birthday '20 +1

If the fresh breath of the morning breeze
wishes to shower the landscape of your mind
with rose-petals,
let it

If an abandoned torment,
buried in the crevices of a bygone time,
wishes to burn bright again,
let it

As if only with a stranger,
sit before me for a fleeting moment,
or two

Although, my regret at having lost you,
the void that fills my soul,
will only get worse,
once we part again

Although, every word we speak
will stumble
on the invisible obstacle
of all those that can’t be said

I will not remind you
of pledges made & unmade
of faith kept & unkept

But, if through the gathered dust of time,
my tired eyes try to speak to you
upon the first instance of sight,
you may choose to listen,
or not.

And if words fail me completely,
in that moment,
you may choose to speak to me,
or not.

- Murder at my hand of Faiz's "koi ashiq kisi mahbuba se"

External Link

Seraiki Podcast # 1

Cherry be popped! My first ever podcast and on a subject that is very near to my heart. Seraiki marginalization is real. The denial of the Seraiki identity is real. The culture that is at the geographical center of this country cannot afford to remain silent or invisible anymore. 

So boys, when you grow up and see this, know that this was a proud first for your father. Hope for more visible and forceful engagement here on out.

Nawabzada Hassan Hussein Qureshi is spearheading the initiative and putting in sincere effort to make these podcasts happen. The object is to reach the masses and not just be an echo chamber for the Seraiki elites. People who arrive here are requested to follow @Seraikast's Twitter Handle and share the podcast as widely as possible on social media.

The video and audio of the podcast I participated in on November 5, 2020:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qdqRjRL08k&feature=youtu.be

Listen to "Seraiki Podcast Episode 3" on Spreaker.

https://www.spreaker.com/user/seraikast/seraiki-podcast-episode-3

Click here for the original @Seraikast tweet with the video-link to the podcast. And here, for the tweet with the audio-link.

Click @Seraikast for their Twitter profile.

The Timeless Call of Hussain ibn e Ali

What I wrote:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-cllC0-hP-HDuFB191GjD87BPFVyfyFL/view?usp=drivesdk

What they carried after the usual editorial butchery:

https://nayadaur.tv/2020/08/heres-why-hussain-ibn-alis-call-for-help-in-karbala-is-still-relevant-today/

Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers.

The Old Man and the Pipal II

The Pipal is dying. Every strong dust-storm exacts its toll, taking away a branch, a formerly sturdy bough, never to be replaced again. The Pipal is dying; of thirst. Standing tall atop a creek-side mound, its verdant opulence was once visible from a mile away. Ever since the river ran dry, its roots now struggle to drink from the water beneath the earth. The sharp, soulless instruments of human machination have cut down on its lofty stature. And for the better, because it would have dried up altogether had it been allowed to keep its regal size. Though it still hosts life in variegated form, its denizens are not as numerous as they used to be – land around it is parched, and sustenance, in short supply. The Pipal is now a broken shield against the excesses of summer. Where its shade was once impenetrable for the pitiless summer sun, beams of hot, bright light now break through to the ground. Those who seek refuge underneath it must now shift their positions with the shifting time of day. Unconditional sanctuary, the Pipal does not afford now to give. But still, it is a symbol of stubborn hope; the weathered mast of an ancient galleon not yet sunk.

The old man is now a memory, an echo across time. But he is not a memory that fades, or an echo that dies away after reverberating a few times. His memory is a light that guides, the echo of his words still ringing deep in the minds of men, his image occupying a place reserved for majesty in their hearts. He remains the arbiter of right and wrong, the touchstone for all strategy, a source of clarity in all times of confusion. For many he remains that same rich voice that struck fear in their hearts when thundering in anger, and inspired awe in them when speaking softly. He remains the balancer of things, the reconciler of irreconcilably inimical forces, the keeper of order in the midst of chaos. He lives on not as a bent & broken old man, but as a tall prince, spine straight like an arrow, walking with majestic dignity, his sons following at a respectful distance, each step falling heavy on the spirits of his enemies, bringing joy to the hearts of his friends. Even in death, his stature continues to dwarf friend & foe alike, jealousy getting even more pronounced with the latter. For in life, they found solace in reviling a person, while in death, he is a hero of legend that none of their malicious words & deeds can harm.

Famed 13^th century Sufi poet, Amir Khusrau, when writing about love, spiritual and temporal, presents an idea that mirrors the relationship between the old man and the Pipal: a fusion of souls. Khusrau writes, “I have become you, and you me; I am the body, you are the soul; No one can say hereafter, that I am someone, and you, someone else.” It may be said, therefore, that if the Pipal continues to live despite all odds, dutifully doing what it is expected to do, it seeks its nourishment not from the increasingly stingy earth in which it is planted, but from the immortal heart of a mortal man. The cool wind in its leaves is an echo of the old man’s wisdom, its shade, an embodiment of the old man’s essence itself.

Read the first post, here.