I want to be . . .

I don’t want to be

The name in your blocked list , and neither do I want to be a forgotten contact.

I don’t want to be a phase in your life, or your flavor of the month. I don’t want to be forgotten smudge of a handprint on your window pane.

I want to be

Dried lavenders you keep between the page of an old romatic classic, and I want to be the beautiful handwritten letters that you keep under your pillow, holding them close to your heart at night. I want to be the pearls from a broken necklace you’ve been treasuring for age, your wristwatch that you always wear on your right hand.

I want to be

Sweatshirt that carries your fragrance and be an old blanket that keep you warm on a cold winter night. I want to be reason behind your smiles, and I want to be your muse, be someone who you think about on your lonely night.

I want to be the girl in your story, which you will very fondly tell your children before their bedtime, under the starry night sky, a light smile playing on your lips while doing so.

(Artwork By unknow)

Love was my test

Before I knew what love was, I thought it was easy like when you love, you expect to be loved back. When you give, you expect to receive something back.

When you’re hurt love can easily comfort you. I thought love was my medicine when I was hurting deeply. I thought love was my ally when the world pounded me and bombarded me with painful wounds.

I was wrong, love was my test.

Love was my enemy, love was the measurement of how I really want to spend my life with somebody. Love was never my redemption, love was there even to the point of my execution. Love stood under my umbrella. Love held me when I was drowning in my insanity.

Love stood beside me when the heavy eyes of the world judged me. Love built a roof when problems rained on me. Love taught me to dance in the rain. And when I was able to stand up and be strong again, love fulfilled his duty and then left me.

#Thankyou

Loneliness 

I know loneliness.
I know the smell of absence and the sound of laughter from the other side of the wall. The way you speak to yourself just to fill the lack of someone else. Anyone else. Anything else.
I know loneliness.
I sit at this coffee shop this morning watching the world. I actually like sitting at coffee shops by myself. The things you notice when you’re on your own, without anyone distracting you from the simple pleasure of noticing things. Like how the old man sitting across from me has been trying to scratch something that shouldn’t really be scratched in public – okay, that I file under things I wish I could un-notice. Like how the lady on the other side of the room just rather nervously re-touched her lipstick for what must have been the fifth time. She’s wearing what I’d consider a way too expensive piece of clothing. I scan the room and realize she’s alone, just like me, and it hits me that we’re not so different, that woman and I. I wonder what had happened that made noticing much less exciting to her, and now she’s seeking comfort in crimson lipstick and expensive dresses. I sit calmly in the corner with my coffee, cluttering my notebook with sketches and words while watching these people, before I make my way back to my hotel room to sleep and lose myself in another world, another dream, with no one beside me to draw me back to reality. 
I like the way I notice things and how I wouldn’t notice them if someone kept filling my mind with familiar conversations because I seek the unfamiliar. How small, ordinary routines can turn into beautiful memories. Like the way I spend every morning writing undistracted for an hour, just like how I’ve done in the last couple of years, but how a simple habit becomes something new and exciting just because you’re in a new place with unfamiliar people to watch and observe. In a coffee shop with strange cups and a new smell of their brew, and how I can simply sit in one place for hours and just be astonished, all my senses awake and sharp, and I smile even though I don’t realize, and some young man smiles back at me probably thinking the smile is for him but it’s really just because I’m simply content with my own state of excitement. Excitement for all these seemingly familiar routines, but for me, it’s all new. And how the simple habit of writing every night until I fall asleep becomes my safety, because that’s what I know, that’s what I do. But it’s still unfamiliar as entering a new land every single night because these poems, these letters, these memories transport me to different worlds where all things are possible.
And you ask why I enjoy my loneliness? Because loneliness doesn’t have to be empty if you learn to see the possibilities it brings. I have learned to look at loneliness as not an empty space but more like a blank canvass. A blank page free for you to fill. With stories, possibilities, excitement. Or the simple stillness of watching the sun rise over the horizon in silence each new morning. No one is telling me about familiar things. The world is, after all, only our perception of it.
So I’m not afraid of loneliness. It is my friend and faithful companion. And because it is teaching me. 
(Picture by unknown )

My first aid kit 

FAQ: Why do you write?

Because writing is my first aid kit.
Because writing can be my injury at the same time, and that there are wounds that no human hands can reach. Because I can’t answer the Doctor if he asks me how it hurts, at least, not in a needed medical way. Only metaphors, only excuses. Because words cut deeper than the scalpel. Because there are ups and there are downs; because no one told me how little remains of us 

after the fall. Because love. Because lies. I write because this is a place of pure honesty; because the paper holds the truth that my lips could not. Because here I can put a title. Because we never had a title. Because there is a period that indicates an end; 

because we didn’t had that kind of stopping signal. Because we squeeze into our jeans and we squeeze ourselves into people who have no intention of keeping us and we still wonder why there is such thing as pain. Because I wish my grandfather lived longer, because there are people who refuse to live. Because there is no cure for missing. Because there are people you can miss even if they are breathing right next to you. 

Because there are questions not asked; because there are unaccepted answers. Because there are people I can no longer call. Because there are words I will never hear. Because we all have boxes inside our hearts— filled with memories, filled with regrets. Because you hurt me. Because I hurt you. Because I never stopped writing about you. Because you stopped reading my words. Because I wanted leaving to look beautiful, to make it less agonizing. Because the truth is it wasn’t beautiful, it was just simply letting you go , and I just stand silent with heavy eyes and ticking heart bomb trying not to shatter into million little pieces that could still love you in the next million years. Because it’s difficult to forget. Because memories are ordinary. Because memories are extraordinary. Because. Because. Because with you, I was me.  Because this. Because words. Because there is you 

I will never see

again.

Suffocated    (pray for humanity )

This photo is from east Aleppo after Syrian & Russian airstrikes in September 2016 because many of the bombing videos from Wadi Barada are not verified. Is this image the principled antiwar activist’s vision of a freedom struggle?

Mosul, Iraq, January 16th, 2017: 

How do you tell the difference between emancipation US-style & Armageddon?
(Photo by Muhammad Hamed/Reuters)

Between January 1989 & November 30 2016, there have been 94,589 deaths, 7,074 of them while in custody of Indian security forces. At least 22,828 women have been widowed & 107,594 children orphaned.

That is a terrible price to pay for freedom & a measure of its value to those denied it. We would know nothing about this were it not for Kashmiri activists on social media who post reports & photos of funeral cortege/protests numbering in the thousands for every person killed.

Long live Kashmiri Intifada. End the occupation. Self-determination for Kashmir.

Fullest solidarity & deepest respect for the Kashmiri freedom struggle.
(Statistics from Kashmir Media Service; photo from Kashmir Freedom) 

                    “Suffocated”


Loud cries of pain, bodies scattered around, the street where people gathered to spread love and celebrate happiness . 

Heart hurt to see, dozens of innocent people running away in horor from the nightmare none cloud foresee.

Terror crawling into thier minds as their teary eyes bag for mercy in a game where innocents blood is spilled .

“In the name of beliefs, I’ll shoot you thries, to further my misguided causes you all have to miserably die.”

Hate knows no limits, Terrorism has no relagion, Terrorism is sick, twisted mission to find potential targets once again.

An utter disgust to humanity , whatever happened to mankind and his decency ?  who is to blame , and who is not ?

Living with this uncertainty and fear is like living in a wrecked planet with no atmosphere, it’s suffocating . 

Will we ever find a way to resist this situation ? will we keep fighting to keep peace ?  or will we lose and let the world be plagued ?  

Will we join hands no matter the relagion, color and political views to build a world filled with love or will we see enemy everywhere ? 


P.s.  (let’s all do our part to spread love and happiness. Life is so unpredictable. please take a little time out of your to do good and to let someone knows that they are loved. my heart hurts terribly seeing the atrocities happening in the world .) 

Memory

Here comes the rain,

Here comes the pain,

Here comes the memories,

So flows these sad stories . 

Wise man used to say 

That the rain washes away 

All pains of a heart astray .

But some pains are just too deep,

For rain to put to sleep.

Some memories we’re meant to keep,

To be felt and left to steep .

Until they become mere shadows of yesterday,

Making us stronger to face today .


Soulmate 

I don’t think soulmates really are those people we end up marrying. I believe soulmates are the people who choose to stay through every phase of your life. It’s before the wedding. It’s during every heartbreak. It’s during every big moment, they are there. 

It’s through every funeral where words can’t even be exchanged. It’s in every loss and disappointment. They whisper in your ear who you are, what you want and whatever this is it won’t beat you. They are every call when we feel alone and 2AM and darkness feel like it’s welcoming. 

When you hate yourself they don’t. 

When you don’t want to forgive yourself for mistakes, they do. 

When you’re settling they pull you aside and remind you of your worth and what you deserve. 

They set this template for what it is you deserve in everyone in your life. 

They’re there for every accomplishment and are your biggest cheerleader. They’re your number one fan before anyone else believed in you.

You know any success you have in your life is in large part because of them.  

Through staying with you in every phase of life, they prove somethings don’t change even when you’ve changed as a person and have grown. Somehow they grow with you. 

It’s almost like if you dissected who you were a large part of that is them.

Of the many things you are confident in, most is them. You just know they will always be there no matter where each of you end up. 

There really isn’t a greater compliment than knowing one person for certain will be there on your wedding day. Likely with a killer speech humiliating you. 

They are the most positive force in your life and you wish everything were so easy. 

They are every first like on social media. 

They are plans you don’t know just yet but you know they are a part of.

They are the door that is always open, even when you don’t call. 

They pick you up every time you fall reminding you angels aren’t just figments of your imagination but rather these people who walk with you carrying you through life.