Virtue is a demon,
which we raise in the name of God
The wizards and their vimen,
while the multitudes stand all awed
.ارے یہ کون نیا فقیر کھڑا ہوگیا یہاں آج؟’ میں نے اپنے آپ سے سوال کیا’
وہ نا صرف حسین چوک پر کھڑے فقیروں میں ایک نیا چہرہ تھا بلکہ ان سب سے بہت الگ بھی تھا
‘Have you listened to what the dead man said?’ Maga asked me.
‘Yes I have.’
‘And what have you understood?’
‘That past was a dream, future is a fantasy and present is all that ever matters.’
I am addicted to scratching the healing wounds;
and revisiting the pain
‘Do you sell enough balloons to make a decent earning?’ I asked the old balloon-seller.
‘You are mistaken my dear sir. I don’t sell balloons. I sell only dreams.’ He explained humbly.
‘And this yellow balloon………?’
‘This is my last dream – my last yellow dream.’
Once I wanted to be immortal
Experience each pleasure;
life had to offer
And live each dream;
my imagination did proffer
But then I saw;
and then I felt
Each pleasure came with pain;
that dreams were a loss,
and not a gain
‘Why is it……’ I asked the turtle. ‘….that the more I understand life and the more I write, the more I grow sad? I don’t dislike being sad but it overburdens me sometimes.’
‘Hmm!’ the turtle closed his grey clouded eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were as usual, shining with the golden light of ancient wisdom.
‘Understanding is a gift child. This gift comes to a few but this gift always comes with a curse. And that’s what the witch told you. That was the deal you made with her.’
‘Witch?’ I was surprised. ‘What witch and what deal?’