WOMEN

Too many women give up way too much of themselves everyday. We  they are genetically programmed to strive. Strive to improve everything and anything. Improve themselves, improve their grades, demonear, health, house, cooking, absolutely anything at all. So many beautiful, intelligent, dynamic women spend their entirety in constantly trying and remain under appreciated. Constantly wasting away bogged down by norms that are woman hating to their core. It has become increasingly insufficient to be who i want to be and to continue to have attributes that are completely acceptable in men and found unfit for the female sex. Lets talk about sex. Lets talk about the nature of sex. Lets talk physical vulnerability. And then lets shut up because our very definitions are distasteful.

I am one more walk alone away from calling it quits.

Embrace injustice. Just quietly accept that life is unfair. Doll up and show up somewhere and continue to accept that your presence is almost as unneccessary as you are. I am so exhausted of trying to figure out what part I have to play. I am here now and someday Ill be gone. Done and dusted buried in the ground. And the evolutionary marvel that life is, is simply another waste rotting in the ground.

To be constantly perplexed in with the anti-parallels of life, to constantly feel lost, to be exceedingly amazed at the pedantic behaviour of so many.

So write me off as another body and soul that will whither away. Somedays too soon and mostly not soon enough. I am nobody to the wind. I am nobody to the ocean. I am nobody to the cells working uncerimoniously in every tissue of my body.

Everything I need to be is just one aspect and its one tiny shift that will throw everything off course. Ill call it a learning curve. Ill call it names and Ill keep trying to unravel it in my head but its just a seemless fabric and it will contiune to slip away.

I hate they way I write. I hate writing but I need to write. I have absolutely no idea what else I can do. You are quite possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And it’s apparently all a consequence of who I am as an individual that has caused all this heartache. I am weak and alone and turn back because I am scared. Fear controls me. An ability to rely on myself for security makes me run back to you. Never let fear be the factor that is in control.

My thought process seems to be religiously influenced now. A lot that I think about is what that means to me. What it means to me as a person to be a Muslim. What my obligations are and I think about the core values associated with being not just a muslim woman, but a practicing muslim woman. Most of the time I see it in a positive light but more often than not I see the other side. Then I blame patriarchical interpretations, I blame cultural influence and I find myself at a sudden loss. And I want to fill in the gaps in my knowledge and blame them for how I feel but I cant seem to wrap my head around a few things that are just cold hard facts

I used to have a boyfriend. Now it’s turned into something that’s a stone throws away from animosity. AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO STOP. I don’t know what to do to make sense of it. How do I accept his completely neanderthal-like, chauvinistic would views? I cant deal with this complete death of ambition, lack of well thought out, well worded opinions. Is there a parallel universe where I can somehow be in a functional healthy relationship with someone who can really understand, or shall I dare say appreciate who I am? Or is everyone refusing to abide by these unrelenting woman-hating norms have nothing but empty houses with feline companionship in their future? I know rhetorical questions make for bad writing but I cant help but start to feel like my whole like is an example of a poorly worded rhetorical question. The kind that really makes me throw my hands up in an exasperated fashion and ask God, “WHY?!”.

But I know why its me. It’s because I think like this. It’s because I get so angry I tend to harm myself. I get angry and eons worth of gender inequality in five minutes its enough to incinerate an entire population.

Karachi for me.

I knew I needed to be with a Pakistani. Someone that knew what it was like to be stoned in the back of your parents car and have them drive past a masjid during Azaan. That was cultural identity.

Complexity. Your brain enjoys complexities. Intricacies. Beauty. The

Complexity. Your brain enjoys complexities. Intricacies. Beauty. The workings of an adult mind, and the detail they contain. I like reading a complex thought process: it intrigues me. I read everything. People, songs, the way an engine works, the way the human body works, anything. I like knowing who they are and why they do what they do. The harder it is to figure out, the more I love. Simplicity bores me. I don’t like knowing right away, maybe because you can’t know me right away. It’s impossible. Not because I try to hide, but because I can’t be myself in just a day: it takes time for me to become who I am. I’m a different person with everyone I meet. I grow into who I’m supposed to be around you. 

I guess growing up means the novelty wears off and you realise how pedestrian it is. Perhaps always has been.

The initmate conversations she used to have with herself gave way. There were no more words left in her or him. The flavor of lonely she felt that night was unparalleled. With alcohol on her breath and tears in her eyes, she asked him. Asked him about the days they hadn’t spoken to each other. How did he manage to find her after all this time? She had run away in her mind, away from all those memories that would illicit a response. 

You will never really know what he says to her at night, you know. When they’re in bed alone and God’s his only witness. Who can put to words, the look in his eye as they close in for a kiss? The way he finds peace in her arms and not yours. Walk through my mind for a day, you. Walk through it. The paved streets shift like water dripping down my body. What seems, shifts suddenly and youre all alone in a cloud of black. 

Words have found me effortlessly. They have learned to roll off my tongue, searching for a purpose. 

I fell in love with you listening to you talk to yourself. Lets write a story together. Where we will talk about the nights you spent thinking about stars. You will tell me what they told you and I will ink away the days. 

 

Pictures.

Im only uploading this for you, BB. 

Unfinished pieces of hurried writing and scribbled notes are all I have time for. My minds become like the white board next to my desk. Lots of notes pinned everywhere that I need to re-visit. Too many thoughts that are too complicated to unwind. So I just tuck them away like neat little notes I will eventually get back to. 

Here’s the one you read: 

You can tell so much about a person if you observe the things they take pictures of. What captures their attention long enough to take that picture? Is it serenity or chaos? What are you really looking to portray? 

I wonder if they take pictures of the things they lack. What if a bored student likes the picture of a busy street? Or is it something you appreciate? 

Like I said, incomplete thoughts, unfinished ideas. 

 

 

Bloody Streets

Why bother anymore, Hussain?

What’s the point of giving a fuck about these ruins. I’d rather stay lit up all day. Let my yesterdays dissolve into tomorrows that were never really meant to be. I dont understand anymore. I am so tired. So tired of the games that people play with each other. So tired of them chasing us with fire and batons and fear. I hate how I typed ‘them’ and ‘we’..like Im any better. Or any different. My interests are just different. I am just as selfish. I am no better. 

Im all out of fear now. After years of insensitivity, now that I want it most, I cant find it. I cant find it in the words I type. I cant find it. My parents are growing old now, Hussain. They’re growing old. I want to take care of them. But instead, I thank god they got home alive. What about your parents?

They dead yet?  

My words have never felt so hollow to myself. Its like a stranger speaking in a language that has long become too foreign to comprehend. Ive lost comprehension. How do I compartmentalize this growing state of agony? I don’t really blame them for mugging. Its division of wealth. So I guess, I cant find it in my heart to hate them. Why are the leaders so silent? Don’t you hear the cries of your people? You will never be the strength your wife was. Your youth is still hopeful. And their disillusioned compassion is her only savior.

I dont know why, though. Ive long since lost hope. 

Its the separation. The distance from humanity that allows violence. Distance from the one you harm. For whatever reason, the said party becomes one you can no longer relate to. The division maybe wealth, power, sect..etc. Its that division that creates a safe distance from which you find it easier to attack, to mock. 

We cant relate to anyone. We’re isolated. Alone. And we’re all digging graves. 

 

Slumber wont find you anymore, young man. It has long since left you. You are an ineffectual being. Alone in the dark. 

Dont you ever feel like you’re bursting with words? Things you want to shout out from mountain tops or sing through waiting in lines. Make it your daily mantra. So many things you spend too much time thinking about. Things about the future that may persuade you to forget the past and relentlessly observe the present. Things that make time dissolve and your surroundings sink into oblivion. What makes us tick? What makes me better than the transexual outside my window? Nothing does. I would like to walk the streets for a day. I would like to know what these people think about. How hard is it to find work for you? When was the last time someone called you beautiful? 

Im not asking for some brilliantly phrased questions. Im just allowing my thoughts to wander into alleyways we’ve learned to steer clear of. How much does a train ticket cost compared to an airline one? Whats the percentage difference when our destinations are the same. Maybe I need the time to think on that train more than anyone. 

I am a cynic. I am a cynic because I have spent days feeling too much. I want my words to sound less naked. Maybe it will take me another day in this city to add the that layer that makes it believable. I know someone that was abused as a child. Im pretty sure she’s the only one that told. 

How much longer am I supposed to write songs about this beautiful culture before the consequential social constructs choke the wind out of me? If you’re really just a personal bad experience away from hating this place then you didnt deserve to love it in the first place. The blood on our streets is our blood. Its my sons’ blood too. 

More often than not, the reel in my mind gets stuck. It gets fixated on things. Events, times, or even places and I can recall every detail of that day. 

Capital Punishment

Capital punishment? Hmm. I rolled that term around in my mouth. The worst punishment. They want him hanged for killing Shahzeb. They want him dead, they say. They sound so angry. Hmmm, capital punishment. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.
“Capital punishment has never proven to be a deterrent for crime,” I heard myself saying. Was it true? Yes.
How can you fight this brutality with vengeance. Is this revenge or is it justice? Will it have an impact?
I’ve slipped out of this conversation now. My heart goes out to a mother that lost her child. Killing him won’t return her baby.
Blood for blood until all of us are bled dry. Then will our streets be safe?