A candle in her hand,
She stares at the mirror,
Her face, exquisite,
But for the shadows under her eyes,
Her pale skin incandescent
Against her midnight hair.
Her lips, tender,
But dry.
Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Plagued by thoughts wicked,
She lies awake all night -
His body limp,
His scent on her tongue,
Her lips on his throat,
His taste her delight.
Her heart stopped beating
A long time ago,
Her being a mere sculpture,
Bereft of life,
The cold one
They call her,
She laughs for it's true.
The day he left, she died.
It's not his blood she thirsts for.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Her Walk Down The Aisle - Part 1 of The Vampyre Trilogy
She walks among the candles,
Under the splendid chandeleir,
Her feet cushioned by roses,
Her heart warmed by fear.
The thorns in her path,
The floor stained red,
With flowers or her blood?
Cares not, she walks ahead.
The centre of the chamber,
A table vast, bare
But for the dazzling vials,
The half-full crystal pair.
Transfixed by their contents,
She slowly drifts onward,
Knowing he left them for her,
When he left without a word.
Crimson, the liquid,
In the vial on the right,
The contents of the other,
Clear and light.
One hand on each,
She knows she must decide.
Wine or water?
Blood or cyanide.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
On Free Will
I'm a huge fan of the Harry Potter books (and I specify books because the movies are an insult to Rowling's genius). While reading the Chamber of Secrets a couple of months back, I came across an interesting theme when Dumbledore tells Harry 'it is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.'
This single line got my thinking, about choices, about free will, and about identity (yet again).
I do not believe in 'destiny'. I don't believe that God (yes I do believe in Him) put us on Earth with our whole existence written down for us, we being mere puppets enacting a script written in stone. Man was created (or evolved, whichever you prefer) with a free will, the master of his own decisions. Granted, circumstances are often out of our control, but how we react to them isn't, and that is what shows our true mettle. Our reactions are also, ironically, what alter the circumstances in the future, hence being what shapes our lives and determines our 'destiny'. (And in following this theory, the circumstances we find difficult to face are mostly the result of our own doings).
Choices are complicated things. Everyday is filled with a hundred little decisions to be made, whether they are trivial or otherwise. Sometimes, the decisions we have to make are difficult, like choosing between the blurry lines of right and wrong, or the easier and the more difficult, or following the well-travelled path or making a completely new road for yourself. Yet the right thing may be the most difficult to do, or breaking away from expectations (and tradition) to 'follow your heart' the right AND the more difficult. Brings to mind a couple of lines written by Robert Frost,
'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.'
So ultimately, who we are comes down to not the labels we are born with or have thrust upon us along the way, but rather the choices we make in our lives. I have made a lot of terrible decisions in my life, but I do not regret my mistakes, because I learned from them. They made me who I am today.
I am proud of who I am today.
This single line got my thinking, about choices, about free will, and about identity (yet again).
I do not believe in 'destiny'. I don't believe that God (yes I do believe in Him) put us on Earth with our whole existence written down for us, we being mere puppets enacting a script written in stone. Man was created (or evolved, whichever you prefer) with a free will, the master of his own decisions. Granted, circumstances are often out of our control, but how we react to them isn't, and that is what shows our true mettle. Our reactions are also, ironically, what alter the circumstances in the future, hence being what shapes our lives and determines our 'destiny'. (And in following this theory, the circumstances we find difficult to face are mostly the result of our own doings).
Choices are complicated things. Everyday is filled with a hundred little decisions to be made, whether they are trivial or otherwise. Sometimes, the decisions we have to make are difficult, like choosing between the blurry lines of right and wrong, or the easier and the more difficult, or following the well-travelled path or making a completely new road for yourself. Yet the right thing may be the most difficult to do, or breaking away from expectations (and tradition) to 'follow your heart' the right AND the more difficult. Brings to mind a couple of lines written by Robert Frost,
'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.'
So ultimately, who we are comes down to not the labels we are born with or have thrust upon us along the way, but rather the choices we make in our lives. I have made a lot of terrible decisions in my life, but I do not regret my mistakes, because I learned from them. They made me who I am today.
I am proud of who I am today.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Falling Leaves...
...Return To Their Roots
When I was in the 8th grade, I was moved by my Literature book, Chinese Cinderella, by Adeline Yen Mah. A story of downright vindictiveness suffered by a child at the hands of her family, my eyes were opened to a culture and suffering that had been non-existent to me. I knew the author had written one more book, aimed at a more mature audience, but never got down to reading it. Finally, after 6 years, I read Falling Leaves yesterday.
The book made me think of my roots, and once again reminded me of something I've been struggling with for quite some time. I don't know where I belong. While I love Melbourne, I cannot help but feel alienated.
I never felt this way in Dubai, where racism was rampant and often ill-disguised. Ironically, I hated the city and could not wait to get out of it, but I felt comfortable there, and took the feeling of belonging for granted. That being said, I doubt I will ever return there, for life here is generally much more comfortable, relaxed. What I have here, I could never even hope to have in Dubai - peace of mind.
Pakistan, then again, is something else altogether. I have barely ever been there, and if I feel 'almost alien' here, I might as well have been from a completely different galaxy, time AND dimension when in Pakistan.
I suppose I'm just at that stage in your life (and have been for some time) where your need to search for answers intensifies, answers to your reason for being, your place in the world, your spirituality... I'm on my search for identity, though I'm no closer to finding it than I was before. I guess this is something you have to get used to when you come from a minority in every sense of the word - Pakistani, Christian, gay - an almost hypothetical combination.
Falling leaves return to their roots.
But sometimes new roots have to be put down in a new place for the leaves to return to.
When I was in the 8th grade, I was moved by my Literature book, Chinese Cinderella, by Adeline Yen Mah. A story of downright vindictiveness suffered by a child at the hands of her family, my eyes were opened to a culture and suffering that had been non-existent to me. I knew the author had written one more book, aimed at a more mature audience, but never got down to reading it. Finally, after 6 years, I read Falling Leaves yesterday.
The book made me think of my roots, and once again reminded me of something I've been struggling with for quite some time. I don't know where I belong. While I love Melbourne, I cannot help but feel alienated.
I never felt this way in Dubai, where racism was rampant and often ill-disguised. Ironically, I hated the city and could not wait to get out of it, but I felt comfortable there, and took the feeling of belonging for granted. That being said, I doubt I will ever return there, for life here is generally much more comfortable, relaxed. What I have here, I could never even hope to have in Dubai - peace of mind.
Pakistan, then again, is something else altogether. I have barely ever been there, and if I feel 'almost alien' here, I might as well have been from a completely different galaxy, time AND dimension when in Pakistan.
I suppose I'm just at that stage in your life (and have been for some time) where your need to search for answers intensifies, answers to your reason for being, your place in the world, your spirituality... I'm on my search for identity, though I'm no closer to finding it than I was before. I guess this is something you have to get used to when you come from a minority in every sense of the word - Pakistani, Christian, gay - an almost hypothetical combination.
Falling leaves return to their roots.
But sometimes new roots have to be put down in a new place for the leaves to return to.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Scars
I have a past. A dark, tormented past that I try my best to put out of my mind. I cannot. So I have learned to live with it. While battling depression verging on the brink of mania, I made some bad decisions, and inflicted physical wounds on my wrists. Not once or twice, but innumerable times. They were never deep enough to cause any serious damage, but blood always oozed out of them, the sight of which gave me some sick sense of satisfaction, I don't know why. At that time I was obsessed with the thought of death - it was impossible for me to cross a bridge without picturing myself sprawled on the road below, bloody and mangled. Yes, I was disturbed, and in my disturbia I wrote a piece I am most proud of:
Your Best Friend
When you were alone,I was there for you,
Always so close - so close,
You could just reach out and grasp me,
And relieve yourself of your pain.
I never left your side,
Even though you felt
The whole world was against you,
Fate herself was against you.
I always tried to say
You're not alone,
I'm with you,
Right here - so close,
Just reach out and you'll find me.
When you were cold, you felt dead,
I reminded you that you were still alive;
I showed you what you were truly made of,
Even though you had seemed to have forgotten
That blood still ran through your veins.
You heard all those empty words,
Everyone told you you'd be fine
While looking at you with pitiful eyes,
But i never gave you false hope,
I never said anything.
I just did what i knew best;
I helped you.
When your heart bled,
and your soul wailed,
But the tears never flowed,
I helped you cry, helped you vent your anger,
Your frustration, your misery, your hopeless despair.
In desolation, remorse and loneliness,
I gave you hope, comfort and solace.
But I also had to give you a little pain.
A little pain, that only helped heal
Your inner wounds.
And I may have had to be cold, hard,
Even steely;
But that was the only way
I could help you carry on.
I am what you call
A blade.
However, I am not ashamed of my past. I am proud of my mistakes, because they are my mistakes, and have made me who I am today. The scars, both physical and otherwise, will never fade away, but they will serve to remind me of the hells I've lived through, and give me the strength to not succumb to weakness in moments of tribulation.
Your Best Friend
When you were alone,I was there for you,
Always so close - so close,
You could just reach out and grasp me,
And relieve yourself of your pain.
I never left your side,
Even though you felt
The whole world was against you,
Fate herself was against you.
I always tried to say
You're not alone,
I'm with you,
Right here - so close,
Just reach out and you'll find me.
When you were cold, you felt dead,
I reminded you that you were still alive;
I showed you what you were truly made of,
Even though you had seemed to have forgotten
That blood still ran through your veins.
You heard all those empty words,
Everyone told you you'd be fine
While looking at you with pitiful eyes,
But i never gave you false hope,
I never said anything.
I just did what i knew best;
I helped you.
When your heart bled,
and your soul wailed,
But the tears never flowed,
I helped you cry, helped you vent your anger,
Your frustration, your misery, your hopeless despair.
In desolation, remorse and loneliness,
I gave you hope, comfort and solace.
But I also had to give you a little pain.
A little pain, that only helped heal
Your inner wounds.
And I may have had to be cold, hard,
Even steely;
But that was the only way
I could help you carry on.
I am what you call
A blade.
However, I am not ashamed of my past. I am proud of my mistakes, because they are my mistakes, and have made me who I am today. The scars, both physical and otherwise, will never fade away, but they will serve to remind me of the hells I've lived through, and give me the strength to not succumb to weakness in moments of tribulation.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
On Charity
Anyone who's been following my blog would undoubtedly know by now that I'm positively in awe of Paulo Coelho, especially after I read 'Like The Flowing River'. That is a book I highly recommend to everyone, even those who don't read; it can have a life-changing effect on you (as it has affected me by inspiring me to write again and hence encounter catharsis). The book is a collection of thoughts and reflections, much like my blog, but only, of course, a thousand times better.
Here's a short story from that book that springs to my mind every time I pass someone less fortunate than myself on the road.
She was about sixty years old, sitting in a wheelchair, lost in the crowd. My wife offered to help her and the woman accepted the offer, asking us to take her to Rue Santa Clara.
There were a few plastic bags hanging from the back of the wheelchair. On the way, she told us that they contained all her belongings. She slept in shop doorways and lived off handouts.
We reached the place where she wanted to go. Other beggars were gathered there. The woman took out two packets of long-life milk from one of the plastic bags and gave it to the other members of the group.
'People are charitable to me, and so I must be charitable to them,' she said.
I don't think I need to say anymore.
Here's a short story from that book that springs to my mind every time I pass someone less fortunate than myself on the road.
She was about sixty years old, sitting in a wheelchair, lost in the crowd. My wife offered to help her and the woman accepted the offer, asking us to take her to Rue Santa Clara.
There were a few plastic bags hanging from the back of the wheelchair. On the way, she told us that they contained all her belongings. She slept in shop doorways and lived off handouts.
We reached the place where she wanted to go. Other beggars were gathered there. The woman took out two packets of long-life milk from one of the plastic bags and gave it to the other members of the group.
'People are charitable to me, and so I must be charitable to them,' she said.
I don't think I need to say anymore.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Raw, Unforgiven, No Way Out
Fresh out of a deep mid-afternoon slumber, I find my brother playing WWE: Smackdown Vs Raw 2008. While I watch him with sleepy eyes, I wonder what pleasure people take in literally beating others to pulp, watching them writhe in agony on the blood-splattered floor and burying them alive (he is playing with The Undertaker). The more violent the game gets, the more gratification he seems to draw from it.
I have always been one to avoid any sort of conflict, physical or otherwise. I have never witnessed any 'confrontations' and I have NO idea how I would react in a 'situation' if, say hypothetically, I was thrust into one. I have since childhood been a pacifist (I use euphemism here for the words others use - mainly along the lines of 'pussy'). But I cannot ignore the fact that if everyone just thought the same way, a lot of the problems in this world would be non-existent.
I don't claim to be able to change the world or bring global peace and end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm just one tiny insignificant person among the 'great scheme of things', albeit one who believes in idealism, but who also despises violence when it's uncalled for. My nine year old cousin, for one, is positively obsessed with WWE (which, in the first place, I believe is a sham!) and I myself have seen the effects of the ideas it promotes. While the so-called 'wrestlers' just put on pretences of 'wrestling', they influence millions of kids and adults alike around the world to resort to the worst when faced with altercation. I use him as just an example, and I'm sure he's going to grow up to have a perfectly normal life, but that is also how gun-wielding criminals are born!
I believe in the words 'to each his own'. As a rule, I don't judge (or at least try my best not to), but I despise violence when it is uncalled for. It's insensible, destructive and an obvious hindrance to every step taken towards 'global peace', todays' equivalent to the medieval alchemists' quest for wisdom and immortality.
I have always been one to avoid any sort of conflict, physical or otherwise. I have never witnessed any 'confrontations' and I have NO idea how I would react in a 'situation' if, say hypothetically, I was thrust into one. I have since childhood been a pacifist (I use euphemism here for the words others use - mainly along the lines of 'pussy'). But I cannot ignore the fact that if everyone just thought the same way, a lot of the problems in this world would be non-existent.
I don't claim to be able to change the world or bring global peace and end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm just one tiny insignificant person among the 'great scheme of things', albeit one who believes in idealism, but who also despises violence when it's uncalled for. My nine year old cousin, for one, is positively obsessed with WWE (which, in the first place, I believe is a sham!) and I myself have seen the effects of the ideas it promotes. While the so-called 'wrestlers' just put on pretences of 'wrestling', they influence millions of kids and adults alike around the world to resort to the worst when faced with altercation. I use him as just an example, and I'm sure he's going to grow up to have a perfectly normal life, but that is also how gun-wielding criminals are born!
I believe in the words 'to each his own'. As a rule, I don't judge (or at least try my best not to), but I despise violence when it is uncalled for. It's insensible, destructive and an obvious hindrance to every step taken towards 'global peace', todays' equivalent to the medieval alchemists' quest for wisdom and immortality.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
On Identity
I'm gay. There, I said it. I've known it all along, and except for a brief period of awkward uncertainty, I've come to love this aspect of myself... despite people's preconceived misconceptions about me based on this single fact. I wouldn't say I'm closeted - I'm out to all my friends, a hell lot of not-my-friends-but-acquaintances, and part of my family (though I'm pretty sure the other half is convinced of the truth, or at least suspicious about it). I know who I am, and I'm proud of it.
I don't, however, know how to identify myself to others. Yes, I'm gay; but I'm also a Christian, which goes against being gay. To complicate things further, I'm also Pakistani, which goes against my being BOTH, gay AND Christian! So arises my dilemma - I know who I am, but what do I tell others who I am? My sexuality goes against my race and religion - theoretically, I should be beheaded (or at least stoned to death) and be burning in the eternal fires of hell right now! Or so I'm told, at least.
Speaking of fire, let's add fuel to it. I suffer from regular bouts of depression and loneliness, which many brand "emo". Yet at the same time, I'm supposedly a "social butterfly". I'm a narcissist who's known to have self-image problems, a writer with writer's block and one-dimensional-thinking, a very intelligent person who's known to be terribly naive and has made some of the worst decisions, a singer with limited musical talent, an academic genius who's physically incapable of doing any "real work"... And on and on it goes.
So you see? I'm a lot of words. It's only understandable then that I get confused in my search for identity, and am always at a loss for words when someone asks me to tell them something about myself. It's in those few silent, awkward moments that all these words shoot through my head like a meteor shower, and I' m ultimately inevitably dumbfounded, and at a loss for words (which really is surprising as I seem to have accumulated a whole bank of words over the years!)
I hope one day I will be able to answer the more important question; who am i? It's only myself I am answerable to, and the correct answer to this question would be everything above, and none of it. For everything I wrote here is true, no matter how paradoxical it may seem - all my flaws, my strengths, and things that are neither, but just are, they're all part of me. And that's exactly what they are, part of me (keyword being "part")!
I don't let myself get branded by one particular label, because it's not just that label that defines me. Yes, I may be gay, but I'm also a thousand other things. Preconceived misconceptions based on, say my sexuality, are therefore unjustified. My gay gene, if there indeed is such a thing, makes up only a tiny percentage of my genome after all.
And while I may be no closer to finding the answer to that ever-impending and equally perplexing question, I take solace in the fact that I am me.
And that no one is, or ever can be.
I don't, however, know how to identify myself to others. Yes, I'm gay; but I'm also a Christian, which goes against being gay. To complicate things further, I'm also Pakistani, which goes against my being BOTH, gay AND Christian! So arises my dilemma - I know who I am, but what do I tell others who I am? My sexuality goes against my race and religion - theoretically, I should be beheaded (or at least stoned to death) and be burning in the eternal fires of hell right now! Or so I'm told, at least.
Speaking of fire, let's add fuel to it. I suffer from regular bouts of depression and loneliness, which many brand "emo". Yet at the same time, I'm supposedly a "social butterfly". I'm a narcissist who's known to have self-image problems, a writer with writer's block and one-dimensional-thinking, a very intelligent person who's known to be terribly naive and has made some of the worst decisions, a singer with limited musical talent, an academic genius who's physically incapable of doing any "real work"... And on and on it goes.
So you see? I'm a lot of words. It's only understandable then that I get confused in my search for identity, and am always at a loss for words when someone asks me to tell them something about myself. It's in those few silent, awkward moments that all these words shoot through my head like a meteor shower, and I' m ultimately inevitably dumbfounded, and at a loss for words (which really is surprising as I seem to have accumulated a whole bank of words over the years!)
I hope one day I will be able to answer the more important question; who am i? It's only myself I am answerable to, and the correct answer to this question would be everything above, and none of it. For everything I wrote here is true, no matter how paradoxical it may seem - all my flaws, my strengths, and things that are neither, but just are, they're all part of me. And that's exactly what they are, part of me (keyword being "part")!
I don't let myself get branded by one particular label, because it's not just that label that defines me. Yes, I may be gay, but I'm also a thousand other things. Preconceived misconceptions based on, say my sexuality, are therefore unjustified. My gay gene, if there indeed is such a thing, makes up only a tiny percentage of my genome after all.
And while I may be no closer to finding the answer to that ever-impending and equally perplexing question, I take solace in the fact that I am me.
And that no one is, or ever can be.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
An Old Gypsy Saying
"When I die, bury me standing, for I have spent all my life on my knees!"
I read this line a few weeks back in a book (The Witch Of Portobello- Paulo Coelho) and since haven't been able to get it out of my head. In some weird universal way, we are all victims of oppression; whether we suffer persecution at the hands of others due to intolerance, or are slaves of our own demons. Very few of us actually live our lives with our heads high.
Here's to everyone in suffering right now. May we find the strength within ourselves to make it through this life not on our knees, but on our feet. May we find the strength to overcome despair and light the flame of hope, especially with the constantly, and rapidly, detereorating state of the world around us today.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
The Year That Was
Today I turn 20. On the eve of my birthday, a rare astronomical phenomenon took place - the crescent moon appeared with the two brightest planets in our sky, Jupiter and Venus, together forming a smiley face. Gives quite a literal meaning to a line I once wrote, "And the stars smiled down on us."
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