Aney wala ghum ya guzra hua kal
Kis kis ka zakham loon seeney mein,
mere zabt ko kyun kar daraaz bnaya
Mein tou fursat se moam se bani thi
Mujhe taar taar bhi nahi karta
Mujhe choor choor hi kar deta,
teri khudayi ki kasam mein is qaabil nahi
meri jabeen ko jo tu darakhshanda kare
Janay wale ka mein soag manau,
Ya hath se bicharnay wale ko dekhu?
Kisay pukaroon mein is dasht mein
tere is imtehan ki shikayat kis se karu mein
Kyun mujhe chuna hai roz naye ghum main dalkar
Mein is qaabil tou nahi, mein tou gunahgaar hoon
Darti hu us waqt se jab tu meri lakeeron se
wo bhi cheen ley ga jo mera hai hi nahi
Anay wali azmaish ya guzri hui yalgaar,
Kis kis ka ghum loon seeney mein?
Today I am thankful. You have turned me into a soldier. With every struggle I make to save your life, I become a warrior. Today I said that I am breaking down due to the pressure I have on my shoulders – the pressure of saving a life, the pressure of literally burning myself for someone’s therapies. And you know what you said? You said I won’t break down. And that is enough.
We walked in the middle of the road, bumping in the cars, shared some laughs in the midst of a sorrowful reality, and that is exactly why I know that we can’t be sad when we’re together, even if the pain is as harsh as death.
The moment reality hits me is the moment I shake your hand and go back to work. Then it hits me like a fucking tornado. But you know, I’ve been trying. Only you know. So thank you for making me a soldier. You belong to army and how I surprisingly perceive that you were truly meant to be in army. Your presence made me strong and fearless, and thats what a true army man manifests; sheer faith.
I have done things if any one would come to know, they would be flabbergasted. The few who know tag me as a ‘Guardian Angle’. But honestly, I am nothing but grateful for being the chosen one.
Today, with shivers down my spine, and with dizziness in my gait, I ask for divine help. For this soldier of yours truly know that I will not be burdened beyond my capacity to endure. And I ask for divine help to make me able to kill the last cell of your disease.
I will write the most disturbing thoughts here, so if you are weak at heart, please change your direction:
Your body is in space with no space suit on, you are burned with hydrogen and helium. The angel unleashes your soul. You are the driest soul on the face of this earth. God did not make you. If He did, He would’ve kept something substantial inside you. But guess what, you are hollow from inside. You think if you shower love, you will get some in return. Well fuck you bitch, go succumb to life.
Death isn’t for you. Death is too beautiful. Death is painless. No one would ever hurt you if you are cold as fuck. That’s why I curse you with eternity of dripping love and false hopes. To kill you each second, God hates you so He filled you with love for this world. He doesn’t want you to die and go closer to Him. So live, live for your morals and ethics, live for your fucking religion. Live for God, live because you want to save yourself the pain of guilt in afterlife. Live because you don’t want to hurt your mom and dad. Live in that fucking hope that someday you will get your happily ever after.
Are you living because you are avoiding the truth that there is no happy after this world?
You are not the lucky one. You will continue your life in a nerve-wrecking pain of grey. There’s no white or black to your pitiful life.
Now what bitch? You will cry to sleep? Be pitiful? Not say anything and pretend to be numb?
I am a motherfucking rebel.
Help me lose my mind.
Its lost. But not enough.
Save me from my thoughts
Or I will dare disturb the universe.
I loved you. I wanted only you. I was ready to burn myself for you, but didn’t I already do that? I loved you even knowing that one day you will break me, but didn’t you already do? I put myself through hell and killed my desires just so you were the first and last I would ever completely fall for? Didn’t I already do that a thousand times over? I didn’t give you my heart, I gave you my power. The power that you’re now using to conquer the world, I gave that power to you, and fucking know that I killed myself for it. But you decided to look for every next thing you could get your hands on.
And now you’re dead to me. And I’m dead, I’ve made myself dead to you. The worst part is that I can have the best gun in the world and still I wouldn’t ever be able to hate you. If you’re in the middle of the road I’d push you and let the car hit me instead. I saved you from my dead self. You killed me, it’s been more than a year since we last met, it was your birthday. And how I knew the love just wasn’t there but I was still holding your right arm and when I intermingled my fingers into yours, I had a hint it was the last time we will be holding hands, because I was dead at the moment when I realized how could you be sitting right in my arms and I was still missing you.
How I took an oath to never let you know that I exist anymore and never see your shadow again. Every time I laugh, every time I try to show love, I wonder what corpses have to do with it. Because I have tears in my eyes and it still hurts, how I’d save you from myself, from my dead self.
You will not see me as a weak dandelion, I am that sturdy , ugly weed that will grow right from the cement and break your walls. I will hide battles of my past and present in my cloak as I am the worst at words when it comes to describe my painful strength, how am I entwined between loss and longing, death and life, numb and alive; they don’t write about silent soldiers; the ones who keep burning in the middle ground with grenades in their hands, ready to blow up the tanks with pressure as their trigger. You will never read stories about the ones who struggle between hatred and faith, for we are not dying, not cold to death nor a drop of sunshine. I am caught deep down in the middle that will never obey your rules, never even my own rules. I will be distant but I will be the only person in the room who won’t turn to stone by Medusa’s eyes. People like me are never really loved or hated, they are never forgiven, they might not matter to people like you who are either fully dead or alive, they might not even be paid tributes. But we are never forgotten, we will appear in your blurriest memories and stab you. We will rip you apart with our love, we will cut your stones and turn it to art, we are not written about. People like me don’t care to destroy themselves, because they are not written about. They exist in your deepest fears, either like a daydream or a nightmare.