Grandma with her crooked fingers

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me all her secrets
She could not speak, she could not hear
Her fingers spoke, her eyes heard all

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always walk straight
Crooked things she said are bad
Unless they’re crooked body parts

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always speak straight
Crooked words she said plant doubts
Unless they’re crooked with natural fault

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me to always work straight
Crooked ways she said dig graves
Unless they’re crooked by form

Grandma with her crooked fingers
Told me how to live a life-
With her crooked ways and crooked words;
In a not-so-crooked manner





It will

You can talk about it

You can mutter, you can grumble

You can complain, whine and curse

But you cannot change reality

It will remain stamped on your forehead

It will pollute your blood, your air

It will drill holes into your dreams

It will puncture your lungs

And take you to Oblivion.


I wonder, I wander

And then, I wasn’t there anymore. I don’t know. I might have been floating in the sky somewhere above Morocco, or I could be resting on the clouds above the Jamia Masid of New Delhi, I might have been sitting right beside this form of me, but I wasn’t here, this wasn’t me. So I began acting like someone who’s not really here, absently doing things, answering queries unconcernedly. I’m not even here so why bother. Except, to other people, I was here, this was me, and I should have acted like myself. How could I, when this wasn’t me, really? How do I act like myself? Act is what we do, in reality. “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players”, as the bard puts it so eloquently. So here I was, worrying about how I should act when instead, I should have been worrying about where I am, if not here…

Where am I? Morocco, New Delhi, Karachi saahil, my own home, or have I passed away entirely? Is that why I cannot function the way I am supposed to? This “supposed to” creates a myriad of problems for me. I have this stubborn, twisted muscle which makes me want to defy every “supposed to”. And when I do that, I end up defying all accepted forms of being. And then…. well, then I end up existing everywhere but here. What does it mean to not exist? Does it mean being dead in all senses of death? Does it mean being dead in the heart? Does it mean being wiped off the face of this Earth? Or does it mean doing things not apropos to world?

I’m wandering off-topic. But then, there is no topic. I’m not here. Only this world requires  a topic and a label on everything. I’m not here. I need no topic. But I do wonder where I am, and who this “I” is that I keep on referring to. I do wonder.

Perfectly Imperfect

In the sky of my mind
Echoed the winds of longing
I silenced the noise
And listened to sweet nostalgia
Nostalgia’s song tasted like
Honey, tartar and rose petals
Smoke rose from each petal
Forming clouds in the sky of my mind
The winds of longing blew harsh
Each petrous note of nostalgia piercing the clouds
And hence came the downpour
Of suns that set too soon
And suns that never rose
Of moons that never were full
And stars with frozen winks
Of galaxies with uncharted maps
And of rainbows with colours gone rogue
But when all was done, and the downpour abated
The barren ground sparkled
With the suns and moons and stars
And galaxies and rainbows
Which once saddened the sky
And now adorned the ground
The winds settled to a merry tune of serenity
And the sky of my mind smiled at the beauty below



Her: Try again.. try to sleep.
The other person: I cant.
Her: Try. At least your eyes won’t hurt.
The other person: What about the heart?
Her: It’s not broken.
The other person: Are my eyes broken?…
Her: *silence*

The other person: I feel like giving up on life.
Her: Why so?
The other person: Such depressing feelings..
Her: So you feel like giving up? Because you’re depressed? Because of that one incident?
The other person: No… It has nothing to do with that.

Her: It began there. Deny it all you want.
The other person: It began there, but it’s not because of that.
Her: Just like life began with birth, but that’s not why you want to give up on it.


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