They say
emotional drain is an affliction.
The numbness that follows
is horrendous.
Somehow ill,
unnatural.
But I have savored it today
and it feels marvelous
to escape
(even just for once that is)
From the cage of being,
from thought of self.
To be aligned with the universe
away from the practicalities
Feeling so light.
Wow!
what a natural high.
All this self isolation
is my choice
but loneliness used to haunt haunt me,
fill me up with apprehensions
The vines of depression
Will engulf my soul.
Unseen.
I can see it drifting away,
to the remote seas
and impregnable mountains,
unsung.
My thoughts will end up in void
or may be..
they’ll hang in the air
as echoes of a suppressed voice
never sought after….
Why is it so difficult
to relate?
As I scribble this sad note
A voice reminds me
at the back of my head.
That all this static,
pause or call it vacuum
is self created.
After all,
this isolation is
self imposed.
– Syeda Maham
Is it okay?
to spill your guts…
and paint your insecurity….
to find solace?
in excruciating creativity….
I wonder what it’s like to be immune
of all that’s around you..
and turn a blind eye..
deaf to all suffering..
I often wonder….
‘What is …a normal thought process ,anyway?
After all…
It’s no fun being different
-Syeda Maham N
Bleeds the heart
for the country,
it once doted upon…
Are the people of my land
raised for slaughter?
To be murdered in the name of..
God knows what cause..
Tragedies
so numerous…
that one loses count
Tear the heart each time
so may be we have some human,
Left in our beings,
still….
Be a child or man
a girl with a million dreams
All will be shot dead,
You see the Terrorist
believes in complete Equality
Spares no one,
instills the hate,leaves a mark
craves it on sinews
and hearts…
uses blood as his Ink
Because we can talk this out
Sort murders with compromise
Will your good and tact
bring a mother’s child
back?
So go ahead,
and gamble with our lives
Some peace it’ll bring
To our land….
Syeda Maham N
Been too hard on myself lately
Perfection is long gone
What remains is a shadow
a mere speck of once a radical
crumbling to her feet
pretty much drained of everything
I am not what I used to be
Did all that just radiate
out of me
How can this happen!
Can downfall hit so early
and so hard in face
or maybe everyone’s just mean
And
not understanding.
Is it my belief
so deviant from the norm of my age
Making an alien out of me
or the fact that I never fit in
In whatever sort I try to mingle
Failure
One after the other
Where do I belong….
A realistic in every walk
How did I not see my own self
Detached from the bare facts myself
So easy it was to close eyes
Than to accept my
Limitations
Ha!
They all seem to slap me in the face
Did I deserve all this
May be I did..
All of those who lure themselves
into believing in a better version of own self
that never exists
paint miraculous abilities
that are mediocre in real
Will see a similar time
It rips me to see the truth
and live with this bitterness
But it’s the best to understand
that
I need to stop
predenting to be someone,
I no longer am.
-Syeda Maham
Take me away
to a cosmos.
to a place unknown,
We’ll swim in the nothingness
and touch particles of snow
An orbit of another kind
some planes where I can truly fit in
and explore myself alone
Where blood is held sacred
Not shed,never shed
no being there ever bled
escapism?
If you choose to phrase it so
A vacuüm will by no means
nurture hate,
or violence
Bliss is the color.
So,
will you come with me then??
-Syeda Maham N
Have you ever worked with chalk pastels?
Held them in hand to feel their texture?
Slid them through your fingers
to let them stain the skin?
Does your patience run low when they slip on paper?
Or when they smudge to their own free will?
Do they seem alive to you?
evolving each day
Have they ever devoured your hours?
mixing shade after shade
To keep pace with the image in mind
but it never seems complete
the colors too dull or bright
until they tell you to quit
or you’ll go insane
Did that ever made you stop?
No one likes a mad man
Still Your eyes pour colour
and smother the lines
every curve holds a fault
And does that rip you every time?
So you finally abandon it to regain the peace of your mind
And yet when you flip through it after a while
this aint my work!
did you ever exclaim?
Well I told you pastels were alive
–Syeda Maham N
Tis too much…Where’s the rain???
Maybe it hides in your pocket
and plays silly games
Cuckoo lady is thirsty still
and Sunny Miss has shied away
now won’t you come out
and play
Those clouds mean business
So what if forecasts turn wrong
Is something I did or said
That made her go astray
So bear in mind
Dear, stupid child
If you ever stop by her sometime
tell her I said
I Miss You
Even I can write nursery rhymes. hahaha.Brother says he hates it.In my defence I will only say that I am extremely sleep deprived.On the bright side my exams are over.God!they were exhausting and I am still kind of dazed.Ooh look a squirrel.NOT
Later People-Who-Press-Words
A bliss it is to be truly free
No chains,No promise in you bound
A happiness of another kind.
When compromises weigh too much
and no reward at the end to relish.
You stop an ask yourself
of a motive that never existed.
Then one is to no longer care
and leave behind the hate
and run for that long awaited freedom.
Life is too short to suffer
at the hands of those who don’t matter.
Why let them ruin it for you?
When no authority on your side issued
All days are joy to me
now that i truly am free
All my thoughts are mine now
Nothing I owe to thee
I laugh,I dream by the heap
I am again me
And that’s a happiness of another kind
Of a place I dream
Where no blood stains the ground
Where nights hold no fear
And days are enough bright
No mother suffers loss
not a tear,sheds a child
Where hate is capital offence
and weapons set to fire
Where happiness is free to all
and none are food deprived
Lost are all bullets, pelts
In the land of dove
Language, race and color
matters of the most trifling sort
Where blasts don’t rip apart
And kill
and no one turns to crime
People build up imaginary worlds
and equip them with luxuries,every kind
Not in my brand of utopia,though
This story has no style
No jewels or castles exist
in my preferred shrine
No wealth no-show my invites
Only Peace
Is something I crave
to find.
– Syeda Maham N
RADICAL 