Lone-Stines Day 😂😂

We are the Lone-Stines..

    Neither four nor teens…😂

    We are a bit amused at the ‘hitched’

    Their workings seem a little sci-fi.

    A candy coated Barbie gurl and a six-packs owing tycoon guy!

    Dramatic Scenarios like Starplus,

    Oh God in heavens above,Why!!

    Teddy bears floating in waterworks..

    No sir we  definitely don’t envy you (and that’s not a smirk)😂

    A day where singles freely post …

    (With out the fear of being labeled Tharki)

    On as to why 

    They can’t get that pyaari Larki

    Unlike popular assumptions:

    We are not increasing our carbon foot print..

    by blowing our off centered noses on a multiple tissue..


    Or go on chocolate eating binges…

    To land ourselves in premature diabetes’s issue.

    So whatever way,you spend your day..  you’re a winner!

    Kyun k ‘Valetine’ day’s is waisay b a saccharine coated commercial trap dear..

    Be smart,Use your head..Waisey b red is not your color to wear.

    Tauba Tauba,

    Don’t be a vile sinner 🙊😂



    Let’s bite our nails

    And paint them blue!

    Pull together our shit and dance to stoner rock tunes.                                   in the earliest parts of nights..       when skies still have that purple hue. Let the stars witness,

    how we ruin ourselves anew            

    Like a sponge Drunk on secondhand misery,.                                                   Girl I wonder;

    why have I become young

    at youth’s dying..?

    How much of us..

    do these concrete jungles define?

    Why did I wake up

     in the deadliest of colds?

    Why is this moon waxing

    at the instances,all wrong!

    It’s too late,It’s been late for ages now..                                                           So Just shut up already and clap for others..                                                   Cause the world’s not your stage!

    Not yours to hold.. Anymore.

    Honey it’s not us,                                         It’s our memories.                                     that have become decades old.

    -Syeda Maham Nayyer


    A Flight Of Imagination



    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.

    I can see it drifting away,
    to the remote seas
    and impregnable mountains,

    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


    A Reflection



    The pain somehow swelled in her chest….She had to succumb.Lonliness did come as a bliss


    The terrace had November breeze all over it…The sun, tired from bathing the earthners with its blood; settled to sleep.Birds,proud with their loot landed in their nests.The earliest stars were appearing.The sky was indeed a circus, staged by the heavenly bodies. Had it been some other time,her eyes would not miss a single moment of the sun and moon acrobats.But all this commotion of the skies could not parallel to the fire with in her. Her chai wilted under the aged plastic chair,her pedestal.That face,it loomed in her eyes, bullying her.These fault lines will deepen and cripple her for life, that was for sure. Now that the skeptism was almost gone, everything seemed relevant, too vivid….She stood up, burying this epiphany somewheres deep inside her heart…


    A tear rolled down her cheek. It wasn’t for him definitely, it was for her wounded pride. 




    Just a Pakistani’s Woe

    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..

    so numerous…
    that one loses count
    Tear the heart each time
    so may be we have some human,
    Left in our beings,

    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
    So go ahead,
    and gamble with our lives

    Some peace it’ll bring
    To our land….

    Syeda Maham N


    Story of Me


    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
    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
    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

    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
    I need to stop
    predenting to be someone,
    I no longer am.

    -Syeda Maham



    There were a people,
    In a forgotten fold of time..
    They killed their men and women..
    for a cause they were really proud
    as a sacrifice..
    Daily a heart ripped of a being..
    The Priests felt mighty and high..
    The dead then rolled down the stairs..
    As death itself couldn’t suffice
    The sun-god and his blood lust..
    They were to rule forever
    their ritual was in extreme divine
    Yet those very clergymen,
    perished at the hands of time..aztec

    There are people today,
    who would have made the Aztecs proud.
    A single victim each day???
    Their sun-god wants a thousand taken down

    The dead sprawl on the mosque floor
    A flesh feast for the flies,
    Yet they don’t go unnamed…
    these people had a background
    Mothers,children and wives
    each one had dozen to mourn..dead

    Their names scribbled with crayons
    on limbless,cold chests..
    death will not take away love and name
    their people made sure of that..
    And what about the living dead??
    with blasting bullets and pelts
    coloring every inch of their skin
    They are dying a slow death.
    Mourning is the season,then.

    A Spring nurtured of blood and gore,
    A hope that murdered a generation…
    A thousand autumns were better still
    Forget Democracy and freedom,
    these words seem too high and mighty now
    The only absence that bothers me now..
    is a noun called

    Iss khoonchakaan bahar se
    jis ki ik ik shaak,
    khoon ka khiraj manti hai,
    maoun ki goud ujarti hai,
    Maut ke khuas o khisa se
    aur nafratoon ke rakhs se…
    iss suraaab numa khawaab se
    k jis ki aass me sab khakster hai
    jab aasman lahoo se gulaab rang
    aur dharti lashoon se bojhal ho
    k ye wo basant hai
    jis me sab thahey taigh hain

    Aisi khushaali se…
    hazar khizaan ke mausam
    behter hain….

    -Syeda Maham N