War guns

They say that it’s an art son
Making humans into war guns
Paper people, hearts blunt
Slide into your armours
That face deserves stardom
Your blood is to run in their gardens
Before planes shower pardons
What if the holy martyr
Turns out to be a bastard
What of the promised dark suns
This night lingers in all months
Go fix that paper mask
Paint it with soot and tar 
Let flames engulf your mansions 
Tonight we talk through arson
Die with brave scars sons
Reclaim what was ours once
Steady your guns, soldiers
Brewing wars they say, is an art son.

Surhan Kamal

Tell

girl-reading-book-animation-21.gif

Won’t you tell me of the things

That make your soul stir

And your breath shrink

Of things that set on fire

Your mind and you feel it burn

Course through your veins and reach

The tips of your fingers, tingling

And your palms itch, curl into fists

And make your eyes electric,

Diamond mines in coal lines

Tell me of the things that

You’re scared to say out loud

But the tip of your tongue

Has lost taste from being shut

And numb from suppression

And your ears long to hear

A sound of your kind

A sound that may rhyme

With the beat of your heart

And the whisper of your flaws

And with the sound of your soul

A silence that echoes within

Won’t you tell me of the things

That we share in broken glances

And broken sentences

Within broken caresses

Tell me what I want to hear

And our fears might live in harmony

 

 

 

 

 

How To Converse like Sheep


Sustaining a lively and unadulterated mind requires a practice of self preservation from any element of literature that might pose as a threat to the naivety of everyday life. The real struggle lies not in your pursuit for meaning or reason, rather it lies in keeping your demeanor and social display firmly eschewed from your beliefs; unless you wish your ideas and thoughts to devour your sanity as a whole. A distraught conduct leads the individual vulnerable and perilously exposed. An attempt to exhibit firm control on one’s actions must therefore, be practised diligently.

A societal manner best adopted would be hence to engage the listener in an essentially hollow yet witty chat regarding the latest gossip, carefully circumventing any topic of politics or social perils. Much like George Orwell’s oblivious society in his novel 1984, (but mind you don’t let anyone know the novel has mentally affected you, the simple excuse of casual reading should suffice if anyone seems curious) one cannot trust the people around to fully grasp and comprehend the grave nature of our current situations. Petty conversations about celebrities and fashion should be more than pleasing to ears that know nothing of the sound war artillery makes. 

The question then arises, how does one successfully spot an intellectul among a crowd of sheep. In a desperate attempt to find a mind with whom one can share their darkest theories with, one forgets that everyone has a specific threshold for darkness. One person’s level of darkness might be enough to drive another into madness. One risks the hazard of being responsible for stealing the spring from the step of their listener by rambling about reality. One risks surpassing the listener’s threshold for dark thoughts in their desperation to let theirs go.

The best way to go about, therefore, would be to take turns with one’s mind. Daylight means you control your body and actions. Night time is when, in the safe confines of your room,  away from people, you may let the darkness take over. A pen and a paper should be present always on one’s side for when things get out of hand and regaining control of one’s concious mind seems a struggle. There lies a beautiful strength in endurance.

An Ode to The Ocean

tumblr_o4vlvx3SEH1vox6c0o1_500.gif

You beautiful monster
Drifting careful in a slumber
Deeper than your thunder, how?
You deadly lover
Riding warriors on your back
Giver of life
Your ripples of anger
Setting in action only destruction
You magnanimous creature of wonder
How?
Your waters a thing of horror
Where do you keep your love
Does it come and then leave
Like your tides on days of glee
Where do you keep your love
Your barren surface deludes my ignorant, how?
Shall I bow down?
Your towers of liquid, send my blood to shivers
In these fragile bones, my heart booms
With warnings and rules
Your belly is a “valley of doom”
But I see no doom, how?
You astounding monster,
Sitting in the eye of the storm you conjure
You’re the chaos inside of a silent calm, how?
You show me blue
Another trick you use
To lure and seduce
Don’t seduce my mind
You know not how it weaves poetry for you
You’re the lover I want to deny
I run my fingers through
The liquid death you brew
And like the sun that you engulf
I long for you to embrace me too
Hold me in your arms
And give me the love you hide
Kiss my forhead and my mind
Envy burns in me when the sun or the wind touches you at night
You’re so beautiful when you sleep
What a perfect harmony You and me would be
I see no death in you
Only longing and a muse, how?

How

tumblr_onsn4pE4lV1vl8mmno1_500.jpg

What do you tell
The heart that breaks
When faith begins to shake
And all Reason feels fake
Existence seems a gory game
Electric realisation of mistakes
And all your hair stand on end
Shivers run down your spine
And your hands begin to shake
And your body contorts
To meet the knees’ embrace
The forehead that would graze
A prayer mat all night and day
Has now found a new place
Between two worlds in space
Blinded and dazed
The tongue that would say
Only grace and supplicate
Now stammers every time it prays
The eyes that held a modest gaze
Now struggle to detangle this maze
What would it take
To restore a broken faith
To put belief back in the mind
What of the heart that fails to find
The silver lining behind
The Misery of all time
How does The Divine
Intervene in crime
When crime sits on thrones
And the innocent fall prey
To the justice set by fate
How do you save
A stumbling faith
When the innocent pay
The price for the sins
Committed by saints
In the name of a god
Who silently watches us decay
As tyrants pave way
For eternally bound slaves
How do you save
A dissipating race

Fixed

Shutting his eyes tight no longer blocked the image from Junaid’s head. The bloody face of 10 year old Grace kept lurking in his life day and night. 

She was always there in the mirror when he shaved in the morning. She’d be there in the driveway when he’d get into his car. She was there on his desk at work, and in the dark parking lot and on the kitchen table watching him make dinner. Always waiting on him. Ready with her bright smile, wearing the same pink floral dress with doilies in her hair and a dead rabbit in her arm. One would have thought of her to have come straight out of a postcard picture–if it weren’t for all the blood.

And it drove Junaid crazy. He had the death of his daughter on his hands and it had to be fixed. 

Ever since he had killed Grace, she’d been appearing to him. The court dismissed him as “not guilty” but deep down he knew it was all his fault. 

It was his fault that Angie wanted a divorce from him. It was his fault he failed as a husband and a father. It was his fault he took Grace for camping that day. It was his fault he got too busy starting the fire. It was his fault she went chasing after the rabbit. It was his fault that she tripped over the rocks. It was his fault that he couldn’t hold on to her hand. She had trusted him and he had failed her. It was his fault that the drop killed her.

He had failed her and it had to be fixed.

He shut his eyes tight again. His face was drained of any blood and his hands shook in terror. His breathing was laboured and his heart was ready to explode any minute. He felt the thick abrasive rope in his hands as Grace stood watching in the corner, streaks of scarlet caked into her beautiful hair and onto her beautiful skin. 

The door was locked and the neighbours were out. The knot was tight and the rope was strong. He slowly opened his swolen eyes and stepped onto the chair. His trembling hands slid the noose around his neck as Grace giggled. He had to fix it, so he shut his eyes tight again and with a forced kick to the chair, he let his body dangle from the noose.

The momentary peace was quickly swallowed by a crippling sense of regret. Panic started setting into Junaid’s body as he kicked and thrashed his legs and clawed at the noose around his neck. His vision became blurred and his head felt boggy as the noose slowly ceased any blood supply to his brain. As the rope dug into his windpipe, every inch of his lungs burned. He felt his heart give in. The flailing slowed as his limbs exhausted. And he saw his daughter playing in her school playground. And he saw Angie yelling at him. He saw his mother sleeping in her coffin. He saw a 5 year old Grace topple and giggle as he tickled her in bed. He saw the judge mouthing the words “not guilty”. And he saw Grace sitting on his kitchen table. Her face was angelic and there was no blood anywhere. She was smiling and alive. 

They were even now. He had fixed it.

His eyes had popped out and blood had engorged every vein in his face. His body had quit all struggling and his limbs had dropped. As he drew his last breath, a soft whisper echoed in the eerie quit of the room

“Daddy you’re home…”.

Art

Pen held steady
Over a blank soul
With blank thoughts
A dam to the ink
Nothing flows out
Neither ink nor emotion
Stillness surrounds existence
And stillness kills creation
And it kills all emotion
Blank thoughts
And blank hearts
Bearing stories
Of blank souls
And your blank eyes
Staring into mine
Lifeless like your body
Another blank heart
Still and cold
The pen carves into your soul
And out your ink flows
Blank no more
What have I done

The Ultimate Medical College Survival Kit

Do you go to a medical college? Do you spend your nights in tahajjud asking for a way out? Do you secretly want to end this torture that they call parhai? Did your acceptance of a futile and purposeless existence in a temporary world full of inescapable chaos and incurable misery destroy your social life? Then worry not, dear friend! The ultimate blog post is here to teach you about things that must always be in your bags/lives to ensure a peaceful and non-violent year in your dream institution.

The Ultimate Medical College Survival Kit