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.”

“Granny!”

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.

–         –             –         –           –             –             –              –               –            

chapter 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.


To be continued…

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. ASN. All rights reserved.

P.s. Editor; the prologue has been republished with a few lines of chapter 1. This is the build up of a previous post “@asnlinguisticLOve”.

Nothing new

An old sore, abuse. Abuse breeds abuse.

We have listened to and talked about it over and over again. But what good it has done. It is a never ending cycle.

Abuse is a living, breathing, reproducing being. Yes, it has horns and an ever fire blowing nose. It’s sad. Sad.

Whoever possesses power of any sort or size, even the size of a tear drop over any weak, exercises it. Period. Just because.

Say, NO to abuse!!!

Not by just protesting it, by not tolerating it but also, by not being an abuser. Thank you.

Rules, regulations and legislation…all useless and in vain. Till the basic fabric of society is not mended, till the mind is not treated. This disease of soul is a contagion.

I witnessed a big brother beating his younger sibling due to a bit of water falling on his car. He has anger issues due to abuse suffered at the hands of his mother while growing up. The mother has anger issues due to abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband. The husband suffered the same fate.

Tongues are worse than hands. Brutal.

Talk about homes, talk about schools, talk about offices…markets… national sphere… international…globe!!!

Abuse we witness and cannot do anything about. Soul tearing silence. Shush! Ssshhh…

The Sketch

Your life is as much empty
Like the Sketch, I left in that room
Half pencilled
To look and wonder
For you have erased me
From that base but
I am a part of you for eternity
Even you beg me to blacken further
The page hung on that wall
And I grant you the very wish
I am lost to the wind
Foaming over the sea
Free over the clouds
Gone forever
But you, you my dear
Is as much empty
Like the Sketch, I left in that room
Half pencilled.

© 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 a 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.”

“Granny!”

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…

© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.

Poetry|The bloody globe

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

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.

I am and I am not.

Sitting there on the table, drinking tea

I am just a dot

sometimes needed and sometimes not

I was dispersing like smoke

Scattered like wind

a fist full of colour or a misty smog

dying the sky or a summer song

like in the morn

I saw when and it was not

when, it was W H E N

and I kept thinking, is it when or it is not

like the year before I saw the same quilt

there were beautiful flowers on it

and it was the first time I saw them

sitting there on the table drinking tea

I was there and I was not

like a puff of smoke floating in the air

I am and I am not.

Copyright © 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved. Written Under the category of “Depression”.

When will the humanity rise?

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

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.

Suicide

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!

LOve

love, love, love…love. I am sick of it. It is everywhere and, I mean, everywhere like COVID 19(Just to make you understand).

That greatly looked for, vied for, great, great love that is not so great. If only. You may also wish for the moon. This love is talk of the town. Meaning, our globe. This world is a global village now.

I love that movie “I hate love stories” so much. Maybe just its name. Because in the end, hero and heroine falls in love with each other. The end. Ah yes, I just love its name.

So my title depicts the beginning and ending. When it starts, it’s oh so big. Then it ends with small letters. There is a song that perfectly expresses the sentiment at the end “o love, I feel like weeping at your end (translated from Urdu)”. it’s an old classic written by Shakeel Badayuni.

Oh, I am sighing even at writing it. Well, now there are two kinds of people; one, who wept at the ending and the other, who made them weep.

Misery upon misery. Torment upon torment, I say. This love is. Every person is crying. Some with small hiccups. Some with silent tears. And, some with loud, ear-splitting, big fat tears. The moral of story, every one is crying; those who fell in love and those who wish to do so.

I discussed this complicated matter of love with someone. They said, love is a thing that seldom happens, a rarest being in this world. Most often, it is a copy called flirt or infatuation. It occurs again and again. This made me recall another old classic “you shall forget all about infatuation, once you set foot in the arena of love(translated from Urdu)”. An awesome class of flirts conducted by Purnam Allahabadi.

P.s. this is all for now. Stay tuned in for my brain blues. And, love.

(Recommendation: Urdu has seen many a great novel writers in its post-partition history. And, Umera Ahmad tops the list in the recent past. She has written best selling novels. Her novel “پیرِکامل” is still the hottest and memorable read. The novel is available in English titled “the perfect mentor”.

I have never read a better love story than this one. So composed and well written. I recommend it for the fans of love stories, both English and Urdu bookworms.)

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