The Him of Our Society

Every day is a new challenge. But the real challenge of everyday is to follow that one same aspect of your routine that you most despise. In my case, it is the walk. The walk, which might have been the best part of my day, had it come with different circumstances.

I wake up at the same time every morning and drive up the Mall Road of Lahore to get to my destination, the National College of Arts. I park my car behind one of the heritage buildings of Lahore known as the Tolinton Market and get out of my car, which is when my heart starts to race and my breath becomes heavier. Now is the time to cross the street filled with dark eyed, smirking men on bikes and rickshaws, staring and gawking at every passing female pedestrian, one of which is me. I know I have to walk fast, I console myself thinking, “watch your steps, don’t trip, don’t worry, it’s just a thought and a building to cross.”

I hold my bag close to my body, and stiffen my shoulders, as I start to walk away from my car and towards the first street. As I leave the parking lot I look towards the right and then the left to see all the cars, rickshaws and bikes. As the traffic breaks I pull my thoughts together and cross the street as fast as I can. Now and then I wish there was someone walking by me, a familiar face, a person who is safe. I look around to see if someone I know is close by and would walk with me to the NCA gate, but I catch the eyes of the men staring at my direction, scanning me with their dark piercing eyes.

My heartbeat fastens and I quicken my pace, I cross the Lahore museum, lowering my gaze towards the path and console myself thinking, “It’s just a few more steps.” As I reach the college gate and take the first step inside, my heartbeat goes back to normal, the horror is lifted. I can finally feel the air I breathe filling my chest and thanking God for the life ahead.

Over the past year I experience this every day and I feel like I may never get over this, but then I question, is it just my thought or is this actually happening? One of my professors once commented on this attitude of our nation saying, “our people are just prone to stare, we are a staring nation, and it doesn’t necessarily have to mean anything if someone is staring at us. We just can’t get rid of it.”

I agree to the fact that we are a staring nation, and I myself sometimes get lost in a thought and don’t realize where my eyes are affixed while I am experiencing a metaphysical realm of reverie.  However, the women on the streets, going about their business in this part of the world are more likely to have their eyes fixed on the ground than the men roaming the streets purposeless, as they may seem.

This makes one wonder is it the clothing or the figure of a woman, which of these is so enticing, even though she is most likely covered from head to toe with no room to peak.

With literally millions of women, maybe even more than men in this world; so common it is to see ‘her’ moving past you every single day, then why is it that the ‘him’ of our society feels the need to hold a sociopathic stare as she passes by in the markets and streets?

 

 

An Oblivious Existence

Staring into oblivion, his eyes see what he does not see.

He looks far and deep unto the horizon, he breathes what he does not speak.

His mind blinded by the light so bright

His eyes blinded by a desert of fright.

 

He sits with his legs crossed at the knees.

As the world in front, is buried beneath.

The sorrow wells, he turns to rock,

As time passes, his peace dissolves.

 

And then the life of his is distorted,

In the form of crystals and bruises blotted.

He’s ripped to shreds with complete dignity,

He’s a coward, a dog, a hog and incendiary.

 

His mind is pierced with the thought of thinking,

His heart smells the danger condensing.

And then he trusts what’s not to be trusted,

The earthly, the ecstatic and the worded.

 

Now, he’s old and brittle, decrepit,

But, he’s strong and stubborn, masculine.

He believes and endures what comes to him,

As he knows he brought it unto him.

 

A lover tries to console his soul,

The lover he has neglected and loathed.

He seems to forget, what he has never heeded,

Staring into oblivion, he’s rigorously rigid.

L'oeil, 2017
L’oeil, David Altmejd, 2017

Healing

A layer of metal under my skin.

A protection for what is fragile.

So you can’t tear my beautiful fin.

My heart and soul is bright and agile.

I healed myself by myself.

I healed all that was to heal.

You broke nothing, you should know.

All your efforts are a fail.

Do me a favour and ask youself,

What your words worth ehat you lost?

My heart and soul are synced too well,

For negativity to penetrate the shell.

If your vision told you the worst,

Why did you tolerate me thus?

For all so long you dragged me on,

Then I’m hanging and you’re gone.

But doesn’t it all matter no more

Since my life is so much better than yours.

Whatever you judge of me

Only be a reflection of thee.

Whatever you claim it is

Says what in your heart besits.

Now my heart and I are so free

Of thee and all other adversity.

I shall breathe the long and happy breath

Deep and relaxing it shall be.

I will live with a purpose and genuine beam,

This ignorance shall never make me scream.

TRY

You tried so hard, you tried consistently.

You say you did, but, did you really?

You seem unhappy, you are always depressed.

It takes the best of you and you claim to have panic attacks.

But all you do is ‘try’.

Why is it that you ‘try’?

You dont ‘do’ you just ‘try’.

You try to fight for what you want.

You try to fix what went wrong.

Is it that you console yourself?

Or is it that you actually ‘try’?

Because, what you and I, both don’t realise is that ‘trying’ is a ‘thought’ and not an ‘act’.

‘Try’ is a ‘barrier’, a ‘hurdle’, a ‘rock’.

So don’t you ‘try’, don’t you dare ‘try’.

Just do what you can, and then do what you can’t.

Do that which is ‘mad’, do that which is ‘bad’.

Do that which is ‘wrong’, do that what makes you ‘strong’.

Because whether you like it or not.

“YOU ARE DYING ALONE”.

Full Stop

I told him, I cared about his work more than he did, and it was a tongue slip. I did not mean to say it but it came out that way. I believed it to be true because it was true because I wasn’t consciously saying that. Yet I destroyed it, it was in front of me and I destroyed it, he trusted me and I broke it. I disappointed myself more than I disappointed him. I felt broken and sad and helpless. I was better off being completely helpless. I tried. But I was ignorant.

I care, but I proved otherwise. I am naive, it is worst to say and destroy rather than just destroy. But earlier on I criticized someone who ruined something of mine, and I was mean to him, and it was karma which worked against me. Now I can’t show him my face. I can’t see his. I can’t face him at all. I have lost all my chances. I never get a second chance

I don’t want a second chance. It will be true to just look at him from a far. And never get near. I don’t want to hurt him again. I love him. But wait, about how many have I used the word love? Am I real with this? I have made this word so mediocre. I hate me for it. But do I really hate me? Because if I did. I would be dead. Am I even sincere? No I am not. What am i? I don’t know. I have feelings for him. I want to see him succeed. I want him to be the artist. My friend called him a stud. Yes he is. And what am I a big blob of flesh. Yes I am. I am despicable. Everyone in my life seems to despise me including me.

Acting like a hopeless romantic isn’t going to cut into anything. I want him to be something great which he is and is capable of more than this. But I am not going to be piercing into his life anymore. And the solution to all of my problems seems to be silence. If only I could condition myself into being silent, and listening to all. I need to stay silent, observe, and work on my life and my body.

Talk about body: If this is actually love the way I feel at the moment is supposed to make me a little more than slim, and that is skinny. I do love him. I will keep living him. And keep these feelings alive, I shall never tell him. I shall stay secretive. I will keep it in my heart hidden in the safest place so that no one can take it out of me. I will stay this way, this will be my success. It is amazing how the minutest thing as a dot can actually become a full stop. And this is a stop.

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Book Excerpt: For One More Day by Mitch Albom

She exhaled softly, “I couldn’t imagine a life without children. Once, I even… Wait. Let’s see.”
She guided me toward the large tree on the corner near our house.
“This was late one night, when I couldn’t sleep.” She rubbed her hand over the bark as if unearthing an old treasure. “Ah. Still here.”
I leaned in. The word PLEASE had been carved into the side. Small crooked letters. You had to look carefully, but there it was. PLEASE.
“You and Roberta weren’t the only ones who carved,” she said, smiling.
“What is it?”
“A prayer.”
“For a child?”
She nodded.
“For me?”
Another nod.
“On a tree?”
“Trees spend all day looking up at God.”
I made a face.
“I know.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “You’re so corny, Mom.”
She touched the bark again, then made a small hmm sound. She seemed to be considering everything that happened since the afternoon I came into the world. I wondered how that sound would change if she knew the whole story.
“So,” she said, moving away, “now you know how badly someone wanted you, Charley. Children forget that sometimes. They think of themselves as a burden instead of a wish granted.”
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