crescent-shaped candles

Wednesday, December 28, 2011 by B.H.

By evening, (it’s when I wake up) it’s violet…all over. And BANG! The light goes out, which (ironically) makes things more beautiful. As December wears on, the weather in Islamabad is getting (un)pleasantly dry in a horribly cold way. Winters’ keen tooth bit me too, among others’. And I have been sniffing and coughing ever since. I wake up…and brush my teeth and just feel this insane urge to slap my cheeks with the aftershave. I look in the mirror and then I look away and look in the mirror again, then I look away again, feeling worse. (Did you know that the objects in mirror are always farther than they appear?) I get dressed and comb my hair. And then look in the mirror again. ‘Why don’t I look devastatingly handsome anymore?’. ‘But still something, eh!’, ‘Or maybe, too sharp?’. And so I rid my head of my anxieties and insecurities for a while. As I shake it.
Nom. Nom. Nom. Munch. Munch. Munch. Pancakes. Just one large bite on each slice does it. As though chewing the wood with iron teeth (if that’s even legit). Reaching at work. Occupying the station. Few games of Table Tennis. Two cups of my imperfect tea. Few strangers ogling as if I have come from the Mars (They can’t possibly know that, can they?). I go through the day (or should I say…night?) just like that. But last night, being a rebel that I am, I bought an icecream but just after just a few licks, few drops of drizzle ruined it but I still licked the leftover crummy slush of sweet cream and water shamelessly. I hang with usual people with unusual accents. That crack newer jokes. Talk loud. And put on big smiles. All this while, I keep on thinking if I cross someone’s mind…somewhere out there? Or just a passing thought? Something about me? Never knowing what’s happening or should I even fix this? I don’t even know what’s absent? What need to be fixed? Anything? Nothing? Or maybe everything? 
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Saturday, December 24, 2011 by B.H.
A pair of sottish eyes, watching over an outline of delicate drapes swaying tardily in silence so deep that I could hear the moonlight striking on the window. Every wrinkle of that ceaseless frown casting an insufferable fragrant desire. Too frail to even go near. Distant, like fireworks. Serene. Exploding emotions, awing the world. Shrieking words on the papers that hold no meaning now. Let him be free. For once. 
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Alone

Thursday, December 22, 2011 by B.H.


In the sky, the sun and the horizon reach a truce and a kind of transformation takes place that engulfs every care as soon as the call for the evening prayers is heard. And the kids who had been playing – get called in one by one…just like the birds…how they vanish into thin air just as the twilight glow of my morning engulfs everything completely. Like those kids who were made to discontinue their play, I’ve started to resent the nights too. But we need not. As lively as the day looks, as much as you enjoy a conversation with a lovely friend, it has to end at some point. Everything is notoriously variable.

Because today, I learnt that nothing bad ever happens when you are made to adjust in some seemingly boring place. And I'm left with my insecurities and anxiety that evilly stick their tongues out at me in the end…nothing ever happens if you are forced to live in another world with things you detest. Things just start looking interesting, in a slow motion though…like those autumn leaves falling through the air…like soot wiggling in the winds.

It’s not as hard as it looks to leave your favorite place and head for the difficult ones. It’s good to keep moving instead of staying there and spending your whole life going in one direction. It’s good to keep moving. And sometimes, standing there. Alone.
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A rainbow is a rainbow and will always be a rainbow...

Saturday, November 26, 2011 by B.H.


I’m still a rainbow like one from two years ago… I prefer to be an original instead of trying to be like others. If I am like others, that’s only by coincidence. I’m a rainbow who’s become a bit narcissist. My day starts with alarms, Regina Spektor’s Us, it’s been four months now…though it’s not hard to wake me up even in winters when the sleep is prettier than the most soothing serenades.
I am not much of a couch potato, but I love to watch some telly on weekends, I read newspapers and I know what happens in this country, I have opinions too…but I usually refrain from making opinions and I stay quiet. I read magazines…though I am still not as fine about reading as I should be, most of my storybooks are unread but poetry books are read at least twice, I own two Holy Books, one in English. I am not really perfect when it comes to that, you know? I admit I skip prayers which I shouldn’t…but at least I try not to be a bad human being.
Among things that winters bring, I like the sweet-smelling orangeness of divine oranges, besides cappuccino coffee, crunchy leaves in the start, foggy pathways, flu affected voices and the fascinating mess in my room, it is one beautiful thing that I associate with winters, there’s a roguish mingle-mangle of sweet and sour delectability that comes with oranges. I still prefer sweet tea, water and juice especially grape juice over soda.
I am not much creative, I used to paint, and I used to write, mad stuff and never ending stories and then those stories about people who don’t exist and those about people who shouldn’t exist and…I don’t do much of both now. Oh well.
I like people who start conversations – for no reason. I always get the feeling that these people are the friendliest people on planet Earth. And sometimes, I like people who start conversations with a compliment. I like neckties…I have one for every shirt in my wardrobe. I don’t judge people by their footwear or clothes though it tells a lot which can be sometimes completely wrong.
I used to have a little feline until one unfortunate day I noticed she was gone or maybe stolen…and then mum bought a pretty baby rose-ringed parakeet and it flew away too after few weeks like they always do and I haven’t had any pet since then. I have very few friends…to be fair. They are the nicest people you’ll ever know, I keep my windows open to them even when the sun is not at a friendly angle…but I try that the light falls on them in the white silver winters and hope that it melts into delighting springs. They are people – worth dying for, people worth living for… 
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Marvel

Saturday, November 12, 2011 by B.H.
You have the same peachy face after all this time, only a bit wrinkly now. You still drink in every lifelike nonsense no matter how irrelevant. I still see the tender folly and bright violet wandflowers adorned with myriad love in your tawny-brown eyes. The same somber expressions but surprisingly cheery when you feel like it, strangely mellow on some days - especially on rainy days, glowering when you read or write, deep in thought when you listen to your favorite songs and endlessly vacant when you walk. You have subtly deepened in a manner that I have too. And it's cute how you don't try to hide your teeth anymore when you laugh. Only your blackish-brown hair has changed in color, they seem faintly light and weak. Your dresses are still more stylish than you are but not a lot of people know about that. And humor, still hard to get but then, I have the same problem too. You're unearthly, lost in your own literary world, I love the songs that you sing in your enchantingly wild voice as you play the uke. And how you smell the old, frayed pages of the books before you read them. You're you and I live in a beautiful world.
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whipping boy

Tuesday, November 8, 2011 by B.H.
You know how goats can be creepy to some thickos. Can they not see, how incessantly innocent looking creatures God has made them and when you go near them, they stop ruminating and pause to stare at you with their huge and vacant eyes and sweetly bleat 'how do you do sir?' sort of sounds with their honeyed voice? And how some of them smile at you and shy away? How lovely individual characters and intelligence they possess, it makes me want to hug them. I love goats even though they can be thoroughly ungrateful like this one from my neighborhood, he used to eat all day long and bleat clamorously throughout the night and I was sort of glad when they killed him and it happened just a few hours ago and now I will savour his majestic mutton notwithstanding the fact that I do not have any fond admiration for it.


Well, Eid's over, and everyone's probably got rid of their goats, cows and camels including my loser neighbour who was too lazy to find a butcher and thus gave me another sleepless night. And now when I have this golden opportunity to lie down on this softest and best invention attributed to mankind called bed, I find it hard to sleep for alien reasons. I can feel the meek pain of this dull weariness in my body but my brain is alertly functional as though the shut off button of this scummy organ is broken. So, I imagined a paradise in my head with two glorious gardens and two gilded streams of honey and tried to imagine a random love song by Elvis Presley playing in the backdrop but all I could hear was the bleating of this daft goat from my neighborhood! I wonder when will this ghost of that daft goat stop haunting and let me be calm as a child in dreamless slumber! Sigh. I can really use a wish right now...
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Saturday, July 16, 2011 by B.H.



If she is –– to weave a cambric dream
On the side of a stream – in the meadow green
With no crinkles –– nor any needlecraft
Tracing a stark pattern of my felicitous grimace
And so that lady is forever mine.

If she is –– to glean in a sack of linen
The battalions of rippling scarlet harvests
And – to stir that all in the heather mixture
For me alone – on the leaf-crested ground
And so that lady is forever mine.

If she is –– to show me a purified town
Inside the piquant water or the sea chain
Washed grounds – by her so many tears
And dispersed nuggets that shed off her eyes
And so that lady is forever mine.




- B. Etch.
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Learning to Fly

Monday, May 30, 2011 by B.H.

I might not go to heaven because the worldly concerns have tinged my life but when the Earth will disband, I’d just hope to get a chance to say hi to you and, I won’t feel good if I didn’t get a chance because, I would absolutely hate it. No explanations. Gandhi said, whatever you do in life – will be insignificant but it’s very important that you do it, ‘cause, no body else will. Just forget the second part. If you could imagine the deeds hidden behind the misty glass of amnesia and people would not have the time to wipe and peek through it. It’d be impossible, like looking for a red dirt grain in a desert. Lost Turkish boxwood filled with memories? So why not stop fixing this jigsaw puzzle and wake up every morning like it’s the first morning of your life and look closely at the world around you and find your place in it? And when the self-deceit becomes difficult and you feel like saying hurtful things, when you’re fed up with practicing nice and fine things; and you neither want to hold on to rites nor try to create something new to follow. It’s all part of transforming into something better, because we’re never finished, we always change, from good to better, from young to old. Every day, you experience new things that affect your thinking process or maybe it’s just me. Setting new digits in my brain as my age, turning from eighteen to nineteen, thinking that I’d be respected, planning to do new things, like…to never spare a kid calling me “Uncle” and not caring about those poor lads I’d called that years ago and especially the ones who still dislike being called one? Life should be more beautiful now that I have turned nineteen, but it’s a shame that I’m still a teenager. Well, life isn’t a cup of hot chocolate. Turning nineteen for the first time and they did not have any lucrative or scholarly birthday gifts to offer me except for one person. But then again, everything is fair like Karma. But I can squeeze the joy out of it. With all the thoughts of love and appreciation that I might never get, I can still make something nice out of it. I will always do what I have always done. Create distance and stick my tongue out to attachments because attachments are the root of all the misery in your life and it’s a liability. Instead I will just smile while watching Ben Ten on TV and playing video games with my siblings, take pleasure in trying to count the spirals of the ceiling fan, in reading newspapers in the hot summers’ noondays while listening to the heavenly melodies of my father’s choice and laughing like hyaenas at the wittiest jokes and crying like babies over smallest of things – with their blown up pinkish chubby cheeks. And remember the old days when we used to watch the shooting stars in twilight with awe. And the dusty yellow pale moon and its shimmering in the pool. And dewdrops on lilies. The musk. And the pleasure while trying to make a goat laugh on Eid-ul-Azha’s day. And the frown of a rose-ringed parakeet. Teenage infatuations and the bittersweet feelings of crimson pain. I will count my blessings and write them down for the time when I will need them. But for now, I need sleep. Lots of it.

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Noon

Tuesday, May 17, 2011 by B.H.

The crow upon the block on an ardent day

There swiftly perches

And shaft of the light of a higher temperature

Kisses womanly grimace

There lives a soul in frigid hour of mind

Too dull to notice

The nap of an infant – the crowing of a babbler

Remembering a wraith

A shade lingers upon that honeyed soul

As when on noonday

And then drifts away – the another cloud too

As we love to estimate

The consistency of the variable shades

In false mathematics

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Rose petals on grave

Monday, May 16, 2011 by B.H.

Look at you! You look like a happiness-deprived person, insanely coveting the energizing source like you would hope for a frosty bottle of your favorite drink while wandering in a scorching desert. I guess everything would be pretty funny without attachments, I mean that – in both ways. I feel like, I’m caught in a twister; flying around countless spirals. Circles, with no end to them. It’s not pleasant. My fingers scrabble at my throat to loosen the tension of this invisible cord that is choking me and I don’t find it.


I’ve spent my all day hoping that I’d feel better because I have a worldly end to attain. This fever of resentment has affected me worse today but tomorrow you’ll see me at bay. I have so many strangest words to write off – tonight – but I’m not going to do that – like always. Enough poetic bullshit! Why do I always have to sound like a moron? Every cloud has a silver lining and this cloud has one too –– because I have so many things on my list that I won’t even have the time to think about things that don’t matter anymore. And that’s it.

I think I’m okay now.

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...

Thursday, May 12, 2011 by B.H.

Being friends with those guys is worse than picking baby poop and I don’t know why I even compared picking baby poop with something like that, seriously! The other day, I had the sheer misfortune of watching this horrible movie “Yes man” and while I was having that nightmare, they called, “dude, we are going to The Hills to watch the whole city from there. We got everything. You down?” and before I could think of something to say, “Cool. We’ll pick you up.” *hangs up*. And there, I smoothly managed to ruin my day because I thought saying no to things brings bad things in life. Oh how I regret watching that movie. I disdain such “hang outs”, I even hate the word and especially with those emo looking morons! It’s just. Totally ridiculously absurd. And now, I unwaveringly believe the mystical idea of following your heart and staying away from the stuff you know you will regret in the long run. There was an unusual difference in “his” style of telling stories and of ridiculing the others that night. And then they all started saying things I loathe to hear. They were attempting so pathetically to come at each other as if their whole lives were at stake. Oh forget the eating-up-everything-with-bare-hands-and-then-cleaning-the-hands-with-my-awesome-black-shirt because you have become a bare faced jackass, my old chum, what was that all talking of funny clips posted on social networking website part about? Lame. And there were oh-so-pathetic attempts on lamest jokes ever heard. What the heck was that mimicking Mr. Bean part about, while everyone watched you in pity? Why were you smoking tobacco, my old chum? What are you like 17, right? My old chum, you were the worst character and very uncool when you were calling me ‘your boyfriend’ because you had nothing else to bitch about. Now please tell me, which lunatic person proclaimed that old is always gold and old pals are mystically united with a holy thread and nothing can part them when I can see that you’ve become moth-eaten in your hostel in just two years. Sometimes, cute chicks grow into wild and ugly biddies and you’re that wild and ugly biddy and when you’re like that, you should understand that people can get scared to death when you open your mouth. Silence is your only option, it’s golden! And then there were my pals Qz and Saim, who were quiet but they had this huge grin on their faces unlike me, I don’t know what were they thinking but I didn’t find my perfect cushion to fall on – in anyone. Nope.

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Mr. Friendly

Tuesday, May 10, 2011 by B.H.

Maybe, it’s insomnia that’s making me write on my blog when everyone’s catching some Z's. Even though, Daddy told me not to use computer for a month, I’m here. Sigh. Look at me, how ill-disobedient kid I have become. But what do you expect me to do when you know that I haven’t gotten even a pinch of sweet slumber in two 24-hour intervals? 48 hours straight! Not that, I’ve started to look like a zombie or weird looking unicorn or something, I just like to complain, I guess.

Like you know I’m not Mr. Friendly and all. Something happened yesterday, it was one of those days when I feel like hiding myself in some corner away from people or going to my favorite place, that is my room – right away.

It seemed all he knew was that he was having “some fun” so he humiliated me in front of 25 strangers who could easily guess that I just wanted to go home and I didn’t feel safe. Were I not a gentleman, I would have done something terrible. And maybe, that’s why I don’t get attached to people. And from now on, I don’t give a damn. I don’t want to “hang out” with them anymore. Oh well, Lydia says there’s a difference between being funny and being a-hole just for fun. You rock my friends but I’m going to create a little difference and I’m sorry for that. Rejoice! You guys are too great to be my friends. Goodbye. I have so much to write here, good things and bad things but I’m afraid I’m running out of time. Oh well.

In other news, I think I’ve lost my sense of humor. Well, I know, this news is too timeworn and all, like I care. So, we shall be attending 4 weddings this summer. It’s going to be so much fun because, they are all my relatives - my ‘that cousin’ and his sister who also happens to be my cousin LOL! And Brown Suger who happens to be my maamoon and his sister who is my Khala. These are 4 separate marriages with different people. *laughs* Well, that’s enough for now, news when I’m hurt, not when I’m not. Ha.

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Where am I and how far is it to heaven?

Monday, May 9, 2011 by B.H.

Where am I and how far is it to heaven?

I’m ready to go; I had fastened the Belt

Too long ago!

So letting it go –– and crossing the brink ––

Bonnets may blow –– in the wind!

For I dwell not anymore –– upon Graven Ink

Old –– we grow with Desires that float to sink ––

Eventually though.

But – dare I steal the quill feather ––

of your white-hot hat, ma’am?

So the ink could flow –– to heal the kink.

Where am I and how far is it to heaven?

How odd it sounds!

Like those violet rifts ––

Within the grey clouds in cerulean sky

Exceptions!

Goodbye to the life I used to live

Kiss the Flowers and the Hills for me ––

Bid the Rainbows goodbye!

And look upon the times just once

When I tended the daisies for you ––

‘Twas the smallest hour of all

That felt longer than a century ––

Stepped onto the falls together

And brushed the summers by.

I will send You – this Gem from my ring ––

How dim it sounds –– like the murmur of the Bee –– on a rainy day –

Rustle of the fencing –– in the longest night

I’m ready to go to the town –

Strewn with the Down

Where autumn leaves glow as ruby across the walkways

And there! The poetess of my dreams!

Such a small room she keeps.

Almost contented people. Bliss, Oh Lord!

Where am I and how far is it to heaven?

How fair it sounds!

When I lie down and hear the murmur of Nature ––

And sleep ––

On the heavenly grounds.


- B. Etch.

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Oh prancing letters!

Saturday, April 30, 2011 by B.H.

Oh prancing letters! – aggrieving the mind,

Waltzing upon the – bending stream,

Meaning – ivory tippet of that lady kind –

Nor the zilch essence of a forgotten dream.

All the letters –– I can remember

Are not as fine as this ––

Musings of plush ––

Velvet-textured –– square paragraphs,

Profundity –– as deep –– as dying crimson ––

Scattered on the canvas ––

Hid in the magic box ––

And in the splashes of mincing bucketfuls ––

And sometime –– when thou playest a tune ––

With that buzzing bee of Potwar

In sleep

Yet upon thy golden palms ma’am ––

Each dawn is last, thou dost say.

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Nighttime

Wednesday, April 20, 2011 by B.H.

Like, when lilac-colored cotton curtains sway to and fro – and the moves are contemporized with the western winds. When strands of light leak through the gilded rifts from behind the curtains magnifying the aura. It is queasy, strangely, when the eyes are fixed on the rotted posy of endearing flowers – lying on the checkered floor.
...
Feeling nothing but numbness – standing alone…surrounded by the countless mirrors – reflecting countless sickish dark shapes and shadows squeaking something God knows what over and over again. Countless hairy clawed fangs filled with poisonous hatred. And on my right hand, they reflect the unorganized modern furniture covered with the off-white sheets paled by the dirt in a mellowly lit room and different scattered shades of inkiness and decorated with poison ivy in numerous strange looking pots. Thinking…about the pictures of us while passing beneath the ebonies, about the secrets that fled the hearts and wiggled freely with the winds and vanished inside them.
...
There’s too much anger in the winds tonight, beating back everything, papers squirming violently, trees flickering back and forth as if to grasp something other than the darkness. Trying to haze over my thinking. It is not merry because, merry it is not. Hands of the clock are speeding – until the moment that is supposed to absorb everything inside it, from the largest piece of the furniture to an empty packet of chocolate chip cookies lying on the floor.

-
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Railroad Tracks

Tuesday, April 12, 2011 by B.H.
I’m kind of boring, aren’t I? I don’t make sense and it occurred to me recently that I don’t have much to say most of the times I just let people carry the conversation and chip in a little bit here and there. I can’t figure out where the offset is and where the end. Neither can I slow it down like motion picture so that I can pinpoint something from it and make an opinion about it or tell myself that this is where the problem lies. I did not know how’s it like having a head filled with air, now I know.

Frankly, I’m just a silly boy who pretends to be genuinely smart and thinks he knows everything but in reality he knows nothing about anything. I make mistakes everyday and now it appears I have started a series of mistakes linked to each other like a railroad of hassles that does not end ever, like a yon structure made out of lego-set that you can’t help rebuilding again and again. Daisy chain of mistakes that I can’t, just can’t stop building. My railroad is deceiving me this time, it looks the same old rusty and drear something – wherever I look at it from. Like every daisy looks alike, innocently alike. Arousing smiles. Ingenuously deceiving.

So help me Lord, I beg.
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From My Book Of Dreams

Wednesday, March 16, 2011 by B.H.
I have seen,
The nights being showered with the scent -
Of when the lady-of-the-night blooms,
And when the desires become fragrant,
Under indigo skies and salmon clouds -
And in azure eventides...
Pressed summer damask roses,
In the notebooks of the wishful thinkers...
I have felt
Summers' winds blazing away -
The eye sockets of elderly souls...
I have seen,
The lush energy of rippling of -
The very first ripe strawberry...
And strawberry geranium hiding -
The patches of soil in the backyard...
I have seen,
The emptiness and sunshine -
My guests - on the same day...
Aircrafts spewing hazy stallions-shaped clouds,
In the month of March...
And thorny bushes bruising the bosoms -
Of freshly arrived lovebirds...
And paintings of dreamt up fantasies...
I have seen,
People searching for truth, innocence -
And even God - in mortals...
I have seen and wondered,
And wondered some more...
On ivory sand deserted beaches,
In the violet-coloured Mornings...
And while treading carelessly -
Over the scattered daisies...
And yes, I have seen,
Withered daisies, barren lands...
And people watering them -
With tears...
I have seen,
People ageing in moments,
First, soulless manikins,
And then forehead wrinkles, hollow bones,
And twitching eyelids till the end...
I have felt,
The crimson-yellow feeling -
Of deaths of humans...
And of missing the better days -
In the best days...
I think, I have seen -
You in my dreams...
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Words on Paper

Sunday, February 27, 2011 by B.H.

Paper neath the pen,
Looks at me with a knowing smile,
Asks me the reason behind my facial expression.
Paper neath the ink,
Tells me it's okay, for haps can be wrong at times,
And for that, we are not to be blamed..
Words lay naked on papers to be read.
Words written in silence, in mute testimony
As whispering winds play with poetic woes
The amalgam of mellow serenades between our hearts
And the howling chilly sounds of sorrow...
And sonorous tunes played on Cupid's bow
Words lay naked on papers to be read.
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Verbosity

Thursday, February 24, 2011 by B.H.

I'll tell you what a dream's made of... The moment when a snowdrop windflower glistens against the Moonshine. An enchanting Ecstasy, a piece of mystic Paradise. Few prunella modularis' Chirps on a farsighted pine. Amalgam of feelings in an Exalted saint's disguise. It takes the air and moons on for none but a mislaid Joy. It yens for a lily-white daisy - the blood-red Dream. Then a fulminant Drift of fear and a winged-heart ally. That's how a dream open its eyes. But how it breaks is different than it could ever seem. A Cut of reality, pitiless Pain or glistening crimson Gleam, sorrow of Solitude and horror of Denial are different stories. It's like a funeral of Warmth that forbade the Cold. Funeral Of hope that shaped a shangri-la away from Trouble. A Dearth of tears on a mournful eve or when the night Trembles. The night whose hint is a long time but Wave is the year. And like a perpetually mazed sorrowful Twinkle in her eyes or when the Auburn Wisps whiten and when a coven of faeries Tumble down. When glossy Clouds of candyfloss glory flight afar. Because dewdrops are the games of morning-field of gazing grain - like Emeralds lolling down the bedewed blades of grass But there's a world dear, there's a world!


Last night I had a very bad dream about me failing in the exams again. I woke up at 3 in the morning and studied to satisfy the little frightened kid that lives inside me - like those oddballs I used to laugh at. Then the frightened child cowered in the corner of my bed and tried to sleep but just could not so I wrote those lines *points the index finger at the long-winded lines above*. I just had to do something with my sleepless night. To add to it, it was my exam today, Business Taxation. Business Taxation is my favorite subject and that is because of that awe-inspiring kind of professor. The exam did not go that well though. I was sad for a while but then I came out and found out that all my friends were rubbing their heads with a weird look on their faces and told me that it went horrible and all like all guys say after an exam. They said the topper will have to take the rest to Pizza Hut. And you know what, it'd be Ce or B.H. We are cool like that. I know I should not be fretting about it here and should be sitting next to my dad watching the match on TV or maybe I should be studying something for the next exam. Wait a second? Am I fretting? Nope! But I just can't feel it. A little misstep can make me feel so low.. I'm so tired.. I'm really tired. I want to sleep forever and a day! Someone slap me or something!
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daisy-bush

Saturday, February 19, 2011 by B.H.

Today was incredulously dull. I felt oddly unstrained. Strange because, I have gotten back into the race... race where time begins to matter, the blood in your veins races with the hand of the clock face on your wall, cell phone, every screen, building - everywhere - every second. The tick tock reminds you of everything you must do before sleep and significantly, of curbing any further missteps that can throw you off balance and turn your world upside down.



I want to write it all and watch the flow of the ink and the thoughts of this glum mind, the black fluid and the glowering thoughts spread across the lily-white page in archaic bards' runes. Every move of the quill pen smooth and refined. Neat.  I want to. But,  I'm contagiously distressed so I will  just send the signals of distress over to you.
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Spam

Monday, February 14, 2011 by B.H.
Not after very long, some people unlock their true selves when they are done pretending to be good (read: being what they are not). And how shamelessly they expose. Normally, there are chances that the smashingly flamboyant show of truthfulness at every step of a person has to do something with their inner trait called selfishness. Like today I saw a person opening up the real them. You! I don't really care you know but I have a problem with you. Notion is simple. I think people like you should not exist, your existence is something ridiculously absurd, it's beyond my understanding. The fact 'you exist' is a fact due to some serious technical error. "Your existence" is painful and dangerous to human race  Do this wonderful world a favor and please die. You broke a friend's heart, you treat people like trash and I can't be happy when one of my friends is not. Even if he weren't a friend, what you did to a person was totally unfair. I wish your would be half witted better half is a would be bald-headed gentleman but you're too blindly in love to notice that. I really hope you step on a Lego set barefooted. How I wish you have a writer's block workaday and especially during exams. I wish you suffer from the real insomnia. I wish you forget your admit card in your favorite subject's exam. I hope the last page of your favorite 1000 page novel is missing. I hope you write a poem and your favorite poet plagiarizes it. I hope you download the wrong torrent everytime you try to download Black Swan, you wanted my DVD right? Die! I hope there's no loo when you barely can stand. I hope your boyfriend dumps you for some Razia Bibi from Sialkot. I hope your daddy is in your bookface with fake account named Ryan Bieber and you don't know. I hope Mark Zuckerberg himself bans your ugly existence from bookface. I hope your driver hits on you nonstop. I hope you never see a shooting star. I hope you live a life without chocolates. I hope it rains dead crows on you. I know you wronged. We all do, but there's a limit, you cross it like you don't give a fudge. I really hope you make amends. I seriously do - not because I care for you or something. But because I care for the other people around you. Ugh. Enough attention.
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A cissy's 12-hour interval

Friday, January 28, 2011 by B.H.

Today my fave-friend the Ce got humiliated by Mr. Coolheaded Bald-pated for asking a question about something that Mr. Coolheaded Bald-pated was about to discuss.

Today, I learned all the three methods of recording cost entries viz. Lifo, Fifo, Average cost of material in material control ledger card and then posting the entries in separate ledgers under the mentioned methods and few more things.

Today, I smiled my best smile at something that’s a routine now.

Today, I told a friend what the word “sissy” actually means.

Today, some cyber friend I know for few months, asked me to meet him.

Today, Aimz made me a sandwich. That was quite unsolicited, but I ate it anyway, it was so nice of someone so not-really-nice-to-me.

Today, only Ce and I of fantastic-five were present and we had a great time together, we went to the café, we tried going in the Masters’ block to steal a magazine from their library that we couldn’t find in our library but we just didn’t go there because... Ce felt famished and we had to go to the café.

Today I told Ce that “Suck” isn’t a bad word, we, the friends should use it quite often… at home...ahem. He was actually convinced by the way I adorned my arguments.

And Usama was sick.

Today, I took part in an exhibition that is expected to take place in a few days. I have 70 Us’ issues and Bill has about 30 issues of Spider and few issues of Newsweek. Ce told me that he will take care of my stall, because that’s what friends do.

And I love it when some professor is being really nice to some dumb students. I realize that it’s a random blah. But, do I care?

Today, Doctor Saif was not wearing his glasses for some obscure reasons; everyone wondered what might have happened to him last night. So, majority couldn’t focus on what he was teaching.

Today, paper boy didn’t throw the newspapers (at us). I did not phone his boss about it.

Today, they did not publish Poets’ Corner in Us magazine.

Today, I found two pages on which few poems and love quotes were written, and a few doodles of an emo boy and a girl were there too. Poems were well written and sad. Ce told me that someone’s going to fail this year. I just smiled and prayed for that person in my head. And outside, I LOL’d.

Ce and I thought about playing volleyball, just thought.

Today sun’s not shinning. And it’s not really cold.


Today, I learned that they have changed Eman’s name, it’s “Raina” or “Ryna” now. Cute little infant Aww.

Today, Brown Sugar tried to do a prank but 29th of February is an oldie now, try again in next leap year Brown Sugar. But, I pretended I did not know. I like it when they take me as a fool.

Today, I haven’t still changed my uniform.

Today, I received a text message in the morning.

It’s three o’clock already and the light has no plans of going out.

Today, I thought about blogging but I had nothing to write about but I did it anyway.


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Of Bards and Dreams

Thursday, January 20, 2011 by B.H.

I do not have the words to mantle the stunningly splendiferous –– graven sentiments –– with scented sandalwood of imaginations –– embedded in the visions I woolgather and in my hazy thoughts, I searched…I walked through hollow and hilly lands and looked for the needful words, I read every page of my skylark’s songbook but no word could draw what was before my eyes. That was when I secretly smiled at the feebleness of words –– before what my eyes could see, what I could feel. It was so much easier for me to give in to my visions than to grapple with – to mantle them with those weak, so frail words. So much easier. So, I gave in.
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Dreams

Saturday, January 15, 2011 by B.H.
All people dream, but not equally.
Those who dream by night in the dusty recess of their mind,
Wake in the morning to find that it was vanity.

But the dreamers of the day are dangerous people,
For they dream their dreams with open eyes,
And make them come true.

By D.H. Lawrence
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Amongst the Hiccoughs

Wednesday, January 12, 2011 by B.H.
Hey bloggy *pokes* been a while?
I feel bottled up right now but since I’ve logged in, I should leave a note. The days are going strange rather quaint. I, daily stare at and inside my olde worlde books and stuff the theoretical stuff off the pages – in my already saturated brain. At times, brainpan literally hurts. I hiccough on the sight of few theories, few problems that are unimaginable to me, stochastic digits and the spine-chilling definitions. But, it’s okay; I’m kind of, sort of…maybe exaggerating the fix. In reality, I like the situation. It is fun when you are (not really) alien to something and you’re grappling to master it, personally I like this practice. My sibling keeps on reminding me that I really have to work hard this time and every time he does so, I give him a go-away look, but he doesn’t understand the look-language and…you know he starts boring me. Speaking of boredom, you know I attend a lot of lectures, few at college and the rest at sweet home, few of them, I heed to and the rest, I hear but…so you can view the picture. Baba is in Karachi these days so I don’t get that motivational stuff that revolves around the gist that is “boosting the upshot” on regular basis these days.

Apart from all this, I’m growing a love-plant for literature again, read “for freaking pawn of Satan” which I’ll have to clip before it grows taller and bigger than one could imagine. Probably, because, I can’t afford distraction atm. I remember last year, when I used to write cool stuff on the last pages of my note books. Well. Must not talk of that.

There were times when I used to have nightmares regularly. Weird times. Nowadays, I covet for dreamless sleeps and I haven’t had one in an infinitely long time. The sleep –– just like a little death with no vision seen in between –– and each day a new reincarnation. A reason to thank the Almighty Allah. Dreams are bad for health – for my health.

I start my day very early. Forgetting unneeded memories, some people and forgiving is one of the first things that I do, that’s easy for me because I have a weak memory; thus, I take “the only advantage” off it. And I have been watching a lot of movies lately, well that’s not a news, is that bloggy? The news is, I’ve been buying them. Because, downloading movies has become like ew for me. You should know that I dislike things for no good reason and also, I like things for no good reason. Enough about me. I think I should cease writing this post now – the first post of this year. So…well, goodbye. =)
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