A magical blanket which changes colours with the passage of time is our sky. It has sequins and a crescent embedded on it. The sequins are of all sizes, but there is one that is bigger than all others that are visible. They glint and they squint, they blink and they wink, down at the wearer of the magical blanket.
The crescent, and the big sequin, they glow fiercely, and continuously, no winks nor smiles, they seem angry and sorrowful. They hold secrets unkown to the world. The secrets could kill, the secrets could put the human race in permanent shock. The sun and the moon are the keepers of those secrets, helping each other stay alive even when the burden grows too great.
The secret: This blanket will one day be folded. And before that, it will throw out its stuffing, the stars and the moons will vanish. Then as it folds, it’ll leave the human underneath in whatever state they occupy, but vulnerable and unable to fend themselves.
The sky will deceive the very ones that it gave shade to, for as long as it existed.
Two children had an early morning today. They decided not to disturb their parents and played a game of jigsaw puzzles between the two of them.They couldn’t even complete the game, it was time for school. Grudgingly, they left the game half completed, on their dining table, and left for school. Their mother smiled at them from the door, reminded them to finish their lunch which she had prepared like everyday, so lovingly.
But then, they had an early night as well. Hours before night was to come. It is 5 pm. They are not back yet. The jigsaw puzzle remains unfinished. The only difference-they’re a little wet, and very salty.
Today has been tragic. A school of Peshawar, Pakistan was attacked by some ruthless, heartless, vile militants. A hundred children died. For nothing. A hundred stories like the one above. A hundred early nights. Way too early. Let this not be about a school, a city, a province, a country, or a religion. Let this be about those children. Let this also be about their teachers, about the people who died trying to save them. Let this be about bleeding hearts. Let this be about dead little humans, and about alive little humans. Let this be about this tragedy. Cry. Be remorseful. Depress yourself. Let everything be gloomy. Let the sun vanish, let the clouds go grey, let the dark prevail.
And then think of those children. Think of their rosy cheeks, bright smiles, colourful eyes, beautiful lives. Let that colour your life. Breathe it in. Breathe them in. For their souls are now all around you. Let that colour seep in, absorb it. Then make their deaths worthwhile. Finish that jigsaw puzzle.
Listen to her smile
Look at her sighs
Taste her fears
Touch her words
Smell her thoughts
Feel her being
Her smile speaks
Her sighs have colour
Her fears are bland
Her words are wax
Her thoughts like smoke
Her entire being….
And it demands to be felt differently.
She doesn’t speak. She’s five years old but she doesn’t speak. Born in a poor village, she lives with seven siblings, she has never spoken. She listens, she looks, she points and claps-but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even try to speak. Sometimes when her family doesn’t respond to her signals, or doesn’t pay attention to her, she produces one word with full stress so that it sounds as if she’s singing it; “Ammmaaa!”. That is the only word she has ever spoken. And the irony is, she doesn’t have a mother.
Originally posted on Utopia:
Pretend your way through school and society. Appear calm, bright and attentive at all times. Shed light on the ugly lawn fabric prints of the season and the terror of the Daaish in the same breath, and somehow relate the two. Cover your ears with your hands if you have to, but do not give in to the horror of listening to the person sitting next to you. Never allow yourself to drown in a piece of art or music; discredit the artist and belittle his creations since nothing new is possible. Have strong opinions on all things imaginable and do not budge even an inch from your view point, lest your mind creaks open a little to entertain someone else’s perspective.
Carry on bullshitting. Don’t appear fazed or surprised if you hear something new today; there is nothing you do not know or couldn’t have predicted. The beauty…
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You were right, I did it for attention. But it offended me deeply when you said it, when in fact I should have realized you were giving me an easy way out. Almost six years later I realize this and find closure. I’m sorry for the way I reacted. I am indebted to you.
I think of that day every day. It has been almost nine years I think. I’m burdened with guilt. The fact that I can never apologize sickens me. You were my best friend at that time. I should have known better. I hope you’re happy wherever you are now.
I forgive you. I know why you did what you did. I understand, although I obviously don’t approve. I forgive you. I hope you’re doing as well as you seem to be doing. I hope you understand my reaction as well.
I don’t know you anymore. I just remember your name, your face, the time we spent together, and the monkey-bar incident. I hope you think of me too.
___________, ___________, and ____________,
I was a child. You shouldn’t have done what you did. Every day I think of it and try to justify your actions, and I often succeed although I know it was wrong. I can’t say I forgive you. I don’t know if there’s anything to forgive. I don’t know what that constitutes. Just know, it affected me deeply. I would’ve been an entirely different person had it not been for you.
Very dear _____________,
All of us miss you. I wish I could’ve thanked you when you were still here. I have fond memories with you. I still haven’t thrown away your gifts. I don’t know if I ever will. You’re missed, but you don’ need to worry. We’re all okay here. I hope you’re in peace.