A love gone Lost



The lights flickered and the electricity went out damn WAPDA! Playing hide and seek in the summers again. He takes out his lighter and begins hastily to search for the bottle of whiskey he had brought earlier, with sweat already beginning to form on his forehead he locates it on the corner of the table right beside the cigarettes, a quick grab of things and he makes his way upstairs to the roof. The cold moist air envelopes his body like a sweet embrace as he lay down on the charpoy and begins to look at the clear sky. Thoughts rush against the barriers of his mind and take over like a storm-in the most agonizing chaotic mess. There are moths and mosquitoes buzzing near his ear but he is too tired to pay attention to it all. The stars brightly shining and the gentle smell of chambeli in the air coming from the garden. The earth still and crickets chirping and the whole surrounding filled by the songs that his nostalgia brought him. It’s late and people are sleeping a comfortable sleep drowned in the world of sub conscious but he? He is here taking another walk yet alone in the memoirs of the past. Deeply consumed in his thoughts he sits up and with a half grin on his face and pours a glass of whiskey. Aaah alcohol a true friend of a sad man, a lover to the lonely and a family to the depressed. The majestic drink can heal the wounds no matter how deep they are. Like a sweet lover it gives you support when you break down in to your worst not a human but a beast. It runs through your veins and takes away the pain with it only to make love to your bruised and defeated existence. As humans we all are bleeding, with wounds inflicted on our existence not seen by others but they bleed and when they do a man needs something to console in and for this I have my dearly beloved a beverage of pain. Humanity is a profanity in its own terms and nobody belongs to anyone, for he had seen the world and had a handful of experience which relates to it. The truth is he was exhausted now, he knew in the end everyone ends up alone but he didn’t think this would be soon for him; or this early to begin with. It made him sick because he adored her to an extent which led to this; a chill makes its way down his spine. She left him and now he’s alone with my remorse and regret which showers his mind every night he lays to bed, the thoughts and memories from the past haunting his present and to which he cannot do anything about and so he lays there and give in to them to the world of memories and take a long walk down the road of his demise of good days. Wouldnt you want to know now what happened?  He loved how sick mind game she played and those dirty tricks. She cut her name in his heart and now should he do the same to her or leave? Those nights and those days were meaningless again. And now that he’s here again in the dead silence of the night you can actually hear the thoughts speaking out loud. The density of his cerebrum can’t handle this anymore. These are my thoughts that nobody should ever know, he think he’s doing okay or at least pretend to be. He can’t even remember if he is awake or asleep. These thoughts fight in his mind like lose cannonballs and the land disoriented. He hears the street guard whistle and comes back in to reality of where he was again. He lights up his cigarette and the first puff entwines his mind with pleasure and enwraps his mind and body in pure bliss. Taking a shot of his pain and a shot of the memories what could be better? And so he’ll sit here and drink. Drink away the pain and smoke away the worries until his blood turns in to alcohol and maybe he’ll call her again tonight….


About Bano

I’m trying to find a better introduction but since, I can’t? Hi! I’m an ordinary person and I write. I write not because there lies aspiration to be a writer someday but because, it keeps me sane. I love the color silver, black and grey. I also realize that they fall under the same color tone. Whatever, I write is a result of my 3 a.m blues or insomniac depressive tendencies. I can’t write during the day. I’m addicted to caffeine and well, anything and everything (if I like it). Also, I suck at conversations. I bite my nails. Most of the time I’m clueless about the world around me. I love politics and youth activism. People tell me that art and politics don’t belong in the same mind, but I’m passionate about both. One day I might be drawing on a canvas or writing a story and the very next day I will be heading off to attend a summit on the role of youth at the United Nations. I have multiple people trapped in the same body. Each side does try to express itself, in minimal ways if not fully. I’m currently going through a rough patch in life. I guess, I’m adjusting to the world through multiple perceptions. I absolutely love talking to myself because an expert opinion is always required. Most of the time, I just play scenarios in my mind that would never happen. I’m very contradictory in my thought process and actions but it is okay, people get to be what they want to be as long as no other soul is hurt. Peace out!

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