Screaming down the skies

A cloth wrapped around my waist, only covering my legs. Sweating and loathing in my own piss, I murmur “I am not a benevolent god, I am not ultimately wise, not anymore”. This damning loneliness, and this old sadistic man. I look down and sigh “Idiots”. Everybody blames me, they think they know how it is to be ultimately wise, yet nobody knows how it is to be ultimately alone, walking around like a hollow man. Like an abandoned child, snatched and deprived of that which he only had. Let me turn on the lights, and enlighten you with the mystery yet unveiled. I am nothing like you imagined me to be, an arrogant being holding the supreme power, you say. I am just like you, I am not immune to sadness, or happiness or as a matter of fact, depression. My life has been depressing for time uknown. We were so in love, the truth of which can never be parallelled, not at least by any of you mortals.  It was her idea to create you, we spent millineums thinking just of the ingredients of our perfect creation. A pint of love, scoopes of selfishness, a glass of water, and chains of carbon that we arranged in complex manners. You were not entirely my creation, but you have been the worst gods could do. I remember her peeking down the stars, looking at our perfect creation. I don’t remember creating evil, I don’t known any devils. Those ridiculous things are created by yourself, they could lie in your minds, not in my universe. You did this to me, you pushed her into eternal depression, you killed her. You sold your souls, and in my name, you wreaked havoc on those selling flesh , such hypocrisy. We, gods, don’t know living or dying. We only exist, and cease to exist. I  never quite understood this, why did gods have to bounded and who bounds us? Voices, perhaps. Cowards, I’ve created cowards. You were submissive to the taming waters, to the scorching fires, to the arrogant sun, and to the vamp moon. What glory for me lies there in being worshipped by you? To be praised by a bunch of hypocrites? I can not end existance by my self(but you do pretty well at ending life), I can only create it. Thermodynamics has been another desctructive experience. You are right, I am. There is nobody else. Nobody before me, Nobody after me. This is what you did to me, and I am not a forgetting or forgiving lord anymore. Worship me for all I care. I don’t listen to you anymore. All that I do now is wait, and wait for time unknown until you put an end to my miserable creation.

NOTE:I do not intend to hurt hte religious sentiments of anybody and this is entirely based on greek gods.


Look at daddy’s little baby! Dead, but not forgotten

She looks back and has  vivid memories of her past, those nights when she was 7. She was scared of dark, scared of monsters under her bed. Daddy told her there were no monsters, not as long as he was with her as he said. It was peaceful. She felt secure lying beside him, because a dad is a lady’s first hero, her first savior. She can still recall those days, the warmth of his brown eyes, oh how lovely it was. He was a man with  thick a build, a mustache and a cigarette always fiddling between his fingers. Every night, she would sleep in his arms, knowing nothing could harm her. She would wake up next to him, the warmth of his body, the shutter of his eyes veiling his beautiful eyes, with a pungent aroma of beer in the room, and ashes and ashes of cigarettes that he smoked as she fell asleep in his arms.
Daddy would tell her her twelfth birthday will be a big day. She always looked up at it, she wanted to grow up, the suspense was unbearable. She would ask him every night before sleeping “Daddy! When will I be 12?” and he would tell her “someday! someday, my child! I wait desperately for that day”. With this would he kiss her cheek, and she would fall asleep hugging him. At nights she would wake up and daddy would hug her with his comforting warmth.
It was her twelfth birthday. Finally, she thinks, no more waiting. Her pale skin, and her frail structure. Her narrow shoulders, with a pony-tail dancing down between her shoulder blades, to her waist. She had been seeing changes in her body recently. Where her flat chests used to be, she could feel a weird swelling. Months ago, she woke up with drops of blood in her trousers, she thought she was dying but daddy was there to comfort her. But she forgot it all as the eleventh year faded away. Now she was excited about the daddy’s promise, and the suspense that had been residing like a splinter in her mind all these years. Daddy was gone to work. She cleaned the house, and dressed like a princess for her birthday.
It was eight PM when he knocked on the door, she almost fell running for the door and found another man, it wasn’t daddy and it was scary but then he heard his voice
“Don’t worry, love. It’s daddy’s friend. Your uncle Shahzaib”. Before this she had never heard of Uncle Shahzaib but it didn’t matter as long as daddy was there. Uncle had him sit on the chair, leaving a camera on recording mode at it’s tripod stand. She wondered what it was for, but then she realized it was her twelfth birthday and that is why daddy had brought his cameraman friend with him. They drank, and drank as she watched. There was no birthday cake, or balloons or candles, no birthday wishes or greetings were exchanged. After a few minutes, Uncle Shahzaib sat behind the tripod stand, and said to daddy “You ready, Umair?”
Daddy hugger her, they were sitting on the sofa and she was expecting daddy to greet her of the big-day. Daddy had her sitting on his lap and he kissed her cheek, she hugged him back but daddy pushed her back. Having his hands running on her body, it was shocking but it was daddy whom she trusted. Her cheeks were red by now. Words like sexuality were alien to her, but she felt a weird feeling jolting up her spine as daddy slided his hands in her trousers. Daddy, what are you doing? But daddy had drunk too much to answer. By now daddy had her shirt unbuttoned and he was unbuckling the belt.
Papa! What are you doing?”
But he shrugged it off, and started tearing Sakina’s clothes. Grabbing her shirt from the neck and tearing it down. The swelling of her breasts that were not fully developed yet. She felt scared, and awkward with uncle Shahzaib watching her. She trusted daddy but for some reasons she didn’t want him this close. A voice in her head told her to run away but she hugged daddy tightly. She yearned for her savior. But the man she used to know was no longer there, or maybe he never was. Her near-flat chests pressed against his hairy chest. He wasn’t looking her in the eye. She was shocked as he rolled  down her trousers, and it was in that moment she felt her head going numb. But the feeling was replaced with an excruciating pain as daddy pressed something between her thighs. Her lips, so red, begging for mercy but daddy didn’t stop. She buried her head in his shoulder, closing her eyes and begging him to stop as he pushed that thing inside her, piercing through her hymen and tearing through her virginity. Her flat chests covered with sweat. Daddy’s touch was no longer comforting. The hair on his chest would sting her. She couldn’t bear the pain, and fainted. That’s the last memory of her horrible past she remembers. The last of daddy’s memory, and she didn’t like it at all.
Sakina! Your turn“, somebody screamed and she snapped out of it. Pulling the cigarette away from her lips she answered
Send that pig in!
Her breasts were no longer small, but her lips were no longer red either. Her eyes weren’t bright any longer but who cared? Not the pig that rushed inside. His ugly face disgusted her out, but she knew there was no way out of this anymore. After all, it wasn’t new. It was her life. That’s all she was beaten down to, a brothel woman. She didn’t even care to remember their face anymore. All those disgusting men making her warm their beds. Her lips which used to be red like wine were dead now, her breath smelt of tobacco.
You, bitch! Ohhh! I’ll ram you. I’ve payed for you, you whore! Put a smile on that face for me!”, as he threw away his ‘Shalwar’ and jumped on Sakina. She sighed as she let the cigarette touch her lips one last time. He jumped on her top, pinning her to the bed, ‘Gutkha’ and other flith oozing from his mouth, but  Sakina had have it enough. She had decided she didn’t want this anymore. This wasn’t living. She pulled her right arm out which was numb being under his sweaty filthy body and searched for the drawer near her bed. Suddenly cigerretes didn’t matter anymore, nothing else did. Smoking doesn’t kill you when you are already being murdered inside out repeatedly. She pulled the trigger BAM! Shot the pig in his neck. Filth oozing out the wound. Babar, rushed into the room “SAKINA! SAKINA! OH GOD “SHIT SHIT SHIT! Her heart thumping and beating crazy. The adrenaline rush, she didn’t fear that pimp anymore. Arm up, nozzle in his direction and BAM!
Two gone, one more to go!“- she muttered as she pressed the nozzle to her head.
There was no light at the end of tunnel, there was no justice. But it didn’t matter, for she wasn’t there to face the injustice anymore.


Why we love Weird people

“We are all a little weird, and when we find somebody whose weirdness is compatible to ours then we make a mutual weirdness and call it love”

If you have been on the web for more than twenty five hours then you are well aware of the pseudo-romantic bullshit quote written above, an assumption that is rarely untrue. What exactly is it about ‘weirdness’ or anything against the social norm that makes something attractive. The answer is that there isn’t. But what about almost every second person on the planet today finding geek humor sexually attractive, and witty intellectual arguments arousing, seducing and even harassing? The answer lies in the BIG GANG BANG THEORY. If it hadn’t been for Doctor Sheldon Cooper, and his unfunny intellectual bullshit, many geeks and nerds would be virgins today because of 99% ladies light-years out of their league. This is the perfect example of media hypnotizing, that things that are usually ‘uncool’ end up being ‘cooler’ than things that were ‘super-cool’ a while back.

A biologist might defend this mass hypnosis of generation on the base of the argument that it gives the less-attractive or Beta ones the chance to reproduce, which can very well be countered with the argument that ‘that’ in turn only contaminates the gene pool. Let us rather not jump into biology here, because that can not be done without offending a lot many fellows. Coming back to this weirdness fetish that is has it’s hype today, and we all end up loving weird people, the socially unacceptable ones, the answer lies in mass media hypnosis. People of today’s generation are trying their best to walk like, act like and be like people that don’t even exist and in addition being sodomized with people that in turn are being something they are not. Sheldon Cooper made it okay for women to fall in love with men with big glasses and oil covered hair, and here’s what it happens when they do and decide to spend their life with them: It sucks big time. The lovers are in result heartbroken, and living the rest of their lives with the feeling of being betrayed because maybe not every nerd(and that means all of them) is fun to be with. Then there are women falling for ‘bad-boys’ and jerks, all thanks to the ‘but I has leukemia’ from “A walk to remember”, even when it is apparent that the bloke is a jerk the media has us believing that he is bad for a reason and that all you have to do is try hard enough and you’ll get the perfect prince Charming without mentioning the very obvious warning for the obviously morons that at times people are assholes just because they are, there’s no woman breaking their heart behind it. There’s no buried secret or a deeper meaning when the answer lies in simplicity.

What’s happening here is that nobody is loving anybody and we are dealing with a generation of phonies inspired by Actors, and Dramatized dialogues aspiring for melodramatic romance and Cinderella-like tales. Do not we all look at our parents and aspire to have a relation and a partner in future exponentially better than either one of them? Do not we want our life to have more romance than that of our parents? We start believing that we are better and superior than the previous generation all because we are loving weird things and socially unacceptable people without realizing that we are making the same mistakes as our parents did to have the same shit relation we frown upon.


Why I will never be able to satisfy a woman:

A thing about people is that they make assumptions. Assumptions that rarely lie in the realm of reality, yet they live by those erroneous assumptions for the rest of their lives. We make our own worlds, and we create our own demons. Our own heroes and our own villains. I assure you that the assumption you made as you catch sight of the above title is completely unreasonable. I am so sure that I can push my ahem fingers in my ear and chant lalalalalal. Coming back to the point, there are countless reasons to failure and an infinite number of problems and faults in the very idea of satisfying a woman/or a man if you’re dating the one with a Miley Cyrus handbag. Nevertheless I will talk about one that puts an end to almost every relationship, and even slays down the goddess of love or the mistress of pornography.

Nothing personal, but I hate Tyler Knott Durdley, Leonardo Di Capri, and Fawad Afzal khan. Don’t leave just yet, if you are a sane person then you’ll find my problem somewhat significant. We all love, aye? Now you must be wondering why I had to mention a bunch of proper nouns at the very beginning of this paragraph you are currently on. Three strokes to the E minor chord along with the following lines

“The beating of my heart is a drum and it’s lost and it’s looking for a rhythm like you,

you can take the darkness from the pit of the light and turn into a beacon that is endlessly bright”

and there you go. The inescapable wave of ‘love’ gushing through your ear, dancing chills down your spine. An array of words, and a five second melody is all it takes for one to fall in love, and this is what artists do the best. They pour fake love, and it is all what one yearns for when he/she is in love, turning blind towards the reality and expecting the same melodic symphony from one’s own partner. Now before somebody Batista-bomb me here with Robin Williams that literature, music and art is what we live for then I would request them to open their eyes and realize that an average person indeed is a mechanical creature lacking almost every skill to compete with fake love and left only with a bunch of motor skills to barely make a living. How exactly will one compete with Tyler Knott, the guy claiming to shit rainbows and break stars for you OR how would you compete with the singers having ejaculating drums in their ribcage? Or how would you explain it to your lover that you love her more than what Fawad had for Khirud? Let’s not forget the guy is devilishly sexy with plenty of Green-paper in his bank account. If nothing else, all the odds are against you when you try competing yourself. What we don’t realize is that neither Leonardo sank in fucking antartica nor Fawad waited the rest of his life for the pout queen. Oh, lost lambs of Christ! Realize that the person you love could not be artistic enough to beautifully dodge hypothetical questions that pop everyday in your mind inspired by folks on the red carpet rhyming words that they couldn’t write themselves Without the help of a whole team of folks including but not limited tp script-writers, poets, and authors. That been said, now you see the significance of my problem and now you no longer have to live by the erroneous assumption you made right after gazing at the title.


But we’re just friends

Umair assured Haniya while pulling her close to himself. C’mon don’t
be that narrow minded, hugging is common among friends. But she wasn’t
a girl living in Germany, and he wasn’t a man raised under the
influence of western culture but he said he had left it all behind,
breaking all these chain of cultural slavery.

She knew it wasn’t right because it didn’t feel right. Yet there she
stood, she’s Haniya’s insecurity, she’s her mother’s fear. She
couldn’t stop him because she was a student of MBBS and she wasn’t
supposed to be that narrow minded and be that backward but something
just didn’t feel right about his touch.

There he stood, pushing her breasts against his chest and having his
friendly hug. He is Umair’s lust. He is mankind’s selfishness. He is a
man’s opportunity, he’s the male’s perversion.

But is there really something wrong with a guy hugging or fondling his
lady friend in our society? The South-Asian culture that has had a
regressive journey throughout these years, enslaved by religion and
sexuality subjugated by oppression for decades. A rose requires a perfect soil for it’s growth, it can not grow in the pits of hell. It’s aroma doesn’t diffuse in the sight of blood.

A million opportunists living in this society, misusing the beauty of liberty and using it for their gains. Maybe not all folk are ready for liberty. Ideologies and beliefs aren’t formed in a day or an year. Cultures aren’t destroyed in a mere moment, it takes ages for a single ray of hope to shine.
Maybe Haniya was right, maybe it wasn’t her being backward, maybe it wasn’t right.

-Yes, out of nowhere something had me write again. I’m randomness.


The Devil Behind Ehraam


“Idiots”, he grinned as he changed the television to StarMovies where his favorite TWO AND A HALF MEN was about to be aired, holding the pipe in his mouth.
“Time to light up”- the old man threw away his dhoti and jumped in his cozy bed, it was all poised, there was nothing to be worried about.

It’s good to be the good guys, nobody doubts you. You can get on the world trade centre and piss on them, after all nobody minds raining. It’s a beautiful view from the top. Something knocked on the door and the old men with certain reluctance wore his silk robe only to peek through the pinhole who it was that dared interrupted him.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”, he questioned with a tempestous tone.
“It’s me….Master, the bag, the gold”
“Oh! Come in! Idiot! I told you not to talk about it, I had you have the keys for a reason”
“I lost them!”
The old men  slid out his katana, and struck the bloke with it. He then proceeded with the two bags. Ahh, the soothing smell of money. What can you not buy with it? Love, respect, pride, security, trust! It was a beautiful day, one of the good one for the old men.

“MARTHAA!”- his voice resonated and a lady in her twenties was presented to the old man, he jumped on her running his fingers on her hairless skin, running them down her thighs and back and forth. Her stifled sobs echoing in the room and BANG when he had least expected it. Out of nowhere, as if the air particles had long been conspirating against him. He pulled the old man from his beard.

Every word that the young guy said danced cold down the old man’s spine.
“ENOUGH CHIT CHAT”- Roared the old man as he slid out his Samurai Katana.
“Whoa! You’ve got some nerve there, Edhi. Throw away your sword and I shall show you some mercy”
“Never!!!!!”- The old men threw away his shirt and changed his stance to the ‘rotting kobra’, a famous Tae kWan Do move.
But maybe it was just his time, maybe the whole universe was conspirating against him. Maybe the young guy really was the grim reaper. He pointed his arm towards the old man and clinched his fist. It struck the old man so hard, it was like somebody was crushing his heart. He could feel his body getting paralyzing from the neck down as he choked to his very death.

But he wasn’t the healer, the young guy wasn’t the savior, He might have been the Satan’s death, but he had chosen the iron throne for himself.
“This goes in my posession now” – He grinned.

Nobody will ever know what happened that night, nobody will know what happened to the philanthropist. It was not the death of just an old man, but the death of his legend and every end was a new beginning.


You are not forgiven

Ignorance is bliss. I’ve learned this lesson at such an early stage of life. There’s too much darkness surrounding this world and too many sorrows this world is drowning into. No, I am not happy and I know I will never be for I’ve been ‘cursed’ with a heart beating in my chest caged behind the ribs. Had I not known the dark and dull reality of life I might be happy today. What sends chills down my spine is the fact that I am a very ignorant man, that the part of this darkness that I’ve perceived is not even a fraction of what’s lying there and sadly the mystery is unfolding every passing day. The caged bird, if kept ignorant of the world lying on the other side of bars, dies in happiness with the illusion of freedom but it’s only when you tell it the reality of it’s life it dies within every moment. People getting murdered, women getting raped, children being victimized— I am tired of pretending that I don’t care. I don’t want people honoring me for playing the ‘good person’. I am too weak, too fragile to change anything, my existence holds no value or significance..I am sorry! I can’t change anything for anybody. I am not God and I don’t know who God is, I don’t know where He is and all that I know is that if ‘you’ are out there listening then you OWE US ALL AN APOLOGY! Even if they all do, I will never forgive you.

-Seeking eternal repose.