IN the Name of Love: Part 3

If he was Ranjha then she was his mother. She had given birth to him and knew how to make him obey.

‘Well, you are going to marry her. She is innocent in all this, you created this mess for her, not a toy you could play with and leave. No son of mine does that and I will see to it!

She said in a low growling tone and dialed the phone number in front of him.

‘Hello, we are coming for Heer, Miriam. What do you think about next month?’

Heer’s mother did not expect to hear this and became speechless. The only word she could utter in response,


“This is good news I am giving you and you, are floundering for words.” She said laughing at her friend.

“He is my son. What more do you have to think, we are coming to bring our daughter home where she now belongs. you just get ready for her departure, for-ever.”  

Ranjha was standing there with fists clenched and, glaring at the sky. Because he could not glare at his mother.

It was his life and, he did not want to marry Heer anymore. Why were they not understanding this simple fact?

Miriam was crying with happiness and utter amazement over the unexpected news. Tears were flowing down her cheeks on their own volition and Heer, she was standing outside the room with red cheeks and listened to the one-sided conversation. Stars were twinkling in her eyes, hope shone in brown orbs and, love somersaulted, tossed and twitched like waves of a deep ocean where a storm was brewing, in an urgency to meet the loved one.   

“Okay, I will tell her father and call you back. May Allah give you paradise for giving me this good news, my dear.” Miriam put down the receiver back in its cradle and called Heer.

“Heer, come here my heart!”

Heer who had run away on silent toes to avoid being caught eavesdropping came running back.

“Yes, mother!”

 Heer said standing outside the door of her parents’ room, trying to hide that she knew the reason of this summon just now and, it was not an easy a task. Her heart was beating like a drum on the highest note and her feet could not stay in one place like her soul was dancing on the tune of love far away on the peak of a mountain as a saint lost in his worship.  

She had waited for this moment, imagined herself wearing the bridal dress prepared with her own hands. Love had sewn every dream in each stitch, bead and sequin with utmost care in her dress.

Even though marriages happen, unlike those she was the desire of her Ranjha’s heart, the prayer and wish of his soul, her beloved. This awareness was intoxicating like alcohol flowing in her blood, making her drunk on the elation of being wanted. 

“Come in, Heer.”

Heer crossed the boundary and entered the room. 

“They are coming, my child.”

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In the name of Love: Part 2

Heer was a classically beautiful girl and came from a traditional household  where family always came first. A man could come to ask for the hand of a girl in marriage from her elders but it was utter disrespect what Ranjha did. Still she became his in name and all and sundry got the news that a marriage alliance had been fixed between Ranjha and Heer.

Heer’s parents had a farm in their village and they lived hand to mouth on their meagre earnings. Ranjha was the son of a government official on a high post and his permanent residence was in the city. At the age of 21, he got himself engaged uncaring of what everybody else would think about his actions. Their parents were wise and acted in a controlled and calm manner or it could have become a disaster of tsunami scale. Heer went back to her home with her parents and life went on.

‘So, when they are coming for Heer?’

A relative in the village was asking Heer’s mother as it had been 2 years since the evening of vocal and dramatic engagement. She was becoming increasingly worried as the time passed and people asked about the impending nuptials. It was the community where everybody knew everyone.

‘Was it ever going to happen?’

She could not help but think that. Her daughter was now 19 years old and in love but she was more concerned about her daughter’s honour. Everybody knew how Ranjha had behaved and it was not good publicity for Heers’s name. The groom to be was not behaving very well as she had heard from Ranjha’s mother. They both were friends and talked frequently over the phone, it was the hot topic of discourse and the news was not good.

Ranjha was going back on his word and refused to marry Heer. He had ended up shocking everyone again. When asked the reason for refusal, he simply announced that it was a mistake on his part and Heer was not his choice anymore.

Ranjha’s mother was angry over his insolence.

‘A mistake, you say?’

‘Mother, I am mere human and humans are prone to make mistakes. What is the big deal?’ Ranjha said shrugging his shoulders.

The gesture made his mother annoyed as it was disrespectful of him in her sight.

What are you thinking granny?

Please tell me a story?

Are you listening? 


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In the Name of Love: Part 1

She was happy, jubilant in an extended family gathering. At seventeen, an engagement had been announced to Heer by a hunk of a man and any girl could be envious of her good luck.

He was a desirable man, very handsome and wanted to marry her, what more she could ask for. She fell in love then, at that moment with him.

It was sudden and, a shock for everybody present. When he came with a box full of traditional sweets and put a piece in her mouth in front of everyone announcing, ‘now she is engaged to me’. The claim loud and clear for all concerned and his boldness stole her heart. 

He became her heart, the heart that hummed the rhythm of his name. She forgot everything else and at last, she became him.

she became the prime and live example of a famous poem by Bulley Shah,

                 Ranjha Ranjha Kardi Ni,                           Me’N Aapay Ranjha hoi

                 Sado ni Me’N no Dhido- Ranjha,           Mano Heer Na Akho Koi    

 ( English translation;

             Uttering Ranjha Ranjha        I have become Ranjha myself.  

            O all call me  “Ranjha,”            let no one call me Heer.)

Heer was a classically beautiful girl and came from a traditional household where family always came first. A man could come to ask for the hand of a girl in marriage from her elders but it was utter disrespect what Ranjha did. Still she became his in name and all and sundry got the news that a marriage alliance had been fixed between Ranjha and Heer.

© 2022. ASNworks. All Rights Reserved.



قریہ قریہ وہ محبت ڈھونڈیں ہیں

جنہیں گھر کی تلاش ہے

مکان کی آس نہیں۔

پھر وہ ادھر ادھر بھٹکتے ہیں

راہوں میں رلتے ہیں

!بس اک گھر مرے پاس نہیں

محفلوں میں بھی، جو الف ہوتے ہیں

مسکرا کےکہتے ہیں

ہم اداس تو نہیں۔

پھر نگاہیں شام میں، افق پر اٹھتی ہیں

یہ رات کیوں آتی ہے؟

صبح تمام کیوں نہیں۔

پھر کھلی آنکھوں کا، سفر ہوتا ہے

گرد اڑتی ہےمگر

منزل آس پاس تو نہیں۔

پھر وہ چاہ سے کہتے ہیں

تو گزر جاتی ہے

!میری جان تو نہیں

پھر دھند زدہ آنکھیں، ساتھ میں رم جھم

بڑی ہی بات ہے یہ

!کوٸی راز تو نہیں

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Qariya qariya woh muhabbat dhundain hain

jinhain gher ki talaash hai

makaan ki aas nahi.

Phir woh idher udher bhataktay hain

raahon mein rultay hain

bus ik gher mere pass nahi!

Mehfilon mein bhi, jo alif hotay hain

muskura ke kehtay hain

hum udaas toh nahi.

Phir nigahain sham mein, ufaq per uthti hain

yeh raat kyun aati hai?

subh tamam kyun nahi?

Phir khuli ankhon ka, safar hota hai

gard urti hai mager

manzil aas paas toh nahi.

Phir woh chaah se kehte hain

tu guzer jati hai

meri jaan toh nahi!

Phir dhund zada ankhain aur sath mein rim jhim

bari he baat hai yeh

koi raaz toh nahi!

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Out of the Ashes

I have risen out of the ashes

A night so long

Blacker than black

With my feet tired and cracked

A journey of heaven and earth

And this whole universe

I have wandered once and over

Every night and all night

But time stood still

Now the moment has ticked

And I have risen with full moon

on the Nile

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Colour of Solace

It resides in the depth of your eyes

The beauty

Eyes the colour of azure waters

Life is what else but your voice

And what you say

Words of gold

I can sew them in my pores

and wrap myself in their heat

in the dark winter under my skin

and put them on my eyes

to comfort my aching depths

and the healing

I am searching for centuries

It resides in the depth of your eyes

Your eyes say

It is blue

The colour of solace

© 2022 A. S. Nasir. All rights reserved.


Life is just that…

Life is the name of tosses and turns, cracks in an oil painting left under the sun.

Skin burgeoning on hand touching a burning pot, life is just that sip of tea on my tongue.

And that first hint of the flavour of not so hmm delicious and savoury to taste, summer jumping the fence oh no! welcome.

And that rain of the gone winter and prayed for in every coming tomorrow on the run.

The falling rose and the steady wait of the new one, life is just that falling night and rising sun.

Life is just that lost lover we never met, long to see and brood over melting candle that forever burns.

The shadow that walks with me and the reflection appearing on the greasy glass of a sidewalk.

And dispersing specks in the yellow rays of that floating dust.

Life is just that tired in-drawn breath of pain and regret, story of some broken dreams I cried over, nurturing of new ones.

Some have seen it and who has really touched it? Life is just that fragment of imagination.

© 2022 A. S. Nasir. All Rights Reserved.

Thank you for reading.


Creativity Assassin

It is true when I am writing, SEO is not on my mind. It is rather depreciating for my creativity. An apt term would be the creativity assassin.

Should I first be thinking about what to insert, to attract, within lines of a poem that is stringing a tune with my brain cells?!

Or after writing the poem should I adjust the lines for SEO?!

The result is disastrous. Brain cells would not like it and also, the poem. So, the conclusion is, every piece of writing cannot be optimised. Or can it be?

Thank you for reading this recent bout of deliberation. But it is bound to happen in this current era of the digital world and SEO amalgamation.

Well, I ended up writing something at least.



What do you think LOve is?

Some people treat Love as a charity. They distribute love like an extra candy they had in their pocket. The thing of no value. Just something extra.

Some people think of Love as a Vibe. That come and go as they feel like it. They wear it as a new dress and then abandon it when they get bored of it.

Some people take Love as the most precious treasure of the heart. Something to be cherished. Of the utmost importance.

Some people do not recognise Love even if it comes their way because they carry stones rather than hearts. Cliche! I know. But my observation proved the theory to be true.

In my opinion, whichever person comes our way except for the one who cherishes this amazing treasure…we are better alone and happy.



Mistaken over a glass of juice,

saw drinking behind a glass-door

it was one fine afternoon, time

for siesta post the sunny noon

a peaceful mountain valley lives

around the hut, with abundant

trees and birds, twittering since

the time of dawn. Saw throats

moving sip by Sip enjoying the

flavour and tongues Swiping the

remnant of taste from Smiling lips,

heard the echoes of aahs in

appreciation, over that passionate

shade of red juice. In shadows

I witness the scene, at last there

were empty wine glasses. On

haunches I find myself walk to

attraction. The aroma it was not

but a stench. My aged being

recognizes the smell, glass slid

down my right hand, Pouring

left one drop on white carpet

Oh, It was blood!

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Oh no, the Almond is bitter.

He was sitting there fuming at someone for saying a word not approved by him in advance. Now tell me, how a person may get into somebody’s mind, use the torch within the dark recesses to find the right word. They say, brain is the most complicated organ of the body that is comprised of mostly water. The other issue would be to wear diving gear if one had to go in the water to search the right WORD. Better eat supplement pills before starting the endeavour.

That makes me remember a song, (I can only assume everybody liked it back then) written by Gibb Barry Allan and Gibb Maurice Ernest. They were right about words. Cogent and potent like those powerful armies who do not have to break the fort’s door in taking over, just throw themselves at the opponents. You will see sky scrapping fires, hurricanes, thunderstorms, volcano eruptions and tsunamis altogether. And, they will be razed and levelled to be one with earth. Their ashes, the colour of night and dust, will disperse in the air and fly with it. Do not get deceived by wholesomeness while looking at humans.

He was a successful entrepreneur but success is a lonely affair. Cynicism and mistrust are two ingredients that take their nourishment from success exactly as an infant does. They keep themselves up at a pedestal of superiority either intentionally or unintentionally. Unintentionally is the dangerous one. The possessor does not realise that he carries this superiority complex around and, burden other non-assuming people with its weight.

The back story of success is like coding. You do not want to open the code-sheet, just enjoy the beautiful presentation. Success may seem beautiful from afar but it is a lonely statue who is arrogant in its bearing. It is like that almond you put in mouth for pleasure but turns out to be bitter. The person carrying the burden of success will protest the usage of this word ‘arrogance’ but they can be forgiven for doing so. Realisation and arrogance do not sit together for an evening meal often.

When they reach that pinnacle, an inherent sense is born that keeps voicing in their mind, ‘everybody is out to take advantage of you’. Human level is lost in the smog of success and they become the biggest killers of optimism and self-respect of others around them. Then, the success does not seem worthy of achievement to me if it turns a human being into an insensitive and, cruel beast.

Humility and humiliation, how close they are to each other. It is such a soulful combination and contrast of words, exactly opposite but together. Either we adopt one or the other. Can they live together?

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Do not die!

Just to beat them, mock them and come out victorious, do not die!

This is what a victim of suicide must be thinking before they end their life.

Let the inducer, the one forcing you to think about it and who has not just physically put the pills in your mouth or pull the trigger or cut your wrist or push you from the edge of a cliff but done it all and more, emotionally.

Let them grind their teeth and, pull hair in frustration when they do not get what they were pushing you to do. Do not die!

Take revenge by simply just living some more. Do not let them win by giving what they were looking for. Do not die!

Sit with pride and your neck tight. With self-assurance and will to survive. Do not die!

This is how we avenge our pain and suffering. This is how we honour our tears. The pillows stuffed with them and thorns. Lying under our head with memories mourn. But live and make them pay by incessantly living. Do not die!

The worth of you do not seek in their eyes. They are shorn of worth like a barren land of thousand years, how they can bestow what they are without. They are darkness personified. Do not die!

They carry darkness like a crown. Like Kohinoor guarded by a snake. You ask them for the light to cover your shape and to lit the candle in the night. Do not die!

Honour yourself, cherish and keep on putting the right foot and then left and right and left and, marking the path of your life with strong footsteps. Do not die!

Are you going to gift them your precious soul?

You have the power and you have the right.

Do not die!

Each and every person has the right to live…say No to suicide!

According to World Health Organisation, 700000 people die by committing suicide annually and that is a person every 40 seconds.

Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com

Spread this message of resilience and survival in support of this effort to stop suicide. Someone may need to hear these words. We may save somebody’s life. They may not be our loved ones but could be of others’.

What goes around, comes around.

And whoever saves a life it is as though he has saved the lives of all mankind. (5:32)

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Time trumpeting a war

written in blood the days,


Comrades falling, lost

meant they to charity,


The terror rider it who be

the invader cried death,


Of blood to please monster

the tale of old and ancient,


The bride stares at the door

still moving back and fro,

in sight.

keep your hands adorned

with the henna of my name,

my life.

Cry not my love just wait

for me, the duty calls and

she smiled.

Echo his footsteps, fragrance

scents air, Sees him donning

gear, still eyes.

Melody of my return it is

just come to the door when

the bell chimes.

Runs to the melody

and the henna Touches,

beloved died.

He left his new bride

just married yesterday,


This poem was written as a tribute to fallen soldiers and families who make sacrifices to protect their countries. Henna signifies the colour of those sacrifices.

People who do not know what Henna/Mehndi is, this is a tattoo paste used by women to beautify their hands.

© ASNworks 2021. All Rights Reserved.



Some people are just negative. They have a negative psyche, negative perception, and negative vibes like those thorns on a Lemon plant. You grab the plant and they hurt you. There are two types of negative personalities.

The first category belongs to those who hate everyone. Sometimes, hating everyone is a hobby or a protective gear. A defense. People with such personalities typically have a bitter and harsh tone. But it is not a universal truth.

Because some people get softer, mild and calm. They become the best listeners and talkers, what we call interpersonal skills. People want to be in their company, keep talking to them and remain in the presence of their gentle aura.

There are subcategories of negative legends. First-who has universe sized ego that possesses space over further beyond on all sides. They are always right and can do nothing wrong in this lifetime. Second- those who randomly select and target a punching bag and, hate it with passion. They practice the artillery skills on it just to sate their inferiority complexes, jealousies, manias, phobias and, the mean streak. To everyone else, they are brighter than the sun and sweeter than white sugar. People who use cane sugar know, white sugar is sweeter and less healthy.

This is their mad side of split personality. The dark side. In daily life, they will be good, smart, passionate, creative and, sweet individuals. If you ask them, why they behave like this to a particular person, their simple answer will blow your mind away. “The punching bag is the bad one. They are provocative and make me hate them. They ask for this. They deserve this. If they had not done this, I would not have behaved like this. Do not ask me, ask them to mend their ways. Punching bag chose to be a punching bag.”

They put the blame on their victim for hate and jealousy. Generally, the order of things is reverse. First comes jealousy and then, hate. They will hate anything and everything about the victim because they have developed a side corner separate neuron for them. “This person is bad.”

The reality is, they are like predators waiting to pounce on their prey. When they have adopted this mindset and cemented it in their thought process, nothing the victim will do change their mind about them. And, everything, even a random loud step or a higher-pitched voice will be taken in the negative light. This is a maze of assumptions and perceptions. (Muslims are forbidden to assume and presume).

Even a thing done sweetly, sympathetically, empathetically, with love and care will be taken in a negative context. They will be writing a letter to the victim and their hand will wish to write, “sincerely…with hatred and contempt”. It is their choice, wish and addiction to hate a particular person. It gives them crunchy and Demerara eating pleasure like their favourite candy slowly melting on the tongue or the scent of coffee savoured by a coffee lover or the first bite of cake enjoyed by taste buds and, an outlet to release their negativity in secret. And, they want to keep doing it. Because if they change their mind, they will have to accept the wrong within their frame that they are not always right.

Here, I am challenging that negativity breeds negativity.

Newton’s third law of action and reaction is not always true in the emotional world. It is just for the subject he petitioned for.

If you know such a person and cannot figure out the cause of their negative attitude and actions towards you (in case, you have not done anything wrong), if they have created imaginary wrongdoing of yours, then the fault is not yours but theirs. Help yourself by leaving them alone. Because these individuals have an albatross around their necks. Mind conditioning maybe takes one moment but changing it is impossible, mostly.

Do not let yourself get caught in the trap of annoyance, crafty behaviour, swearing, cursing, hate, abusive attitude, bullying and smashing others if not with hands then words. It is a no go area like drug addiction. A swamp.

It could be a spur of moment, a justified retaliation or a day of anger but let it remain that. Move on!

The swamp not only destroys others but you. You are the first victim! But the fundamental question is. ‘do you have any right to destroy others?’

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Cannot decide on the tragedy

Which is the biggest

It is when people leave

Or I desert myself

The persistence that drove killed

Or the gaps not filled

It is a dreary space, the black hole

The stop time made me put

Determination that drove

I kept lurking in the dark

Or when the light betrayed and

Made me known

Am I the enemy of me?

Facing the fear of depletion

On the verge

Falling like autumn leaves

Bursting into many shades

Cannot decide on the tragedy

Which is the biggest. 

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Rejection stands aface

resilience comes afore

Defies the surrender

It is okay

I keep moving

and always find my way

I am running water

I break stones

I seep through floors

and still keep flowing

It is merely your loss.

Running water is an apt word that combines it all, survival, resistance and, resilience. Is not rejection a universal word without boundaries? It is Human! Human is made up of resilience after the blood. It is in the bones to survive.

What is a pandemic? Start tapping the map and the outcome will show that homelessness is a pandemic like CORONA. Do these people after losing homes kill themselves? No.

Hurricanes and droughts, floods and hunger, famines and locusts, and blood sucking wars. Broken relationships. Tortured minds.

We pray for the victims of raging fires in Turkey and Greece.

We pray for the beseeching people of Africa dying in civil wars.

We pray for the Nature suffering at the hands of humans.

We pray for the broken hearts.

We pray for the victims of cruelty.

We pray for the peace.

© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.


Homage to Nature

I wonder if you have heard what I hear, what it says to me. That call of the same old wrinkly nature- the whispers and sighs, buzzing and echoes, ‘o homo sapiens! Learn from me, learn from me’.

The whisper of the breeze and perfume of jasmine wandering under the moon and stars in the kingdom of night. Where there is the calling of night bird and, crickets chirp. I keep wallowing in nostalgia when I lie down to sleep.

Ah that wonderful childhood.

And I think, I want to retract to being a three years old again and quite frankly, it is that I want to be born again. But times have changed as the time itself is the witness of that change. So even if I get my most asked for wish and a stork leaves a gift wrapped basket on my mother’s doorstep containing a newly born sucking her thumb, do you think everything would be the same as it was in my precious childhood, no! 

Thousands of desires, each worth dying for…

Many of them I have realized…yet I yearn for more…


Such a beautiful world we live in. May it be the small wonder like a dew drop, the flaming miracle like the sun or the muddy one, human…such textures, colours and perfumes, they just take my breath away.

Each and everything in this world is created for a purpose. I read a saying in one of my childhood books that nothing in this world is useless and, it continues to prove true and true as I advance in my age.

I have so much to share and every memory is priceless. One particular bit, there was the love of my childhood, the mulberry tree in our yard. Have you seen a hundred years old mulberry tree laden with fruit, a sight to behold! the fruit so delicious that my mouth is watering on seeing it again in my mind’s eye. In summer, it was the only shade someone could find in the yard and the afternoons, we would enjoy a siesta under it and let me tell you! I never slept better in my whole life. I remember learning months’ names under it, playing under it round and round while it was standing there bound, providing us with comfort. Yes, we had to water it, to keep it in a good condition but what it was taking was less than what it was giving us. We had to move on and leave it behind. The last I heard, it had been cut because they wanted to expand the football ground. 

Nature cocoons us but we wreck it. Reject it while it is here for us to enjoy. You do not bully the weaker but protect and nurture them and, learn to live with the stronger. You don’t burn them, cut and abuse them, rather learn to love and cherish them.

Nature is like our beloved partner. I could not find a better teacher than that same old wrinkly nature. I learnt to be more curious than cautious, how to love, the passion, generosity, kindness and the equation of “give and take”, the time to cease even if you want to have your way. It makes you wise. People accuse me of having an antique soul but isn’t it the reality of a human being that he is indeed antique.

We have forgotten the rule of reconciliation in the equation of “give and take” in this world. If this suicidal behaviour of oppression does not alter, we might one day become few and scarce like those extinct and endangered species.

Why do we have to disrupt and destroy nature to feel satisfaction and ultimate success? A yacht will not stop a tsunami, materialism doesn’t equalise a safe future. Let our children play with nature. Nourish a bud of passion to flower. They will grow up in tune with it, learning to protect it and have a sustainable future, we so want for them. 


© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.



Photo by Vlad Cheu021ban on Pexels.com

I am a lucky one. Now people curious as to why I am calling myself the lucky one may need to read “First Rain” to comprehend the matter.

The one who has created me and these clouds – them even carrying so much water, do not come falling down with the weight – made me come, sit on my chair and ordered them to open the taps just then.

You may wonder, how do I know it is the second rain. The muddy tracks my shoes left on the white tiled floor yesterday, mud deposits here and there, the mud relaxing after the yesterday’s hustle and travel with rain-water. Like the floor has not seen the face of water in days. It is the testimony of my belief.

I had come attracted by the billowing curtain and sat on my favourite spot, some smallest thing came flying in my peripheral vision. My left eye captured the movement and tried to ascertain its reality. A drop fell on my arm and other, got absorbed in my shirt. My brain uttered with joy, well it is raining again!

I got up to move inside but came back again. Determined to sit what come may while a sparrow twitters on the rooftop grill, and an ant is doing a reverse gear as a drop fell on it. To and fro, break-dancing, to dodge the falling rain-drops.

The sparrow seems like twittering its joy and announcing it to her tribe or asking them to find a dry place; maybe both. It is strange to think of this sound as beautiful. Noise in the past but now, a soothing twitter. How does our brain work: same thing but different conclusion!

My eyes fell on the same plant occupying an honourable space in my garden- the green leaves harbouring tiny bite marks. These Twittering creatures made a meal out of it, pruning them to their will. They have redesigned the shapes of green leaves with their beaks. We have a sharing relationship without knowing each other.

But look, what I planned and what the Creator planned. Out of dense Clouds, peaking is the sun. Opening the window a bit. A yellow sphere within blackish white sky. Ideal skyscape to an inherent painter. Laughing at me with bright yellow teeth. Adding a pinch of sunlight to the scene.

Good for the ant. Maybe, this time her prayer got answered. I am running towards shade to avoid the pinch. Resilience comes naturally to us homo sapiens. I cannot enjoy the rain but balmy air is still here. Determination is my forte, may the weather be sunny, stormy or in-between.

Sun has won the battle with clouds and declared the victory with full force. As I am contemplating my ruined plan. The newsfeed flashed; twenty homes disappeared in the watery grave due to cloudburst.

© 2021 ASNworks. ASN. All rights reserved.


First Rain

First rain-original sound

So, monsoon with “mitti ki soondhi khushbu” and accompanying relief from the blazing summer sun is here. At last! Masha’Allah.

Today, our day started with rainy clouds and the blessed sound of rain. What a morning! Who else knows, how does it feel to sit under the vast blue sky turned dark with the impending rain and, to be the lucky one who gets to enjoy the first drops of this blessing!

The sight to the eyes and feel to the senses is so profound… delicious. Like I am drinking the rain. Falling drops on the ground and seeing them, drawing circles within circles; some small and others bigger, is quite a therapy.

Mind is filled to the brim with the sound of rain. There is no other thought to be found. Except the brain is reading and recording the event; green of the plants looks greener, wet leaves, wet branches, bubbles on the ground- floating, apparent drops on leaves-a testimony of the relief to the parched throats and nerves, drops stuck within tiny compartments of net belonging to the iron door- slipping downwards taking their time till they slither to the ground and meet fallen drops, moving curtain-not shy to enjoy the rhythm of fresh and cool air, one slipper courting muddy water, tea-cup post tea enjoyment from the previous night left on plastic table-now carrying rain-water, my now wet chair sitting under the open sky-crystals stuck to arms and each one reflecting the same scenery, clay pots exhibiting a soothing darker orange brown colour, neighbor’s coming outside in a hurry to witness the first rain awoken from a deep slumber-not a morning person in daily life and me.

Me, inhaling the scene. This rain is my prayer answered. A soul cleanser.

It is the time to pray. For Muslims, it is an opportunity to pray, traditionally. The prayer is said to be answered. But anybody can pray.

For some people, rain is a moment of depression. But it is about choices, my epiphany. The time can be whatever we opt it to be; depression or relief. This is for those who are privileged enough to have choices. Who choose to be ungrateful for blessings, they have.

Rain is a difficult time for a fraction of society. Heat is a complication too. These are the people who have the bulk of reasons to complaint. Homeless and in pain. Some with dripping roofs. Some without even a resting mat. But I have found them with smiling lips, laughing faces, kinder words, gentle orientation, lively disposition, and humble carriage.

Maybe problem is not the real problem but our impatience and ungratefulness. Or our input to the world is flawed. The psyche. There are issues we need to resolve within our basic frame. To live, not just bear the life.

The rain stopped and, has started again. A new beginning!

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.


In the name of love: Prologue


Heer was sitting on a bedstead set at the roof. It was a clear night and moonlight was illuminating everything; the mountains, the trees, wrinkles of her face, the straight unsmiling lips and shadows hidden in her eyes. Her eyes were trained on her hands lying in her lap.  

“So, I am old now.”

 She took a deep breath to comprehend the years of her life gone. 

“Five decades is a long time to live but it is not that long. Life passed by me and I passed by life but surely, I lived every second of it however it passed. But for few of them, I had friendship with it.”

She thought while pondering over the lines of labour in her hand.

“These hands were beautiful once. What an illusion the beauty is.”


She raised her head to see her grandchild running towards her.

“Granny! Today I will sleep with you.”

The child said settling himself in the place where her hands were before.

–         –             –         –           –             –             –              –               –            

To be continued…

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. ASN. All rights reserved.


Poetry|The bloody globe

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I just want peace was my litany

So deprived of this word my ears

I feel blood seeping from my eyes

Rather than tears

And I taste the taste of copper

My tongue wary of food it touches

That rivers have flown of this blood

On this very earth              

What do I tell of my third eye, the imagination?

Blue, the colour has left as Red has taken over

And I see boots drumming the earth

Leaving scars behind

They reach through my door like spirits to me

Dove’s call on my lips, coo, I die singing peace.

© ASNworks 2020. (Published in Songs of Peace: World’s Biggest Anthology of Contemporary Poetry 2020. )


I am a woman

I was not thinking about it but it just came to me

The moment of truth, the realisation

That in moral, I am not independent

And all because I am a woman

They blow the horns of deception and lies

Keep singing you are independent

But the whisper behind the hands reach to me

On airy waves, the truth of my truth

That in moral, I am not independent

A spider web they keep weaving around me

Under me, over me and inside me

To make me dance to their nodes

On my toes, come to my calling if I stumble

Changing the tunes and tones if I suspect

Making me believe I am independent

Like a sea nymph lures its prey, a worldly sailor

I was not thinking about it but it just came to me

That in moral, I am not independent

Whatever I do, however I do

This truth has freed me, released me

Making me truly and really independent

I refuse to donate my dignity, my honour

Be unminded, unsighted, plucked to petals

And see my truth in your honey eyes

I am proud to be born a woman

Now let me unveil the truth, really pungent

You have lost yourself, you have lost your truth

 You unman yourself when you refuse to honour

Me as a woman, my rights and your obligations

As you blow the charred ashes of your honour

In the wind, left is just a hollow tree behind

Because unlike you I know who I am

Even if you forego your truth I remember mine

I will keep the balance of this world

That is with you, with I, by we and by us

 All because I am a woman.

©copyright 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved. Dedicated to all women walking on this earth.


When will the humanity rise?

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When world lies

and sun dies

I say to myself

When will the humanity rise?

Maybe with the first ray of sunshine

or after the noon’s siesta.

Sun pours the light into my pores

saturates my being and whatnot

I feel the purge and rejuvenation

but my sight sees the illusion.

How it hides the darkness in itself

when the light descends.

How the dark hides the darkness in its hide

so the world lies

I say to myself

when will the humanity rise?

© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.



Each and every person has the right to live…say No to suicide!

A form of oppression that is not categorised as such. As oppression. It is known to be the voluntary death. But why would someone voluntarily take their own life? This is why there are laws about instigating someone to commit suicide. Do not oppress someone to the extent that they think, dying is better than living. Do not oppress at all!

It is often heard about people who commit suicides that they were weak-spirited or cowards. So, they took the easy way out. Contrary to the claims, dying is not easy. Life is such a precious gift that human beings will do anything to preserve it. Have not we heard about people going missing in such places where they did anything to survive. Maybe before that incident, they never thought about life per se or they did not find the life to be worth living and, they found themselves in an environment where they were willing to fight for that very life.

Look at those countries where people do not have anything to eat and they are forced to eat anything they get their hands on. Just to live.

This world can be a better place. Soul searching is unnerving and, not a pleasant experience. It is easy to not dwell on thoughts and keep the selfish side on. But we can hope and, be the first to change. Who invented “dog eat dog world”? You may guess!

Poetry|I’m Nobody,Who are You?

Sharing an Emily Dickinson Poem that I like.


The poem is self-sufficient and needs no explanation in my eyes. What do you think?

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