Sunday, February 29, 2004

trickles of red,
carving their way along my hand,
down my finger she falls...

wine. tracing a path to nowhere,
aimlessly, darts left
around the bone.
i can make it dance.
left..then right, up and down the ridges.

stretch. A wrist next,
to be bound in scarlet,

splash. which hit first?
the tear, or the drop? we'll never know -
i'll never learn how to play with your blood.
time shuffles by,
beams of moonlight - unable to penetrate the haze,
orange sodium is our guide,
corner to corner,
street to street,
lost little rabbits, caught in the headlights.

sleep eludes thought,
or thought killed sleep,
who the murderer, who the murdered?

in bed.
alone with their faces, hands, voices,
watching, clawing, baying at the moonlight.
is it the pain that makes you real?

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

I must be sick...I want to suffer. Not because I want your pity, but because I want some escape...God, from this guilt! If i were them then maybe, maybe I wouldn't feel this way. People are dying for no reason!! theres never been justification for it.....never, ever. not this way.
if i can't help them, God, atleast let me die! anything, something, to rid me of the feeling that I've only got to this life by stepping through the blood of those before.....let it be my blood. How do you escape a fate you have no control over?

Monday, February 23, 2004

I used to be able to skim past it....

Two Iraqis die in Mosul attacks
MOSUL, Feb 22: Two Iraqis were killed and three wounded in separate attacks in the northern Iraqi city of Mosul, including one against the home of the provincial police chief, the police said on Sunday. ...

Palestinian suicide bomber kills eight
AL QUDS, Feb 22: A Palestinian suicide bomber killed eight people on a crowded bus here on Sunday on the eve of World Court hearings into a controversial barrier Israel says will ensure its security against such attacks. ...

Post-poll clashes claim seven lives
TEHRAN, Feb 22: At least seven people have been killed in southern Iran after sporadic violent clashes followed the announcement of results of Friday's parliamentary elections, reports and officials said on Sunday. ...

Massacre in Uganda
KAMPALA, Feb 22: Ugandan rebels shot and burnt to death 192 people in a camp for displaced civilians in their bloodiest attack in years, a local official said on Sunday. ...

In the matter of a single page of newsprint: 209 dead, 69 injured. I used to be able to read past it. When I was a kid. I'd go straight to the funnies, and delight in Garfield and Bizarro and Ziggy, and then complete the Jumble and feel smart. Then as I grew older I'd start reading the front page...but the numbers, they'd never register. "Eleven dead in Karachi violence." The numbers meant was just like it hadn't really happened. Eleven people. Died. Khatam. The End. Never meant a thing to me. I must've seen the blood of thousands of people on those pages. When did people lose their respect for life like that? When did it just become information? Why did they die? Was their rhyme & reason, or was it just 'maktub'....haha. maktub. ways to explain things we don't want to. it was 'their time'. how do you know that, mr.must-lessen-guilt? Maybe it wasn't their time at all. Maybe it was time for one of those seven people in Iran to go back home to a wife and kids. Has the thought ever crossed your mind. It is not OK for people to just die...for no reason at all.

Anger. Resentment. Frustration, above all else. It's understandable that Death is inevitable, but must it be inflicted by Man on Man, must it be suicide? How can you say nothing's wrong when this is happening. Look around you. People are dying. For you. If you can't live for yourself, atleast live for the dead - the lives they never had.
My life is not my own. It belongs to you. And to the dead.

3 weeks ago it must have been, I wrote to blueroses. More and more lately, I find myself re-reading my own words, trying to believe them again. I did it once. Deep down, I still do. But in the here and now....why are people dying?


We should be happy, shouldn't we? I mean look at us...going to these nice, shiny colleges. I'm living the dream. When i get out i'll be a money making machine....except for the tiny, detail that i don't want to be. we never were the content ones...
i don't know..when i started writing this mail i had all these things to say to you. now i'm just drawing a complete blank.
don't feel guilty about living your life, br...why? just because you haven't got your chance yet? it's one thing to be miserable about things now, but quite another to consign oneself to being miserable forever. I don't feel guilty about where I am, or who I am. I feel responsibility, yes...tremendous responsibility, but no guilt. hmm..responsibility? to whom? to lots of people, i guess....ami, abu, baji, papa, myself, not least of all. And the kids named Asad dying in a back alley somewhere in the ghettos of karachi who never dream of anything but tomorrows meal.
Someone spoke to me while i was in karachi. she goes to a college in lahore...has this friend who's in college in georgia, but really isn't sure he should be there. "I really don't believe you'll end up doing something you don't want to do for the rest of your life."

life doesn't give us just one chance to do anything....if you want something badly enough, br, you'll do it. you'll sacrifice everything for it...but only if you want it badly enough. we take baby-steps towards our goals......right now even thought is rebellion. belief is outright war against life as we know it. and if you believe, you'll live the life you want to....doing all the little things you can, and waiting for the big things to come. baby-steps.
"wait for the opportune moment."
you get a cookie if you remember where thats from.

I will not change the world today. I will not change it tomorrow. I may never change it....may. But I hope i will....i do not banish the asad ten years down the line who may be in a position to do that to a place in a cell crying about the injustice of life...he will have his time. right now it is my responsibility to him to keep living. somehow. some way.

we walk that fine line....dying, living. you can switch anytime you want, kid...its just a different point of view on this crazy,stupid,constantly amazing thing we call existence.

"Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistable pastime
I took a heavenly ride through one silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life"
-Coming Back to Life, PF.

it sounds better in the song...ill make you listen to it sometime. we are not alone, br. Others have walked this road...they've felt this. they survived...somehow...some way. i believe that...i have to, because im not conceited enough to believe that im the only one capable of feeling the way i do.
you'll never be alone.

How am I going to survive this?

Saturday, February 14, 2004

Why anarchy? Why...anything? Why is anything necessarily 'wrong', asad?

Staring out my car window, on hot, sweaty karachi afternoons. The air conditioner's broken again. I'm staring at the same intersection. Shahrah-e-Faisal, Sindhi Muslim. Carpet Inn. Roma Computers. Khokas. General stores. Motorcycles weave their way through the gaps between cars, like ants threading their way through a particularly difficult piece of terrain. Beggars, showering their blessings on you, and then sometimes rapidly taking them back and damning you to hell if you didn't have that rupee to spare. Fathers telling you about their sick daughters, for whose medicines they have not the money. Apparently. Truth or Lie? Do you dare make the choice?
Did you ever feel that maybe, somehow, you could figure it out...maybe it was just something excessively simple staring at you in the face. Did you ever feel the thought slip away just as you thought you'd gotten your mind to twist quite that way?
I have. Every time i passed that particular intersection, incidentally. almost everytime. other times id close my window, id be living my life, not staring, and be too busy to care.

Everytime i wonder if something really is wrong, i think back to Sindhi Muslim and Shahrah-e-Faisal. If everything really is fine, and everything really is meant to be this way, then why did a 13yr old kid who had no right to think life was imperfect keep thinking he saw a truth turn a corner before his mind could get to it?