I was never like that

Monday, August 30, 2010 by B.H.
The phrases “I am busy” and “I have been really busy lately” share a really strange relationship with my tongue, maybe the same which the two opposite poles of the same magnet share, strongly attracted, my tongue seems helpless sometimes and slips and says it, I am not sure for how many times I have uttered “I am busy” up till now in my whole life, but I am sure more than the number of Lady Gaga’s fans on this planet. Well, clichéd? Yet again! Okay verbose again, [=/] not good, makes things lilac.

Yes, I have been really busy –– watching movies, fasting, dozing off, and chewing bubble gums after Iftaar everyday, talking to friends (Doing nothing, if we talk seriously). And the solitude –– that used to separate me from this world, and used to help me with creating things –– things, which I was (or still am) passionate about –– is tumbling down. I am getting famous in my friends and yet I seem not happy. I am becoming just another teenager now. But, like a typical growing teenager, carrying on my favorite activities with the studies and at the same time experiencing the breakdown of my youthful innocence, going through exaggerated dramas and breaking or making of friendships isn’t really my thing.

My way of living my life was simple, away from controversies and politics, but I am feeling awkwardly weird these days. “I was never like that” is another phrase –– I have been using these days.


Well, you know, the change, it is an unchangeable law. With every tick of the hand of the clock, I see a change in myself – in my behavior, my body, in my thoughts, and in the people around me –– my family. The way of the quest about life changes with time. My way of looking at things and views about them have changed, I’ve realized. Like the gurgling babies’ drools change and it someday transforms into monotonous voices or heavenly sounds or plain noises, and eventually they forget. Forget.

Forget. Forget. Forget.

That’s a heavy word, in every sense, some times beneficial, and sometimes, not. When we forget, doesn’t matter. But when they do, it does. [I guess I have distracted myself]

But the point is that, you can’t live like “those” people who inspired you. You are just what you are; you can be influenced, but you can’t be changed wholly. This all is happening. I am no more emo, there’s nothing between the lines I scribble these days. Or it’s just a phase. Let’s see.

Sour Grapes

Wednesday, August 25, 2010 by B.H.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever...
I'm so sick of you too,
and your love poems...
Damn! Where's my pen?
I hate misplacing things.
Train of thought goes with it...

If I read one more love poem, I'll puke!
I'm ready to collect all love poems
and nuke them to the New Earth.

I'm not in love.
Ain't got nobody.
Tired of hearing 'bout hers
and your new hottie.
Don't want to know nuthin' 'bout your river of tears
Take that drivel and go cry in your beers!
And not here where I can hear you bitch' and moan.
Grab your lovesick friends,
and hit the bar zone farthest from me.
I'm sick of the love songs as well!
All the damned songwriters should be shot to hell.
One minute love's why they're alive;
the next, love's the reason for suicide.
No wonder the whole world is so damned confused.
Y'all worshippin' love and getting abused.

Oh, here's my pen.
What was that again?
Yes, "My love, shall I compare thee to a summer's night?
Was only yesteryear when I lay my head upon your chest with delight
and gazed into your hazel eyes
and saw my soul 'Twas ..."

by Nordette Adams

The final meeting

by B.H.

H: Y'all want amusement, even amid bruising times, trodden by the blocks –– a little red heart, when it’s unimaginable even to breathe. Y'all always want something. Mean –– they doth call you. In your eyes – lust overflowing, oozing out, I can see that. Mouth watering desires. Y'all! Unfurled are still, sheets – upon you sleep’est. Eyes on –– yours – are sandwiching it in pressures. Ya’ll! Don’t you have jobs? How much y'all want to suck out of a man’s organs? Flipping parasites!? I say no to you! And bye! Let it breathe the breaths it is left with amid death, amid fear.

S: Ain’t been nothing like that – the things you told, untrue beloved. You hast been bruised, that, I know. And this too, that it sleep’eth not when you goest in it, the organ you hast in your head. You dost close thine eyes, but it doth not. You think too much. Stop the rude; let it take a bath of sugar a little.

H: A little……Little… Little things, put a big mark, I guess the little bit has done to me too.
S: Water from thy eyes will go away; the history of sun says that, it’ll take them too.
H: The wrath of mystery inside me is mightier than even the histories of sun.
S: Chirps you adore are playing the tricks, open thy senses before they are done.
H: I traced it out in waters too, whirls were only I could see.
S: I have read it before it even was traced, on a wafting red dried autumn leaf.
H: It whispered it in the airs too, if only they could care.
S: Whispering winds came to me, ‘cause they wanted it to share.
H: But a great man said once, ‘they have no time to stand and stare.’
S: Sigh. Let it breathe the breaths it is left with, amid bruising life, amid pinching fear.

Solid Masks

Monday, August 23, 2010 by B.H.
Life has been like a fickle friend to me – up until now. Witnessing of its changing colors has always been my hobby. So ridiculously absurd at times it seems that I feel like crawling in some hole and just giving up there, but you know, that happens. It’s completely normal.

And, they say there is always a string of defeats before every stunning victory, a series of scratches on the knees before one learns to ride his bicycle. It’s a fact, like the fact that it’s raining here at this very moment, like the fact that I am typing. [=P]

I am spending my vacations at home reading, doing stuff and waiting impatiently for the college to reopen.

Giving up isn’t good. Giving up isn’t good. Giving up isn’t good.


There is a little change I am going to make in the strategy and I just hope it works.


Nothing. [=P]

Apart from that, I am seeing people, with two faces and some with three and four, strange species. Raavan type. And when they talk, they sound like plastic shopping bags –– that god awful noise when we fold or unfold plastic shopping bags. Eek! I don’t know I just imagine this, and frankly, they are like chickens to me, I’m not sure why though. Okay that’s verbose. [:P]

Funny it might sound but they act very nicely with you and try to insult you when others are around.

I have hired a black huge man to scare you away from me.

Now I’ve learnt to see your real faces that you hide behind the solid masks. [Yes, I was stupid enough not to see them before] And I plan on to pull the trigger before it gets rougher, tougher than before. I plan on to break up with every one who owns two faces.

Oh yes! I am pointing at you, and I am going to pull this trigger. Thwack! [:D].

It’s funny to see them trying to betray and lie to you when you know everything. Uff kya mushkil mushkil baatain. I was never like that. Besides, how old am I to talk like this? 18? >_<


The ‘pathetic’ factor

Wednesday, August 18, 2010 by B.H.
You are pathetic in my definition, when…

When you suck at everything you try to do, but you’re still showered with ample praises.

When you are envious of other people's work, and want to just suck their creativity out of their veins and kill them.

When you wake up really late, that too with the help of alarm and that particular alarm tone echoes in your brain for infinitely long time, say like all the day.

When you are too lazy to even get a haircut, so you start looking like Einstein, then you realize that barber will really hate you and maybe will say no to you that scares you more. And you just don’t get a haircut in five months unless you start scaring people.

…And when people ask you about you hair being so ridiculously ugly, you use the most unique excuse that is, ‘I want to look unique.’

When your dislike-list is subdivided in, favorite dislikes, less-favorite dislikes and not-so-favorite dislikes and plain-simple dislikes.

You use elevators every time and ‘stairs’ is your favorite dislike.

When there is no nature/beauty left in the moon, and you just want to pelt it with stones and shatter it.

When at times unintentionally you say stuff that can be a really good quotation and you feel like Shakespeare.

When even charging your phone’s battery is in your favorite dislikes. And your phone doesn't breathe for weeks and weeks.

You activate strange SMS packages in your cell phone, and send three to five messages daily.

…Phone eats your balance everyday for ‘those’ packages you activated and you really don’t care.

You do hear your parents’ lectures and taunts about your room being a mess, your hair being so ugly and other things usually yet do not listen to them.

When you and some other people wish for death together in different places for different reasons, but after sometime you find them happy while you are numb. So, you feel great. *sarcastically*

You start liking very very strange things, to which no one even pays heed.

Whenever you hear/see birds chirping, you want to shoot them or puke on them.

At times you feel like aliens and bohemians.

When walking alone streets - is not scary, but it’s not fun too.

You don’t do chores, and those who are already doing them in your place disgust you very badly.

You memorize every single episode of Disney shows and they don’t entertain you any more.

You feel pathetic at times, and start being happy for some time, and then you feel like failure and angry on being both at the same time.

You start to forget the difference between the words ‘there’ and ‘their’.

You pay high prices for 'those' favorite books. And decorate them in book shelf and don’t read them.

You prefer rappers like Weezy and Eminem over classics.

When your virtual friends are your best friends.

When all you think in bathroom is to take bath or not to take bath for like 30 minutes.

When you intentionally go on rooftop of your house to count stars like in those ancient romantic stories, but your eyes hurt and being bad at counting makes you give up.

When going out repels, meeting friends repels, phone repels, reading books repels, facebooking repels, twittering repels, blogging repels, and the only attractive thing you find is to watch TV, and that too repels after sometime.

When insomnia makes you wear scary disguise and go out to scare people miles away from your town.

When after feeling a little dizzy, you think you’ve become spider man, and then you try climbing on buildings, and then falling brings you back to reality.

…But you still feel out of the world.

When your interest box on facebook says, ‘Going out, coming in, dancing on the bed, sleeping on the floor, making friends, forgetting them, thinking too much and thinking again and then giving up’. Or something like that.

When you stick your tongue out malevolently to people from car’s window and think, it teases them, but it doesn’t, but you think it does.

When you leave a post incomplete and without the epilogue like this one.

"Subtracted names in a heart shaped scar"

Monday, August 16, 2010 by B.H.
Love carved our names in maple wood
And scented the scars with my blood
Amid bruising moments, ominous weather
And torn letters’ slices – that –– winds scattered

And winds screamed our secrets in skies
The crows cawed and flew high
Over the parapets –– higher than the skies
Silence crept in the place with moans and sighs

The autumn passed by
With teary glares
Taking it all away
Memory lingers
And love remembers
And I,
Hate you
More than life


14 August Post

Friday, August 13, 2010 by B.H.

Azaadi Mubaarikaan kakay =D

(Happy independance day)

Just one question =P

The squish of mud between your toes;
how would you live your life as a frog? [:P]

Mushkil na?
Now Inshaan ban jaao, and Pakishtan she pyaal kalo![=P]

Azaadi Mubaarik Pakistan.


Posted in From: , , , | 11 Comments »

I am the only being

Tuesday, August 10, 2010 by B.H.

I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born

In secret pleasure - secret tears
This changeful life has slipped away
As friendless after eighteen years
As lone as on my natal day

There have been times I cannot hide
There have been times when this was drear
When my sad soul forgot its pride
And longed for one to love me here

But those were in the early glow
Of feelings since subdued by care
And they have died so long ago
I hardly now believe they were

First melted off the hope of youth
Then Fancy's rainbow fast withdrew
And then experience told me truth
In mortal bosoms never grew

'Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow servile insincere -
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there

By Emily Bronte

The Isolation.

Monday, August 9, 2010 by B.H.
And again he starts walking on the hazy lands through hilly and hollow paths towards the beacon that appears so far – so obscure in the denseness of fog, and the mere feel of cold-white-smoky-tuft on the scars taken from past is numbing the traveler, breaking away of the tensity is difficult. But he keeps on walking, and this time he falls down and doesn’t get up for a while. Clumsy his – abilities might be, but he eyes there at the top of the mountain – there! The beacon calls. He leads again, grunts in pain and starts figuring out the path. The path is so blue and cold, with no lightening bugs in it, he can’t even figure out where the end is and where the start. Hindrance of time and toils – alone are good enough to make him fall down – give up. And now he bleeds, old scars taken from the dark pages of the ruthless past open their eyes to the cold fog, the blood seems to freeze and it pains infinite and he wishes to fall. He sways and swoons, falls on the misty dust, tries to crawl and slightly moans but is injured badly in the isolated journey, no one to save him, no one to cure the ailments. The beacon calls, but his eyes are shut, and he sees, the promises he made, the full moons of those nights spent with his better half he loved the most, the memories he saved, the giggles once he heard, the chirps and laughter are now a flickering flame that is fogged and tattered in the fog now.

I learned

Friday, August 6, 2010 by B.H.
I learnt today that,

There can be no good reason to fall down. You have to, sometimes, to start it all again perfectly. But falling down isn’t necessary, you can start it all again at any stage/turn/signal.

Increase in your hate-list doesn’t bother anyone, what bothers is being in ignore list.

There are some things in life, that can’t be changed –– undone. Sometimes, you don’t get the second chances.

Being alone/numbed is like a mask, that we put on for sometime and then put it off, then put it on again and so on.

Worrying about future is like ruining the present.

Mistakes are supposed to be made, trying is important; not trying at all is like, wrapping a gift and not giving it.

There are some things, that can’t be foreseen, or sometimes we don’t want to.

Making no friends or forgetting old friends is at times good hobby.

Seeking attention should not be my thing.

Stick to what you want to do, they’ll not be there to see the consequences.

Losing important documents is not a cool thing.

Rain and mornings sometimes are good.

Crushing is a lot easier and magical than falling in love.

Worrying about your abilities can take you at the top of the ladder.

Being isolated and alone is better than being surrounded by people if you want to be something in your life.

Secrets should not exist except for few.

Praying to God is like lightening the load, I should do it.

I should not ruin my poems, no matter how awful they are.

I am not born to be a loser.

It’s better being nice than rude.

Crushing crunchy leaves is the most attractive thing I’ve ever experienced.

'Tis thy day

by B.H.

By Bahadur Hussain
Published in Us, The News International.

For thee I shall pen a poem
With no Shakespearian words
Nor like any glistering quotation
Nor like the antique birthday song

But like a tittering toil by a cunning heart,
Of - they hath not heard
Long...I waited for thy day to sun
Before time flies with the wafting leaves-

I shall, inflame the candles with sun
Dress the ballooning flossy clouds
Write thy name on the glowing moon
Sprinkle the fairy dust, white the gloom

To enfold it in beguiling glossy sheets
I shall steal it from its earth
Shall I fill these airs with flowers,
Ah, 'tis thy birthday my love!

I am a bird hailing from thy window
With a gleeful poem written in secluded heart
With a glinting moon held in yellow beak
With a gleaming twinkle of love in adust eyes

O lady! Thou canst take the moon,
Only if - Thou dost take me thy lad,
For the sake of my sleepless nights
For the pains I took in toils...

For a very, very, very special friend *heart* (not girlfriend =p)

So here I am

Sunday, August 1, 2010 by B.H.

O Earth! Thou my mother,
To thee, I bow, I smirk.

But might I fly over thee
And look for bread and butter

Dare I betray thee?
A million times dare!

So here I am, ended up waiting, waiting on the muse. My sire compelth me to stay
I know my toils’ worth, I do ask not for it. And I want no words to lose.

But what hinders me is the time
Appears a poet in disguise
A boy with cauldron of rhymes
The boy who believes in vat of lies –– fairytales, rainbows, falling stars and butterflies
Hath turned out to be lies
Oh why!

So here I am, O World

Waiting on the sun
Darkness all unfurled
The day’s just begun.
World torn asunder,
Amidst the white-hot flashes
I hear the rolling thunder,
I look down upon the ashes.

So here I am, Heaven!
Waiting on a prayer!
The bread that wouldn’t leaven
The pain I couldn’t bear.

Inside I know the truth
But my sins are not atoned
I, a prisoner of my youth
Thou, the king upon his throne

Here I am. Away, away from clichés like hurt and pain.
Numbed wholly, and they call me insane.