoner to these cowering creatures of high intelligence. It can be manipulated. Of course, it will still follow its plan to the dot, but humans can interfere. Humans can exercise their freedom within themselves. Humans can fly too.

~Moniba Mehboob

White Majesty

 
 
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Like a Swan from a duckling
She grew up into a beauty
And in all her white majesty
She became a heart’s desire
 
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The Walls

 

The walls of her room were devastatingly beautiful.

The girl was a mystery. When she was furious, she wrote. When she was ecstatic, she wrote. When she was despondent, she wrote. When she was stressed, she wrote. When she was lost, she wrote. When she was content, she wrote. And yet, writing occupied very little time in her life. Reality was, she wrote on her neurons; there she wrote, erased, scratched, and rewrote, letting only her mind know. She wrote new endings, better beginnings, and middles of her liking. She made every story, her story. She spent so much time nestled in her mind that often, her neurons had to push her out.
And that was when she wrote on actual paper. Paper was therapy. Paper was her solution, her ointment, her bandage, her balm. It supported her exhaustive thoughts when her mind could no more handle her. But there were times it failed to understand her. That was when she turned to the pencil, and worked it on any surface available-the soft graphite bore her thoughts bravely.

And that is how those walls came to be.

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The beautiful flower

The beautiful flower
Had grown up
Pampered and loved
Believing
In security.
Only
To one day
Be plucked apart.

Its faith fell
Its bubble burst
It was dejected
But then the
Bestower of such inhumanity
Gently wrapped it
In beautiful paper
Cushioned it
In soft layers
And sprayed it
With calm water
The flower
Young and naive
Dared to hope again.

The beautiful flower
Grew up all over again
When its veins
Began turning black
And its beauty
Withered slowly
Its aroma
Became stale
And the
Bestower of such kindness
Unwrapped it
And threw it away
In gravel and mud
Where it never hoped again.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who took everything seriously. She was the epitome of a good girl. She was very intelligent, and confident in her social skills. Everyone loved her. She sometimes did outrageous things, and was chided for them, but most of the time she was a well-behaved girl.

In school, she was known for her extraordinary intelligence. Her teachers loved her. She always topped in all of her classes. Her school was satisfied with her performance, her parents were happy, her friends respected her, almost revered her. Then came a time when everything changed. Her school changed, teachers changed, courses changed. Her home changed, her friends changed. Everything she knew was no more. So to cope with it, she changed as well. The epitome of a good girl changed, and the change didn’t work out for her so well. Her performance in school lowered, her parents worried about her, and she had no friends to call truly hers. She needed to feel something other than disappointment in herself. Her company lured her to new ways, ways which distracted her from life as it now was. She was no more a good girl, she did things she would have formerly been ashamed of. She had her first crush, and wrote her first love letter. Her love letter was found out by relevant authorities, instead of the intended recipient and she was in trouble. She was ridiculed by some of those who got to know of it, and some others sympathized with her.

She felt very lonely at that sensitive stage of life, and was even more disappointed in herself. She began to hate her new self and wished she could be her old self again, but she couldn’t remember who she used to be. So, knowing nothing better and being very confused, she fell into her first depression. She was still a school girl, she was too young to be depressed and to know of depression. Her performance at school and at home depleted, she constantly felt like she was falling, or being sucked into an abyss and she wished she would hit the bottom of the abyss quickly. At least then she would get some stability in her life. She used to do this all day. She became a robot. She went to school in mornings, attended lessons absent-mindedly, returned home and went to bed. She thought of herself, her shameful acts, her disappointing performance everywhere. She thought of people, their sharp tongues and judging eyes. She thought of life, and slept in disappointment.

Then one day her depression lifted just a bit, allowing her to think with slight clarity, without judging herself. She went to school that day with resolve to live again. She found a confidante, poured her heart out and asked for help. And the confidante helped her to her utmost powers. Slowly, the girl regained power over her life. She began to ease out of her robotic life. She lived again. Her performance improved, and she felt lighter, happier. Barely a year went by before tragedy struck again-this time in form of repressed memories. The girl had flashbacks of forgotten ugly events from her childhood. She had new flashbacks every few days and knew what she was now remembering was the truth. And so she fell into a new misery. She knew what caused the memories to be unleashed, she had enough knowledge of human psychology. What the flashbacks reminded her of, was too big, too ugly, for a girl so young and naive to deal with. She fell into her second depression. This time, she was reluctant to get help. The memories repulsed her. She felt disgusted by her own self. Yet she knew she was innocent. And still, she hated herself. She stopped taking care of herself, and her health along with her performance at home and school, deteriorated. One day, her old confidante summoned her and asked her what was wrong. The girl just shook her head and left. She couldn’t let anyone know. Everyone would hate her, as she hated herself. She couldn’t bear more. At least in this depression, she had friends. They didn’t know what was wrong with her but she did get short periods of relief and light laughter with them.

An event at home, and several chidings in class one day, decided her future for her. She went to her confidante and told her everything. Well, she told her almost everything. Her confidante almost cried with sympathy for the girl. She promised the girl she would always be there for her, that she need have no qualms about coming to her about anything. She assured the girl that whatever happened was in no way the girl’s fault, that she needn’t feel such repulsion to herself. She told the girl her secret was safe with her. When the girl left her confidante’s room that day, she felt like a new person. She felt as light as a feather. Once again, she began living. Her performance improved, she became a happier person. The flashbacks did not stop, and the girl did occasionally get depressed over them, retreating into herself, but she always dealt with them in a braver manner and was soon herself again.

Time flew swiftly, and school ended on a happy, memorable note. The girl had deep memories associated with her school, she was sad at leaving, but she had learned everything came to an end. That was probably the happiest and the saddest fact of life. The girl went on to college, and made new friends. New friends had new ideas of friendship and one idea went wrong. It went so horribly wrong that the girl fell into her third depression. This one was more discreet, more concealed than the others. And it went on throughout her college years. This time, she couldn’t go to her confidante. But this time she had bigger help. She had faith. A wavering faith, but one that the girl held onto for dear life. She also had her confidante’s advice, and faithful friends. She had experience, and she knew what to do. So she slowly pulled herself out, and life went on. Her depression ended, leaving her stronger than she was before.

All this while, the girl grew as a human being. She had her dreams and aims. She had ideas on how to make the world a better place. She had a passion for fixing people. She had talents which she wanted to put to good use. Her dreams were a bit far-fetched, but the girl saw possibilities that others didn’t. Her life had taught her valuable lessons. The girl knew never to give up. So she carried on, and hoped for a good ending. Her story didn’t end there, but then, not every story has to be complete to be completed.

“I wish, I wish, with all my might…”

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Lonely days and lonely nights
Make me wish wish all my might
Someone here would share my time
Share my dreams and share my fears
Make me smile and just be mine…

Read my mind and help me find
All the bad and all the good
All the things that make me wild
Take control and make me good
Make me pure and make me true
True to Him and true to all…

Give me hope and make me shine
Make me happy, share my time
Lonely days and lonely nights
Make me wish with all my might
For someone who would share my time
Share my dreams and share my fears..

Lead the way to paradise, take me far from hell-it’s cries
Gain me pleasure, not His wrath
Make me one of the Beloved
Lonely days and lonely nights
Make me wish with all my might…

~Moniba.

Palestine, Oh Palestine

There is this place
It’s called Palestine
It used to be pretty
And peaceful and lively
The people lived as they do
Everywhere else.

Then there came to be this place
It’s called Israel
Which is basically Palestine
But mercilessly occupied
It attacked Palestine
And took over most of its land.

So now in Palestine
Or what’s left of it
Where there used to be quaint houses
There’s just a lot of rubble
With broken and burnt doors, utensils and limbs
Jutting out from underneath.

Where there used to be bright smiles
That could light up the world
There now are tears,
burn marks and bloodied cuts
That can rend any human heart
Except those that are not human.

It is a war, not between states
Not between races, nor between fates
Nay, this is a bigger war, one of faith
At least, that is how it started
But now, it is between
human and non-human.

Tell me, please
Is it human to kill innocent people
For the sake of self, and the sake of  hate?
Is it human then also, to remain quiet
And watch such tyranny be?
It must also be human, to  point guns at 4 year olds.

And by this definition,
Humans of this world, humans that feel
Are not humans at all, because they care
And those that don’t, well
They’re humans at their prime
The most evolved of them all.

Israel, I salute you, a salute full of mock
At your utter humanity, and benevolence
Your bombs when they land
With the cheers of your people,
And your guns when they point
At 4-year old terrorists; surely they can kill.

Palestine, I stand with you, sincerely
Your children, your people, your land and your peace
Are my children, my people, my land and my peace
Their bombs when they land, make my prayers fiercer
Their guns when they shoot, make my eyes water
But know this, Palestinians, we are one.

So when they shoot you, I bleed
And when they bomb you, I ache
When they hurt you, I feel the pain
And when you cry for help, I pray
We are blood, we are one body
We are the Ummah, we will rise.

Until then we pray, we pray and we try
Dear Palestine, stay strong, stay firm…
Help shall come, in ways unimaginable
Do not weaken, and do not grieve
You will overcome them, if you are true believers
Allah has promised, and His promise he upholds.

~Moniba.

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