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A letter from my sky, sea, sand and salt!

  I have lived half a century in this world of realism and fantasy And I have made much mistakes and learned a good deal of truths, Seen multitudes of people and spent many days of joy and distress. But of all the moments I have ever lived and will ever live, The moment I knew I'd become a father for the very first time would be marked the highest in my graph of blissful happiness. And it was you my child, who emplaced me in the 'n'th level of ecstasy. I was afraid to release my grip on your cute soft hands And send you to people and places beyond my field of eyes, For I knew the world isn't as lovely as you've dreamt off And that it had handsome monsters extending candies. But above all the fears, I'd to let you go to taste some, To sense the real ones from the fake in the years to come, To bring few tasty toffees to share at home. I remember the days when I had bathed you And clothed you with the new school uniform, With a heart so heavy with t
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Lifeline

 I have wondered umpteen times on how I would have survived if I didn't pray. For all the blessings disguised as hardships and harships disguised as blessings that have come my way, I cannot fathom how I would've overcome them if I didn't know my comfort was in prayer.  Every rememberance of Him I utter when I slip to fall and the verses I recite when I'm mesmerised by His creation, unknowingly gives me a sense of being in harmony with a bigger truth.  Tears that wet the cheeks while seeking forgiveness and the eloquent silence that follows, lightens the heavy chest and the piled up files of regret, agony and guilt flies away to disappear into thin air.  The faces that pops up in my mind while praying and the names that are worth a mention are people whose roots are tangled with mine. The connection of holding them in that cold soil is beyond the gentle warmth of a physical hug.  Desires are and will always be in the front and would never forget to mark its presence eve

Patient perseverance

Demolish our homes Our status is not on those concrete walls. Take away our loved ones Our love through prayers will reach them anyway. Strip off our headscarfs and clothing Our honor is the unwavering faith we uphold. Punch and crush our bodies Our souls won't lose an atom weight of power.  Take away our lives Our wish to die a martyr will be fulfilled.  You may wipe us out.  But the truth you are afraid of will remain here,  Even after your rotted brains become fossils.  If your intent is to provoke and scare us,  Know that we are progenies of visionaries,  Who had fought tyrants like you since the beginning of history.

I Wonder...

  I wonder if you would write me a paragraph of love For which I would melt like an iceberg on time lapse. I wonder if you would serenade me with melodies of romance For which my heart would dance like a whirling dervish. I wonder if you would tell stories of far away lands So that I would drift to sleep dreaming of us being there. I wonder if you would ask of the intricacies of my ambitions So that you could cheer to walk through untrodden paths. I wonder if you would tell lame jokes and share memes To which I would laugh with all its awkwardness and more. I wonder if you would teach the tender spots of your heart To which I can prepare myselves for aiding strength to you. I wonder if we would pray together soon after the union And you would give a forehead kiss after soulful Duas. I wonder if our first voyage would be to my host country And spent a part of us in the lands of peace with serenity. I wonder if, Our Lord would be pleased with us. Our parents would be gr

Bleeding Scar

You flew away creating a void in me,  A void that was once filled with something nameless.  You didn't know you had stolen it from me,  I'd urge myself to believe I consented you To grab that away so I could always carry  a bleeding scar. I'm sorry if I had ever been a parasite, Lately did I know it was never a symbiosis. To be transparent and to see what was evident is my way, But I do respect your liberty to cover my eyes with lovely veils. I'm sorry but not sorry anymore! Even if you had come back, I might decorate a room in my heart From the ruins of the rupture, Because I honestly don't know How to break yours with this intensity. This vulnerable little creature still roots for you, If you had like to know, I wish. I'll always be thankful for teaching me a new lesson, On how to move on in two separate ways After miles of walking with hands tangled. . But I'd let you know I still wipe the tears and blood That oozes from the healed scar

It's OKAY!

  It's okay to question your existence. It's okay to be unsure about your choices. It's okay to doubt your intentions. It's okay to revisit the mistakes in the past. It's okay to love silence in the choas. It's okay if you cringe remembering embarrassing moments. It's okay to fail sometimes. It's okay if someone thinks you're stupid. It's okay if some things don't come your way. It's okay if your wishes didn't come true. It's okay to cry under the shower. It's okay to feel guilt and regret. It's okay if you love loneliness. It's okay to yearn for companionship. It's okay to let some people go from your life. It's okay to have dreams that steal your sleep. It's okay to let things go without much thoughts. It's okay to over-think about major decisions. It's okay to feel sick at-times. It's okay if you find yourself as a stranger. It's okay if your time isn't okay right

The fear of being Read!

  Every writer traverses through an eerie tunnel, With walls echoing questions louder and louder, To which they stumble and silence their pens, With the fear of being read, Dreading the reality of being a writer. Many stories remain hidden and untold, Labelled not worthy of this world, Neither better enough to be appreciated, Nor to be even read! Not being read is disheartening, But the horror of being read overrides them all. Once the words are aired to the limitless horizons, It's read by thirsty eyes and may conquer their minds, Beyond borders and languages alike, With no conscious effort of its creator. It sounds wow, but that's scary too. How ever experienced and prolific one be, A writer doubts oneself until the very end, Re-read and re-write over a hundred times, Still unsatisfied with the ultra-polished piece of creativity, With words that might themselves yearn to be read, But still, the fright is real and inescapable. Whatever gets poured onto t

DISGUISE

Just hold on for a minute. Calm the blabbering thoughts that's occupying your mind. Ask yourselves this question and ponder on it: "Have you ever been afraid of revealing your real self to anybody at any point of your life? " That did strike a nerve, didn't it? . . . We are judged for the continent we were born to. We are judged for the country we belong to. We are judged for the state we live in For the district and the village therein. We are judged for being a member of 'that' family. We are judged for being a student of 'this' University. We are judged for the place we work all day And for the friends we hangout with on holiday. We are judged for wearing an attire. We are judged for the 'audacity' for writing a satire. We are judged for believing in a God And for the superstitions we mock. . . . The words you swallowed in front of your parents, The weird dreams you never shared to your partner, The tears you hide fr