Tag Archives: religion

Love and Madness

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I haven’t stepped out of my room in three days. I tell my mother that I cannot move, she seems worried. I tell her, “Maa, the demons have chained themselves to my ankles”. I hear her recite Ayat-ul-Kursi and blow it on me. She tells me to do the same-recite it three times and try to sleep.

I do and turn to the other side. I remember that the Baji at our madrassah, once told the entire congregation that it is easy for the devil to wear the skin of an angel and fool humans. “Man”, she said, “is not inherently that smart in the matters of love. Love puts a veil on your eyes.” I think she was talking to me but addressed the whole congregation. I think I gave my heart to a demon cloaked in angel skin and he chose to sink his teeth into it. I just watched. People that I chose to love in my life splayed me open like raw meat at the altar of their lust and I became exactly like the demon I used to run away from-desire more than want and greed more than need.

My mother tells me to sleep. She says, “Sadness, like this is a curse from Allah and that I should remember Him more so that He remembers me”. The woman talks to her Lord and I find her prayers, my prayers-empty like the rosary beads that she so dearly clutches. I recite my Ayat-ul-Kursi, again and ask Allah to put an end to the sadness that has plagued my heart. I seek his refuge from the demons but I tell him, I know the demon is me so I seek protection of myself from myself. He does not respond and I lie awake at 3 am on a Sunday night.

The demon wears the skin of an angel to deceive human beings. I am wearing the skin of a human trying to deceive both the angels and the demons or so I think.

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Trippin on a Tuesday

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I seem to always ask myself in moments of sheer clarity, “Who am I” and try to conjure up as many identities as I could.
Woman. Millennial. Muslim. Pakistani. Punjabi. Feminist.
At the top of my head these are some of the identities that I use for myself. Sort of like ribbons i’ve wrapped around my existence.

I ask myself again, Who am I?
The voice replies “nothing”.
It’s like the different ribbons wrapped so tightly around my existence are there in place to hide the fact that I am nothing. It is a dead end oblivion but not particularly the negative one that we attribute to the nihilistic concept of living.

But i’ve learnt with time and of age to undo every ribbon around my existence and unveil a cosmic cluster of nothingness that will slowly dissipate into the void that it belongs to.
A kaleidoscope pattern from the spill of cosmic cluster. The ribbons have come off. I know who I am.
I ask myself again, who are you?
“Nothing and everything”, this time I make a note to say it out loud.

(Acid diaries)

Bipolar Depression

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God is dead
Said Nietzsche
He is if you ask me
Because why else would we be
Made to suffer
In a perpetual whirlwind of misery

He gave up on mankind
Can’t you see?
Blood filled streets
Would never lie
You slit a vein
Call it a day

You’re there on the floor
Mother Mary screams
Outside the door
Drop the blade
Don’t give yourself pain

But you close her out
The devil is making his round
You laugh and laugh
This seems like crying
God is dead
Said Nietzsche
And you’re the one
Digging his grave

In the name of religion

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There is more God in the hearts of people I know, although, not all of them pray five times a day. There lies more God in the heart of a drunk on the streets than those who drink zamzam and spew hate towards their fellow beings. God carved a spot in the hearts of those who learnt to accept diversity in calling His name.
There is no God in the soul of a saint who would use the name of Almighty to harm another soul.
There is no God in anger and disrespect, that is what my mother taught me since I was four. If you judge them by the prayers they recite to call upon Him, then what will God judge? You for judging them for calling upon Him.

There is no God in people who use the privilege of religion to wrap a noose around those who don’t share the same faith.

A tale everyone should know.

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Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

It is 3 am and I know things that little girls shouldn’t know

God is sniffing coke on the terrace

Satan is drinking the night away in the corridor

Angels are dancing in the living room

Religion is dead and your beliefs don’t count

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Adonis and Aphrodite are getting it on in the bathroom

Humans keep chasing love

Love keeps chasing heartbreak

Every step humans take towards love

A grave dug out for a dead heart and soul, instead

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Sanity does not exist and insanity is just another word

Your mind is a little bitch

It plays tricks on you when you least expect

Nothing is pure or sweet

Even your existence is impure and bitter

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

You get intoxicated to say the things you cannot say

Sober you is programmed to fit in

You lock yourself up in your house

With God, Satan and Angels

Talking about life and death

Oblivion and the past

Hear, hear! The tale everyone should know

Would you love or hate the people you claim to die for?

Knowing that in the end they’re nothing but bones and dust

Would you smile in the face of death next time

Knowing you lived a life that was a gradual demise

And I say, amen

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You were the poison I drank with my will
Trust me, I have injected heroin and morphine into my poor veins but did not get the peace I found with you
You resonated in my veins and laced my heart
I do not regret it
I will never regret it
The places where you jagged your claws in never healed
The wounds are fresh
In my wounds, blood thrives and pulsates in my broken veins
I kneel on the floor during these moments
Moments when I collapse
Seconds and I crumble to the ground
I end up saying your name as a prayer
I worship a ghost during that phase
I call out to a deity that granted me eternal life but could not damn me with temporary death
And I say, amen.

A lovers claim.

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Lovers claim of broken hearts and yearning.
Lovers claim of having enough but wanting more.
Lovers claim of bliss and solace in eachothers arms.
Lovers claim of loving to the moon and back.

I claim of tearing your heart open and making a home.
I claim of being on my knees and worshipping you like a God.
I claim of clawing into your soul and breathing in love.
I claim of loving you in the moment and that moment lasting forever.

Dedicated to him.

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Concealed his past behind cigarette smoke
You might see him on the sidewalk beneath the lamp post

Worn out jeans and days since he shaved
He wears his heart out on his sleeves

He used to worry about the future
Till the universe told him there exists none

He is a poet
Who never inked words on parchment

He is a lover
Who only tasted unrequited love on his lips

He is a searcher
Whose God denounced his existence on the altar

He is a prophet on a mission to preach
His words contradict truth and fiction

Behind his crooked smile and hash infused palms
Lies a gambler who traded tomorrow for today

Behind his worn out existence and courage to survive
Lies a soul who found life in narrow doors and dark bars

Pretty&Broken-11

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I remember kneeling on the floor as tears made way down my cheeks. People said if you prayed when it rained then it would come true and God listens if the motive is pure.
I prayed during thunderstorms. I clasped my hands and begged in the darkest hours of the night. I wished on shooting stars and made strangers bless me, too.
I was helpless against the universe because I wanted something-my missing part-for the world to make sense to me.
Till, I realized
Scrapping my knees at the shrine with empty prayers escaping my breath is not going to help in finding myself. The thunder in my lungs and the fire in my eyes is not going to give me answers.
That,
I have to learn from the path I take and there will be plenty of paths I will chalk out and venture before I find the right one.I will meet a million crossroads in life and might have to dust myself up and begin, again. I realized that I need to be kind to myself and others as well because we all bleed the same color and we will meet at the ultimate path at the end.
I realized, in the search of finding myself-stop looking around-but start the search from within.

Keep your class clean

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The inside of the room was reduced to rubble and thick dust covered whatever remained. Bleak sun rays entered the room and illuminated it how a thousand cannonballs of colors collide and disperse producing nothing but white in the end. The light reflected on one of the desks remaining covered with heavy dust. She could still read words written in white thick marker, “Heart shaped box”. At once, a face came to her mind and she caught herself smiling. Even standing in between the ruins of a place she once cherished, there she was, standing and smiling at the words. Of course, Selena had written them. She loved Kurt Cobain. She remembered how Afghani down the end of the market sold old cassettes of American and European bands at high price because it was forbidden and you had to be careful in purchasing them. Her walk down the memory lane was small lived and soon she found herself sneezing because the dust was getting to her. She pulled her scarf ends over her face and only her eyes could be seen as she examined the room. It was as if she wanted to soak it all in, the before and after of it all and never let it out of her memory. She wanted it deeply engraved on the density of her cerebrum.

The room smelled of gun powder and smoke with a tint of pine smell from the forest nearby. It’s a miracle how nature has the tendency to mix with even the catastrophically ruined things in life and make them appear beautiful or still give them a small piece of beauty so that they too can glimmer like nature does in all its glory. The walls that were once covered with bright posters that she and her friends made, were now torn and some on the ground. A piece of the wall from the left side of the room was completely on the ground and the bricks scattered along the way giving room for animals to enter-mainly mice-to come and make home. She heard the birds, she heard the rattle sound from down the street but it was unfamiliar. The sounds she used to hear so often during the old times, the sounds that were familiar back then now carried unfamiliarity in them and she could sense it. Some sounds were missing like laughter, talking and mainly joy.

She walked over the broken wooden chairs and distorted desks. The blackboard still had 12/01/2015 written on it. Present 25. Absent 2. She saw chalks on the floor spilled out like a psychedelic pattern and the teachers chair intact. She saw a piece of poster on the floor and picked it up. Sweeping off the dirt it read, “Ye apki class hai, isay saaf rakhna apka kaam hai kyun k safai nisf iman hai” (This is your class and keeping it clean is your responsibility because cleanliness is half of faith).

She read the lines a few times and then looked over her surrounding-ruined. How was she to explain to God if he asked? That religious extremist won’t get that they just took half of her iman (faith) from her in the process of destroying her school.