Invasive cloud of evil shuns

Humanity gasps a ceasing breath

Rising smoke from burning slums

A blasphemy is burned to death

A waning faith yet saved again

By mass uncouth, unruly men

Baptized in greed and hate they reign

At heart of evil’s burning den

The faithless poor are left to live

Owe mercy to that blessed mob

In name of God they choose to give

A right to live, though life they rob

By burning, looting broken home

Will they redeem a life of sin?

In paradise, will they now roam?

By stripping weak of shattered tin

What fails to grasp my novice mind?

How faith propelled by endless peace?

A faith that blessed its enemies

Can now demand such horrid plots?

Those men who vanquished evils l true

In times of blood animosity

Had neither killed nor injured too

It’s how they lived eternity

Go fight, the growth of ills within

Thy faith shall live, as lived up till

Let him decide if one did sin

He puts them right if he does will

My faith now needs no saving please

No bands of men with torch it needs

It’s you who needs to see the fleece

Of greed within the one who leads


The Love Letter


I think of myself as a regular reader. Ever since I started reading blogs I have come across some amazing pieces written by people whose conviction to their cause oozes out of each every word they write. While reading them I get teleported to this alternative reality where I can be a part of the writer’s world, see what she sees and feel what she dreams, an amazing experience in itself. While each blog gives me a different experience to cherish, yet some out of them stand well above the rest. They make you wonder what mythical powers the written word holds? How easily reading half a page of script created with emotional sincerity and simplicity can outweigh loads written on a subject. I am a romantic, I like to believe in fairy tales and unicorns and magic carpets. While rationality and logic might well be an absorbing topic, but it has failed to inspire me like “True Love” inspires me. If gauged under the spectrum of rationality the idea of love may not win a lot of accolades, yet the thought of loosing yourself for someone or something has an undeniable magical allure to it. Some may argue the duality in its nature, its fluctuation amongst the two poles of selflessness and selfishness but its existence as the purest and uncorrupted emotions experienced by human beings can never be debated.

A few days ago I read something that had been written for me by someone, someone I have loved all my life. Those few words roughly scribbled on a piece paper had an astounding impact on my soul; any effort to describe that effect in this post will be surely futile. The script judged from a literary perspective wasn’t the most articulate of written pieces, lacking fancy vocabulary, studded with syntax and spelling errors, an ordinary person might judge it as a poor effort, but not me. To me it was the most romantic love letter ever written to me by anyone. It expressed true love of a young girl, her most genuine feelings in the simplest of words. I am not sure whether you as a reader could experience the same joy by reading it or not, but me as an addressee of such a romantic letter surely felt humbled by the love that I have been blessed with.

I met this lady 8 years ago in a hospital in my home town. I remember that beautiful sunny winter’s day like the back of my hand. I am sure that the reminiscence of that day would always remain with me as one of my fondest memories till the day I am old, so old that all other memories have been wiped out from my head. I’ll try and hold on to this memory even if I have to give up every other thought that resides in my head. It was around ten in the morning; I had been up all night and really tired as my wife had been hospitalized the night before. I had always thought that I loved my wife, and nothing and no person ever could change that. But that day when I saw this girl lying on her bed right next to my wife’s; my heart skipped several beats. I stood in amazement of her beauty and calmness. We didn’t know each other so well back then, we had never met before, but the very first moment I saw her I felt like a sea of love tossing inside my heart desperately urging me to move forward and hold her. I stood shocked by the sheer intensity and audacity of the feelings that were raging within me. After all my wife could see what I felt for this girl in my eyes, as if I were transparent and she could even see my bare soul melting in the warmth of my love for this girl. She and I both knew that my love for her had changed, that our lives together would never be the same.

As I gazed in her tiny clear eyes, i lost all connection with my worldly presence. As if I did not exist anymore, my existence had somehow merged with this little woman. I knew at that moment that my joys , my sorrows , my dreams, my nightmares, my hopes and my prayers had somehow eternally entangled themselves in each breath that this little lady took. Irrespective of whether she loved me back or not I was willing to love this woman for all her life and beyond. It was love at first sight, as a magical force pushed me to lift her up and pull her close. Wrapped in the most simplest of attire’s I was intoxicated by the strange sweet smell that swathe her presence. Unable to control, I gently placed my lips on her tender skin and felt the warmth of my true love’s first kiss. Her fidgety hands gently caressed my face as if signaling her acceptance of my love. I could even feel her little heart thumping at a feverish pace as if she felt the same emotions that I did. It was truly stuff of dreams, no matter what words I choose, I am sure that description would still do injustice to the allure of that moment.

Ever since that day, her every breath has been my love song, her each day has been a love story and her every word the most romantic of poetry’s I have ever heard. As I see her grow every day I plunge into a pool of new and strange emotions, my life experiences all its trough’s and peak’s through her rise and fall. While I have no doubt that I want her to grow up and become the wonderful person she deserves to be, yet at the same time in a weird way I wish that time passes slowly. As I want to be able to hold her in my arms all my life, kiss her whenever I feel like, lift her and see her smile without any fear. My love affair has a million moments worth of joy in every moment, but like in every other love story there are fears. I fear that when she grows up, she might grow fond of other things and other people, I fear she might not love me as much, I fear she might not need me as much, she might not want me to help her make all her decisions, but most of all I fear that she will have to leave me someday. I hate thinking about these fears and having blocked them from my conscious mind I cherish every passing moment.

The letter she sent me was written almost thirty days after I left her with her mother, for one long year. Although I talk to her every day; she tells me all her stories, she tells me what happened at school and I tell her what happened at work, I keep telling her how much I miss her, but I have failed to say anything as sweet and as loving and as powerful as the letter she sent me. Reading it was a confirmation that there is nothing more inspiring than true love.

I realized that there is nothing more beautiful, more powerful more majestic, and more intense than a man’s love for his daughter. I might have loved many people in my life, but no one would ever come close to what I feel for her. She is my pride, my honor, my heart and my soul. I write today out of pure desperation to satisfy feelings that her written words have stirred up in me. I am sure that she will someday come across this post while going through her old man’s old books and papers. I wish she understand then, that no one in this world could ever love her as much, from the day that she was born till the day that I die and even beyond.

P.S Happy Birthday My Little Princess, I love you and I Miss you.


Preaching fundamentalism,breeds a terrorist…often inside us!!

Human mind is so complex that it might be impossible for us to ever predict human behavior accurately. However I have no doubts that It is the environment, not genetics that shapes human behavior. The story that I have borrowed from nadiaharshah provides an insight into the mindset of the ordinary Palestinians and how there behaviour is being controlled through fear.


Preaching fundamentalism, breeds a terrorist …often inside us!!!

I still feel at awe in writing about today. Maybe because I said it somehow in Arabic. Maybe more because it is done.

But somehow something is still residing. The lesson to be learnt.

Today, the whole family entered a state of panic as my 13-year-old niece disappeared for a few hours from her home.

The girl, who is a real sweetheart, shy, beautiful, quiet, well mannered, disappeared between going from her parent’s house to her aunt’s house, in the same building. The mother thought she was up studying, when suddenly they realized she wasn’t anywhere between the two apartments.

The whole family entered in a state of panic, roaming around every and any possible and impossible place, calling everyone, looking into every inch of a direction that she might be at.

After a couple of hours, her mother decided to go…

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The Fault In Our Stars .. Or is It


Few days back I watched a movie based on a book “The Fault In Our Stars” being a romantic at heart, I loved how the two teenagers Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace suffering from cancer fell desperately in love with each other. I wonder how amazing it would be to love someone so passionately knowing that you have just the few days left here on earth until you part eternally. The plot got me thinking, weather the fear of death or paucity of time available made them love each other so dearly. What if these two people were not dying? What if they were healthy having seemingly endless time at their disposal like us? Would they have loved each other so madly? Would they have stayed together forever? Had there love been so selfless? if they had known that they were to live on and not die in a few days. Was death really the fault of their stars or a blessing instead, that made them see beyond the bounds of arrogance, selfishness and sheer laziness. In a bizarre manner death may have helped them to see what life had hidden from us healthy people.

Imagine if by some magical means, someone told us when we are going to die. Would it not change the way we labor across the  endless marathon of life? Would the feelings of mortality soften our frozen hearts allowing them be easily molded in love? Our eminent demise may surely clear away the enormous clutter of uselessness from the canvas of our daily lives. As each day, each breath, each step would then become a countdown rather than a monotonous repetitive biological necessity. Would we not cherish than to be in the warm embrace of the ones we love surrendering  our gigantic egos. I think death could simplify this apparently complicated equation of life, reducing it to a limited opportunity for experiencing true passion. In my opinion the two characters in the movie were lucky to have lived a small but loved life filled with passion rather than spending an eternal life lost in their selves.

But are we not all like “Augustus Waters” and “Hazel Grace” ourselves. Aren’t we all dying. We might not know when we will die, but we cannot deny our eventual extinction. We might die ten years from now, or the next year, next month, next week, next day, next hour or maybe even the next moment. Unlike those two, who were haunted by the stark realization of their fragile existence due to rampant cancer, we remain aloof of the ticking clock. Subconsciously, we have constructed a realm of immortality around our thoughts breeding self centered behavior for survival. While in essence we all know that even if the finish line is not visible , it does exist and this race shall end. Our condition may be worse than “Guss and Grace”, our naivety prevents us from living each moment as prize, cherishing each day as a gift until we run out of breathe. Our memorials might never be as heartwarming as “Augustus Waters” as we fail to love in our quest to live, until we die.

The Darkness Within

I walk on soil as none beneath

Has ever reigned the way I do:

Decayed, who fill the layers below?

Now grin epiphany at the show:

Ignored of who and what I am:

i weave   a fickle web of glee;

My pride, deludes the truth in me

A dream of peace is all I see:

I bloat within the shell I bear;

Denude the veil of vanity;

Expose the darkened flesh beneath

That reeks of plagued pomposity

Like twigs that soak the rain and swell;

At core betray utility

Narcissus like stared the pool till doom

My nemesis is jealousy

The noise inside has gagged my calm

Now rip me of this agony

If truth is what can set me free

Then burn me in humility

If pawn I am, thy will that moves

Then make me beg amnesty

If love is what you seek from me

Then show me your magnanimity

Beloved Lies

Numb I lay, at peace in dark

Solace, a distant mystery  

In dark I hide the filth within

The bright shall mar this fantasy


The death of truth the dawn of sham

I live this sham this treachery

A doze of lies now lulls me sleep

I can’t endure veracity


My thoughts enslaved by mass appeal

My soul now stripped of vanity

Conceit I search for dignity

In swells of wealth, duplicity 


This heart now charred by gluttony

Rejects the truth as fallacy

There is no cure, no remedy

And ruse my only therapy           






A blog is like a message in a bottle set to float across oceans and boundaries, destined to be read by random people who don’t actually know who you are, they might not even know what you are talking about. They might have different believes, different cultures different lives but still they have this one singular similarity of being human. Humanity unites us in pain and joy, irrespective of our color, our creed, our tribes, our beliefs, we bleed when we are hurt, we cry when are sad, we laugh when we are happy. This similarity in our heartfelt emotions is enough to bring us close, close enough to see what I see, feel what I feel and maybe even pray for what I wish. So the story I am about to narrate needs no background, it is based on the true life events of a 17 Years old girl who dared to dream.

In a city known for its saints and spirituality a teenage girl filled with anxiety and pain gasped at the last share of her breath in this world. Paralyzed she stood staring at a bottle of cleaning acid with eyes filled in tears and the door shut forever. She could feel her broken heart beating harder than ever before. Sweat dripped down her forehead and her breath hastened with the anticipation of her next move. Her fragile body trembled as she rested her hands over the window on which her poison lay. This was the first time that she had felt so weak, incapable of moving, thinking, and reasoning. She had never been so weak before; in fact she had been strong, very strong until this moment that so bluntly faced her.

 She had been a rebel since her childhood. The invisible chains of social, cultural and economic bindings to which girls her age were prisoners, never seemed strong enough for her. She had tried following her own mantra to happiness. She had believed in her herself and had followed her heart. When girls her age could not dare to break the stereotype, she had broken free. She had fallen in love. It was her first love; probably love at first sight. She had fallen in love with the game of cricket since the day she first saw it on live television. Such infatuation with this game was common in her part of the world, yet her being a girl made this obsession a source of worry for her lower middle class family. They never approved of her emotional attachment with a man’s sport in a man’s world and hoped that her affection would wear off as she grew old. On the contrary however, with age her love grew stronger and she grew bolder. Bold enough to dream of wearing the national colors. The world she lived in did not allow such dreams; good girls were not allowed to dream as they were willfully marshaled to follow a path carved by socio cultural needs guised under religion. She however disregarded the taunts of her kin, the ridicule of her neighbors, and the rants of the local mullah. She ignored the preying stares of men on her way to the cricket field. These men saw her as runaway animal from the zoo, a potential danger to their sacred code. To her it was all worth those hours playing cricket in a dusty ground, under scorching heat having nonexistent facilities. Soon she and people close to her knew for sure that it was more than an infatuation, it was her one true love. Her time in the ground was like the warm embrace of her beloved, an escape from her the lowly existence, from the bickering of her parents, from the mediocrity she suffered from in all other affairs of life. The game set her free, it gave her the wings, it made her brave. This bravery was to be tested again and again, as where this young girl came from; such love was deemed as forbidden love.

She had felt this crippling weakness for the first time when the powerful perverted men who controlled the game tried to exploit her pure love. They had asked her for favors in return of allowing her to chase her dream. These men were like vultures, which preyed on innocence, hopes and dreams. They had feasted on many others who had fallen before her.  But she was no ordinary girl, she wasn’t lifeless, she fought back. She spoke out, and stripped naked the impostors of morality. She exposed the cancer that plagued her love, and the men who had put it to rot. She was brave, when people blamed her for what happened. She was brave when they accused her of immorality. She didn’t run away when others choose to be silent, she fought alone. All alone, as her parents repented the day she left home to follow her dream, all alone when members of her society proclaimed that this was the fate they had warned her about. The little girl fought on as the powerful men pressurized her to take her words back and to yield to their desire, as the society pinned her down as if punishing her for her revolt. She thought her love was pure, it was true, she had faith; she had hope and so she lived on. Unfortunately, in the world that she had lived in justice was a slave to the rich and powerful, it was almost impossible to find enough witnesses, sufficient evidences to punish the guilty if the guilty were powerful respected men. Instead, her disrespect of prevalent order yielded her punishment. She was decreed to stay away from her one true love, that gateway to happiness for the rest of her life. Perplexed, confused, she was battered at home and was laughed at outside, but she lived on. She thought she could bear this punishment for her beloved dreams; after all she had her moments of ecstasy. Not to say that she didn’t miss her free flight, she missed it like a caged bird but she found solace in thought of having flown once at least. She wondered often what she might have been had she carried own playing. Her inability to prove her innocence, her incapacity to expose those devilish men and her distance from her beloved game left deep holes inside her soul. She felt as if this world had pulled her down from her feet. She tried to cope up and she compromised, using the evolutionary traits that had helped her kind to survive for ages.

Taunts and abuses were a routine, everyone blamed her for what happened, at times she even found herself guilty for chasing her dreams. As days passed on, cleaning, washing and all other chores she had once left undone during her flight now were her only respite in the laboring days and nights. Yet the mere separation from her true love did not satiate the vengeance of the daemons she had enraged. After all, this young girl was rebellious; she represented a threat to their world, a world that they owned. They had vowed to teach this girl a lesson, a lesson so lasting in its effect that none other like her could ever dreams to get free. So they put to affect the final step in this elaborate trap they had set. It was a defamation suits worth an amount that neither the young girl nor her parents had even dreamed about. It took her a while before she realized what this defamation was all about. In the world she lived in legal processes for the poor and weak were a nightmare in itself, immaterial of the eventual result. They signified insult for respected families, unbearable expense for the poor and years of agony before the final verdict was reached. Her family could not afford another dark spot on their reputation. They hardly got by their daily needs; they could not afford to pay the huge amounts for legal aid. Worse of all the law suit represented an unending agony of reliving the dreams she had seen as nightmares again. This was the first moment that she felt as if all dreams, all hope every ounce of strength had been sucked out of her aching frame. The weight of enormous guilt crumbled her existence to a thousand shattered pieces.

 As she stood staring at her demeaning end within a bottle of cleaning acid, she blamed no one but herself for the state she was in. She blamed herself for dreaming, she blamed herself for breaking the rules, she blamed herself for not consenting to the wills of perverted men, and she blamed herself for thinking that truth shall prevail. With trembling hands she reached for the bottle of acid. As she held her breath she wondered if all great love stories ended like this. Without another thought in her mind, using the last strands of courage in her body she gulped the poison down her throat.  Almost in anticipation, she collapsed on the floor as a burning sensation seeped across her entire body.

Unfortunately her punishment did not end here, for some reason known only to the heavens above she did not die instantaneously. In fact she breathed, as she was taken to a government hospital. The medical staff at a busy trauma ward performed a careless stomach wash and asked her parents to take her back, as the patient was no one important. Later that night she made her last trip to the doctor’s where she was pronounced dead. Her parents never reported the incident as a suicide, they wanted nothing from the episode, they thought they had lost their daughter the day she started dreaming.


 The details have been assumed you may call them fictitious as not much is known about this girl and what she thought. Yet the story is based on the Life and Death of Halima Rafiq a 17 Years old women cricketer who committed suicide on Sunday, 13 July 2014.