Posts Tagged ‘random’


Where are my pencils?

Probably they would be in that shoe box where i gathered all the the paint brushes in a plastic bottle before moving to new room.

Why am i thinking about them today?

It’s happening so because once again the world has baffled me and i feel the urge to seek refuge in art.

I want to let the strokes of pencil spread some of my thoughts on the paper. I want to compare the stories told by color soaked brushes with the ones that i paint on the vast canvas of my mind.

What’s reliable? This night? No. Nay Nay.

The morning that is about to take birth? Neither.

How true a truth can be and how false a lie is? We can only imagine as it’s all relative.

Our likes and dislikes – our assumptions and expectations – they are relative to our set of experiences and the cobwebs of uncertainty tie our heart so bad. Hence sometimes we are so bewildered to differentiate between right and wrong.

In such situations only our soul can serve as a mediator – if it is in peace then everything is alright.

If it is not in peace, we need to take some steps to get peace.

After all we so dearly wish that peace for everyone who passes away – without realizing that it is equally important to live with a peaceful soul.




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Two old guys are sitting on the plastic chairs arranged besides the footpath. These are set here to attract customers by the nearby milk shops and street vendors that sell shwarmas and burgers in the evening.

In front of these guys, there lies a table where a small speaker connected to a phone is placed. It is relaying famous songs from old films in the air. The old music is capable of touching the hearts and i am also enjoying the soothing tunes and deep meaningful poetry.

Its not a quiet place, as they are sitting between a busy road and a street full of cycles, pedestrians, beggars and cars trying to make their way through the crowd.

Loud horns, numerous voices and many sources of disturbance seem to have no effect on them. Their hands and heads occasionally move with in synchronization with the music showing their admiration for the composition and vocal chords of the nightingales of old times.

I order a glass of milk and take out a notepad and pen to write down about this scene but i can’t look down on the paper as there is so much to observe around me. I see various people attached to each other with diverse relations, i see smiles and sorrowful gestures, i see people left alone by their loved ones and society, i see poverty, i see extravagance,  and i see these carefree old guys listening to their favorite music in the middle of a noisy bazaar. A bottle of cough syrup also lies on the table but i don’t see or hear any of these guys coughing.

At that moment, the call for evening prayer emanates from the loud speakers mounted on the high minarets of a nearby mosque – one of the guys turns off the music but they keep sitting their. Prayer call stops after a while and they turn the music on again.

I gulp down the glass of milk and pay the bill – pick up my bag and start walking towards the sports club.


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Swing is my favorite pendulum. In fact i knew the swing much before i came to know what a pendulum is.

Today I yearn to sit on a swing. I want to feel the air on my face as it takes me back and forth.

A swing that can go higher and higher as i start pushing it back with my feet and then with the motion of my body once its fast enough that touching the ground may impede its flow.

It would be better if its ropes come down from the branch of a tall tree. I’ll try to feel its leaves on my face when it will go backward and i’ll feel myself rising against the buildings when it will rise in the front.

I wonder what will be going through my mind if i am swinging a swing on a beautiful cloudy evening. I can only guess that i’ll be experiencing a euphoria. Probably I’ll be thinking about the things that fail to make sense. I’ll be recalling the thousands of lotuses that grow in the wetlands of Qadirabad. I’ll be thinking of the journey of elegant geese and swans that fly to the warm lands once temperatures start falling below the freezing point in Siberia. I’ll be thinking of the Monarch butterflies that cross the ocean to inaugurate the “Festival of the Dead” in Mexico and what not.

My swing will have a limit for sure but my immagination will swing beyond the limits.

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It was a usual morning. As quiet and boring as it could be. A sheet of silence covered the whole city and there were no signs of activity.

So in this way it was a common cold morning in the small city where life seemed to be on hold during the winters. Shops in the market were not opened yet and the homes looked deserted.

An elderly man who lived alone in one of these houses – woke up before his alarm clock  rang – made some tea in the kettle and went through a renowned magazine while sipping the aromatic liquid from his cup. That magazine solely published the hunting adventures in the exotic jungles around the globe and it always served as an injection of enthusiasm for this old man who had very less things to do during the day.

His daily routine was limited to buying supplies from the nearby mart, cooking and cleaning. Although he had a busy life before his retirement but now it was all that he had to deal with.

The old man slowly went through the pages until he swooped down the last sip of tea with a loud sound. While getting up from sofa he casually threw the magazine towards the empty table lying besides his bed. The magazine made a parabolic trajectory and swiftly rotated along its own axis until it perfectly landed on the side-table.

In the meanwhile the old man approached the window – completely ignoring the magazine. Whether the magazine perfectly landed on the table top or missed its target – he didn’t care. He pulled the curtain aside and pressed his forehead on the cold windowpane. If his forehead were a thermometer it would have displayed 32 degrees Fahrenheit. His gaze patrolled the street. His eyes kept moving like a pendulum from left to right and back to left but there wasn’t anything to catch his attention.

At the moment when old man was about to get bored of staring at the emptiness – a little dog entered the street. Probably the dog was hungry because his body trembled with every blow of wind. The old man decided to go downstairs and let the dog come inside.



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sketch june

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Just like the birds

flying towards home

my thoughts fly towards you


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When dull cold eves on a distant cottage

all of a sudden, turn warm and bright

Wretched tracks on my tiring way

start to beam and  glow with a light

Familiar shadows traverse my thoughts

as songs tickle the bored numb ears

My mind recalls the moments of joy

on the memory strip, your face appears

The yellow bird then reveals itself

and i watch it go as its only beholder

Colorful moths and elegant butterflies

come one by one and kiss my shoulder

Wherever i go, i earn some love

even on the bad days, i get respect

killer smiles and funny surprises

all the fun that one could expect

and i know why it happens

There’s a soul which makes it happen

gives me hope and keeps me strong

when i am in need, it holds my hand

and pulls me out, if i dive into wrong

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