A Lament

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A Lament

The improbable tragedies of the befallen,

Has rung the music of the solemn,

Oh, how low the mighty have fallen!

Without the swords of faith,

Their souls heartbrokenly fail to resonate,

The desend to heaven , now, has to forever wait.

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The Country of Class

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I have been bitterly failing in the task of streamlining my thoughts into words. I have pondered over the reasons of this misery blockage numerous times but no conclusion has been effectively formed as yet. Then, I thought I must have too many wanderings in my narrow tunnels of mind or too less. I have tried to sleep on it, left it alone, made futile attempts to let it all out but of no avail. Catching the fleeting array of thoughts has never been a feat far too difficult for me and an attempt at the expression has been most natural. So, how do I come out of this? How do I let the words run without reins? Where can I find the lost terrain of my fantasies? Why has the reality become an impregnated demolition of my escape?

The sense of oblivion has a way of paralyzing the mind of its territorial rights. Just to be a part of everlasting chaos for as long as one is alive is often an understatement of the description of our reality. The chaos that had once surrounded the ‘upper or lower’ levels of our country has slowly lingered on in the manifestation of every action of ours. This legacy is an unwanted burden on a land that was to be the paradise of the earth. And now has come a time when our people can be clearly divided into categories. This must be applauded as a tenacious success of our lords. Every nation has its own society divisions among the various communities. But the road here takes a turn far too vicious to be controlled. The politics of the world is such, I realize. Yet, most nations have succeeded in recognizing their mistakes and paved the way to rectify those, mostly with victory, often without.

We are a nation often the victim of being the neglectful puppeteers. The specific class division is thus becoming clearer than ever. That may be the animation of my own specks of imagination. The conclusion remains the same, however it may be put.

1-      The first class is the foreign Pakistanis living in Pakistan. The mindset of those is so firmly set in the ways of the ‘successful’ foreigners that their comparison of things would at once fly away to seven oceans across. But then looking up for inspiration is the first step to finding ways to change the bitter days. After meager 66 years of independence, it’s surprising to see how ‘much’ part they have played in the betterment of the days of our lives. Religion for them is a mere tool of reflection for others as they are the ‘busy’ bunch, looking for solutions to all the predicaments.

2-      The moderate Muslims, now they are of the opinion that a nation like ours shouldn’t be following the footsteps of any country, we should be the ones setting examples for them all. Praise worthy philosophy I say! But then they are the ones who secretly replicate the accents of English noble men. To be clear, I myself am an admirer and follower of languages, pronunciation, delivery and usage. However, to profess a misleading image, authorize judgments on the ones ‘spreading’ mischief of foreign conspiracies and then govern the very same doctrine themselves is beyond the philosophy of that self-proclaimed ‘do gooders’ of our society. They want to be the witnesses of change without being the change themselves.

3-      Then we have the most photographed fragment of a most notorious nation, the low class both in social and financial terms. Now, they are the ones not born with any rights or needs or dreams for themselves or their children. The only purpose of their existence is the rightful worship of those above them. They are the breadwinners for the people sitting all mighty and holy in their high chambers, yet they are the ones who get kicked down, knocked around, displaced and deformed, like the authors in any uncivilized society. For them, Darwin’s theory of natural selection most appropriately applies. This is the class of intense competition as the stakes are immensely high, they have to strive for their bread- the dream of butter may be too luxurious for them. The one who can adapt, learn to survive bitter cold, manage to breathe through the harsh heat and learn to reduce their capacity of intake of food should be the one hailed as the ‘man’.

Our ‘many’ (read dozens and dozens of) respectable governments have at the very ‘least’ succeeded in making the ‘skin’ of our idle, laid back people strong. Now, I am sure most of us won’t have an adjustment issue whenever we have to relocate to another continent.

The vital, uncategorized class of citizens is that class whose subsequence members forever remain in the dilemma of finding ways to better the Fate of our peoples. They are a staunch body of workers as not many can survive the psychological grind of dark (literally and figuratively), cold (literally) and hot (literally and figuratively) days and nights. I had once read a few reports on the development of war strategies in the mental and psychological torture department, sensory deprivation made the top of every list. I believe we should not be deprived of the ownership and copyrights of such an elaborate vision has we have been the ones living and surviving it for years and years on now. Nevertheless, the ‘easiest’ way to cope up with that is I have stopped counting time, days, years, hours. Not knowing the numerical version is somewhat relieving, a formula applied successfully.

Pakistan is a nation– not how it is displayed in its talk shows, through its politicians, through its terror headlines! We are an honest, laborious, humble, loving and peaceful nation. That is the sole reason why we have let things come this far. But not now, sitting in a small city of a suppressed house, my heart is rising, the echoes of the whispers which bounced back and damaged my sanity is now finding ways of expression. The true Pakistan will rise! And we will all be here to witness the revolution of intentions.

“…Lo! Allah changeth not the condition of a folk until they (first) change that which is in their hearts; …“

Verse (13:11)

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Act of Life

Peering through the cracked holes of memories and strife, I find an abrupt rupture of involuntary heartache. The battles should be fought and forgotten, not to be buried in plain sight. But, the heart can never seem to let anything pass by it and drown in the ocean of nothingness. It wraps them around in the smoothness of its flimsy core, to be touched upon when darkness befalls and would not vacate. It clutches them delicately and makes them rest in the throbbing articulation of its Life.

Life, I wonder, is not simply comprised of desolate contentions and defeats, losses and stings, strikes and miss. It often brings along many triumphs, laughter and affections. Yet, when you look back at the time spend, the tiny specks of joy fleet by like momentary glimpses of color. While, the anguish of Life itself lingers on, dissolving in the most reluctant commutes of Life.

The road through Life is twisted and barren with occasional showers of delight. Although, happiness finds tiny holes to fill, it is the essence on which we keep dragging the tired souls. When we slide across the journey of our hearts, we never imagine we would someday be molding our beings into something beyond our realization. We let go of the things we proclaim of never pulsing without and manage to complete the emptiness inside. The time moves on neither stopping nor holding for us to catch on. The evil gripping’s of the moments torment and pass through without a back glance. In all the yearning’s, Hope is the only stronghold for us to reside comfortingly, peacefully. The lonely manifestation of the being is evident in the course of the Universe. But, the acceptance of this reality is so shroud that we keep on flapping our hands to hold on to someone in the airstream of Nature. The medal of Divinity is the spirituality we all should Hope to achieve and gain. It may be the award of the soul tainting and the strength it takes to recover it bit by bit. Although, the realization of the cravings our souls desire, takes a lifetime of conflicts within our conscience.

Our reflection shines to us brighter than the new moon. If we were ever to know the worth of our Life acts, we would entirely reform the views we once professed. I forever remain confused in the verified categorization of humans. Does the varied spiritual form require admiration regardless of its divulgence?

Wars have been brought to alter the truth of the blithe. Do we not acknowledge the trials of our souls that we make it an aim to drag others through the very same suffering! This is to say the least about the modernized literacy of our day. Our age is the age when the return of barbaric practices takes place. We find no shame to be the direct or indirect source of anyone’s multiple afflictions, so long as we can entertain the ideals of our own Life. Those mortals are naïve in principle and to the core who believe to be of greater virtue than the rest. Their actuality plumps with time. Their souls have rotten to the staple. Yet, they remain entangled in the auspiciousness of their beings.

Life is neither a mystery we believe it to be nor a battle we perceive it to be. It is simple! And beautiful.  But like all things we humans have made our job to destroy, it has been corrupted with immoral impurities. Now, picking out the conceits of our creation seems an impossibility to us. We can’t imagine succeeding in isolation now. Our Falah is in the aggregated penance and purity of humanity. And to achieve this feat, we need a miracle sooner than later or the eternal doom will be ours in this world and after.Image