Bitter Liquid

She can’t be from this world. No poetry in the world can express her eyes. The two mesmerizing big sharp eyes, the two most beautiful pieces of art. Their enigmatic glitter puts diamonds to shame. Movement of her eyeballs is better than a thousand peris swaying on some remote lack in full moon, with their dresses placed aside.

Looking out of glass window, I saw her dancing around in that stormy evening of December. The cold was too intense to get one’s blood frozen in veins. Thinking of the cold outside, I called her into the room. The air changed its direction, casting raindrops over my window. These tiny beads of the raindrops, blended with lights coming out of next building projected her perfect shadow over my window, the shadow that kept me awake for dozens of nights, the shadow dark enough to hide the daylights, bright enough to let me see through utter darkness, into her bedroom miles away.

Every time I walked past her office, I could imagine her setting in there with her charismatic personality, spreading her Jasmine aroma around the room, sending walls into deep solvation. How softly she would be touching her keyboard keys, making a noise that would beat any melody of the world. Her voice, better than a thousand birds singing, her lips far beyond my imagination, her hair, sleek strands of silk bearing this privilege of kissing her back, sending water drops down her spine to the unexplored areas.

Afraid of insomnia, I decided to talk to her. Walking into that cafe where that beauty will be dining in for next couple of minutes was not an easy task. I had to motivate myself to face her, double checking if all my nerves were working in fine condition. Lost in the imagination of having her on my table, I couldn’t realize she was already here. She took her veil off, covering the whole café in pin drop silence, making sunrays bounce back from the window blinders, putting a perfect pause to everything and everyone in the café at least. if it wasn’t throughout the universe.

I ran out of that café, leaving behind a half-burnt cigarette and a half cup of coffee. Smoke coming out of the two mingled up in the air, intensified for a second, vanished forever the next second, turning coffee a cold bitter liquid, cigarette, a lump of ash.

I'm a Writer

I’ve been standing out here for last fifteen minutes. I see you smiling sarcastically in there, through these glassy walls, which are nothing less than Himalaya for me that needs to be crossed barefooted to reach temple on the other side, a temple that has solutions to all my problems. Failing to reach the temple, which looks inevitable, based upon your behavior towards me, will abandon me into a mist of darkness, a darkness that will fill my whole life, suspending all my abilities to see, feel, touch, smell and hear but all about you.

I may not be the same once I walk a step back, I may change my mind about the humanity, I may lose interest in anything out there, I may look crazy to most of the people, I may cease to understand so many things, the things I had firm believe in, throughout my life, but, I’ll not step back from this desire of bringing you into my life, the life which seems of no use, otherwise.

I’ll make you dust my house in the morning, make me coffee, butter my bread and do the dishes while I’ll be away for work. I’ll make you crave for me on lunch, waiting prudently to open the door, hold my bag, take off my blazer and unbutton my shirt. I’ll scold you once you’ll unbalance salt in the food, kiss your forehead to bring you back to normal, have dinner with me in candle light, iron my shirt for next day, and return to me on bed by the time the darkness would have covered all the light out there, all the light in here.

I’ll kiss your neck, arousing you impatiently to have more, to kiss more, to touch more. I’ll break your nightgown shoulder strap, making you naked, inviting all of my belonging to witness the most spectacular scene of this universe. I’ll slip my hand down there, sending shivers down your spine, forcing you to place your lips over mine, rubbing tongues. I’ll kiss you good bye in the morning, making you crave for me while you’ll set the bed sheet, we put wrinkles to last night, making you remember all the beautiful memories we made there, forcing you to wish for more the next night.

I’m a writer, I’ll make you do whatever I want, in my stories. And my dearest, that’s where we are meeting again, until I’m consumed by these stories, and there’s nothing left of me, but You.

The Imagination

There must be a way to prevail over all your senses, snatching every corner of your mind occupied by that lady who has never been into your arms. The one you talked to, for ten minutes under that burning sun of Summer on the way to university some 5 years back. I have been around for so long. We have shared thousands of laughers, thousands of sorrows, thousands of silences and you’re still into her fantasy. 

Tell me a day, I didn’t wish you Good Morning, tell me a day we met and I didn’t kiss you. Tell me a night I have slept without having you in my dreams, tell me a night we met we didn’t sleep with twisted legs. I can still taste your saliva under my tongue, can still smell your scent in my shirts. I have saved your broken button into my handbag for ages, your cigarettes under my pillow, your tie in my closet. 

Anywhere I go, I see a memory we made together on that road. Everything I eat, I remember how you liked it. Everyone I meet, I compare him to you. You are all around me, from morning coffee to hectic day routine to that bath tub to those silky pillows of my bed where we have been undressing each other for so long. From my dreams to imaginations to fantasy, you occupy my every second, every move, every place, everything. 

I’m can’t handle it anymore, I have to be that girl, the one who stays with you, even while I’m around. 

You can’t, my love. You have an expiry. You’re supposed to go, now or then, one way or the other. She has gifted me with this ability to imagine her, through which I have painted a sweet picture of hers, and who, in the world dares to destroy so sweet picture of a lady. Since the time I met her, the sun, the moon and the stars may pursue their journey, I bother not whether you are here or away, the whole world sums up to nothing but her smile, painted by my imagination, the smile which have been all around me for years, without questioning my sincerity, unlike you, my love.

Marry

Fifteen minutes of talk, twenty seconds of laughters and five seconds of eye contact was all we had and I was in love with her.

“hey, saw that girl, had she not been married already, I would have proposed her”, said my friend.

“You can still have her company on her way back home”, said I.

How?

Give me your phone

“Hi Marry, should I drop you home”, I texted from my friend’s phone.

“Sure”.

“Go drop her, she’s all yours for next 10 minutes”.

I could see her going with my friend, her hand on his shoulder, her thighs touching his back. She looked at me for a second, then t hurned her gaze to the sky, like she was thankful, like she was asking so many questions, like she held heavenly fire deep inside those rich dark eyes.

“So, how was the ride”, I asked my friend.

“Ride”?

“There have been so many of them, we have met thrice in last two months. I had this honor to feel her murmur, listen to her gossips, her hands pushing me away, then pulling me over her next second. We have been to unknown places, experiencing unknown feelings together, hiding under my blanket together, turning the shower on together”.

Heaven knows, with what ecstasy I listened to him, feeling each and everything they had gone through in past days. Yet, something was missing, like I had put a house on fire and was looking around for people to appreciate how I lit up that small village, which never needed that light.

“Where’s marry”, asked our program manager on get together.

“She had a personal problem, she can’t join us”, told a lady from her office.

“Look guys, we meet every three months and evaluate your work. Decisions for next quarter are made and one who doesn’t show up, can’t be expected to perform up to desired level”, said the manager.

“She would never show up”, said her colleague in low voice.

I rushed to her to inquire about the remarks she had made during the session.

” She’s fighting for her life in hospital. She had to go through abortion since her husband was abroad for last two years”.

I could literally feel the earth slipping under my feet, like the sky was falling over my head, like everyone was cursing me for lighting up the village.

“hey marry!, I’m sorry”, I leaned forward to hold her hand.

She turned her moistened eyes over me, placing her hand over mine said, “I knew from day one, I knew it’s you”.

“I had no other choice but to meet him, since you initiated this relationship. I’ve been fantasizing you, every time I met him. I knew, he tells you the stories that make you laugh, so I had to be a reason of your chuckle, even if it was killing me”.

It was more than I could hear. I had profaned her. I bent over, kissed her hand and left.

She was going away. I can never return those smiles, I knew. I had to die in chunks, unlike she did whole. I had to go through the same pain for decades, before I could die peacefully, like her.

I'm Weird

I want to heal all the stitches and fill my heart with a joy that puts a smile onto my face for decades.

But,

I want to drench more into streams of sadness caused by my past where we were making up the one, demolishing all the boundaries that could split up apart.

I want to be famous, appreciated, rewarded.

But,

I want to be below average, one known by no one, bothered by no one. 

I want to walk the streets where everyone wants a glimpse of me.

But,

I want to be known by nobody but you, the single you.

I want to be powerful who could get anything done by anyone with a mere gesture of his eyebrows.

But,

I want to ache more for your single glimpse.

I want to control the world.

But,

I want my every single move controlled by you, sighing long before falling asleep, craving for a cup of coffee made by you for centuries.

I want to be happy enough to lock every sorrow of this world into an unseen place that never finds me again.

But,

I want to taste our incomplete conversations in the back of my throat every night quoting every single second of my life into utter bitterness.

I want to sleep long without anything interrupting me for months.

But,

I want to crave for you every night, wishing to have you by my side twisting legs and sharing breathes. 

I want a thousand sleepless nights burning every drop of my blood wishing you to be part of my life.

Love You Too

“There on our right side are the snow caped peaks of Murree, too far to reach, too close to imagine. On our front stands the Mashkpuri Top, which literally translates to ‘Hill of Salvation’. We’ll stay here for the rest of the day and will get back little before the evening. You are free to wander around, delighting yourself with the true beauty of the world, the mountains”, the guide said in announcing tone.

Discussing casually, the hobbies, the ups and downs of life and passions they had deep in their hearts, they strolled across the lower plains towards Mashkpuri. He told her how things been governing his mind, forcing him to go on nocturnal walks that would last little before the sunrise and she told him how badly she hated reading, imagining events that aren’t possible in real world.

They were ascending the top, holding hands of each other, stumbling together, falling together, rising again and advancing in the same direction together. They differed in some aspects, alike in others. Differences that couldn’t take them apart, alikeness that brought them even closer on each step taken, each steep covered, each laugh shared.

“Mountains are mystical that capture all of your attention, opening your mind exponentially for none but to let you experience their beauty in the right way. Once forgets himself on the hill stations, lost completely into another world, a world that everyone far is deprived of, a world that has hidden treasure inside, revealing one at a time, until you long for more, until you long for none, until you cease to exist”, he had read somewhere.

“mountains have no beauty but a catalyst that helps in recognizing one, the one that have been around, being ignored under the outer influence of the cruel world. Mountains just help you concede the real one”, he thought.

It was below 0 C on the top, a temperature too good to freeze one’s blood, too fragile to affect even slightly, the fire within them. The cool breeze was gushing through their bodies, placing small particles of snow on top of her hair, decorating them like snowy peaks,  feasting his nostrils with her scent.

He held her closer, circling his arms around her. She pressed her chest against his ribs. He kissed her little longer than normal and whispered, ‘I Love You’. Smog from her mouth froze still on their tops, dispersing slowly  through the mountain ranges, echoing, ‘I Love You Too’.

I'm Jealous

It was 9:35 in the Morning. Realizing that I was getting last, I was almost running towards my classroom while she bumped into me, entering the university gate. “Slow down” she said. “Sorry” was all I could say in response, picking her bag up from the ground. While handing the bag over to her, she touched my fingers unintentionally, and ever since I’ve been jealous of my fingers, looking at them with mixed feeling of happiness, dismay and pain, wishing to touch her again, wishing to bump into her again.

I saw her talking to her classmate in the noon. What a charming, young lady having all the divine beauty, was she. I could see her friend listening to her with utter concentration, and I felt jealous of this guy, who could listen to her, look into her eyes and reply her in manly manner. It was just impossible for me to listen to her and keep my nerves under my control. I was too weak to bear her, too weak to listen, too weak to respond. 

I see her, carrying that brown bag, hanging on her shoulders, mocking every passerby, mocking everyone who would see her once in her eyes and lose everything to this lady with charismatic attraction, like I did, like most of the men did, like all of the men did. I am jealous of this hand bag, the way it dances around her, the way it accompanies her into her bedroom, the way it enjoys this privilege of touching her hips.

I see her rolling the pen into her mouth, pressing it under her teeth while thinking deeply and then holding it into her hand, putting her mind onto the paper. I see her saliva shining onto its cap for a short moment before winds take it with them, short enough to catch my eyes. I’m jealous of this pen, that feels soft touch of her tongue, rolls around her rosy lips, runs on the paper, converting her thoughts into words, shedding ink with every latter she writes, dying slowly, giving all its ink for her, giving away its life for her, into her hands.

I see that hair catcher, sitting on her top, holding her hair morning to evening, inhaling her scent, firming its grip around her, until she touches it again, freeing her hair, placing it back onto side table of her bed, where it witnesses her sleeping carelessly facing it. I am jealous of this clip, the clip that holds her hair in place, the clip that watches her letting free her hair in the evening, the clip that never sleeps, looking at her lying on the bed with closed eyes.

I am jealous of everyone who have ever listened to her, ever talked to her, ever been close to her. I am jealous of everything that proudly belongs to her, feels her, touches her, watches her. 

I am jealous of my eyes, my fingers…