ہمارا اور تمہارا ساتھ
ہمارا اور تمہارا ساتھ
کتنا مشک بو تھا
مشک بو سی آرزو تھا
آرزو کی آرزو تھا
آرزو کی جستجو تھا
The Anatomy of Love
Real love isn’t found in kisses—it’s found in the darkness you’re willing to accept.
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Love comes not,
when you kiss her smiling lips and turn your feelings South,
and find them sweet and moist, past that formidable pout
And love comes not,
when you hold her hand and choose to kiss her bitter mouth,
and find it sour and so parched, her sadness, an eternal drought
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Love comes not,
when you lie down together, the naked you with the naked her,
her warmth entwined with yours, and the feelings that you stir
And love comes not,
when you hold your ego in check and laugh and cry with her,
the silly mistakes you commit, and the boundaries that you blur
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Instead, love comes,
when you walk in her shoes and choose to fight her fight,
finding all that is absolutely dark, and finding all that is light
And love comes,
when you feel the warmth with joy and own the day with pride,
when you walk the path to darkness, you trace the origin of night
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Love really comes,
when you sneak into her soul, and see the real wreckage,
finding all that is rotten, the ugly weight of her baggage
And love really comes,
When you search for her broken heart and find the only passage,
owning all that is rotten, sharing the burden of her baggage
Tales of the Ancient Turtle – Merchant of Dreams
‘Dreams can either be the most terrible or most wonderful of all experiences, God has ever created.’ The turtle slowly opened his sleepy eyes.
‘Why terrible?’ I was taken aback at the turtle’s response. I thought he was a dreamer like me.
‘Dreams are terrible when they remain dreams. They try to survive by raising their delicate heads and breathing in the air of imagination. But a time comes when they die. And when they breathe their last, they lose their vibrant colors and turn into the grey dust of regret.’ The turtle said, sadly prodding the dry leaves littering the pale grass.
‘But I thought dreams were beautiful things –romance, adventure and imagination.’ I felt my legs weakening and I sat down on the pale grass besides the turtle.
‘Yes they are sometimes beautiful. They are beautiful once they evolve into something meaningful; something which can be cherished and something which can become a legacy. But when you allow them to die, they become the ugly remnants of their former majestic selves. And most of the dreamers do just that – they let their dreams die.’
ریسائیکلنگ آف ویسٹ مٹیرئل
One of the best modern short stories. Kudos to the brilliant writer!
Shehryar khawar 