Your Call...

Choose all you want,

Take all you need to consider.

Have all the rush you wish for, 

And never explicate what you think.

We need no one to be alive, you and I.

I take the liberty to choose the ranting.

I take the liberty to choose extinction.

I take the liberty to free myself of compulsion,

And let there be chaos, all there could be.

Fade away, my memories so I would

Consider to re-consider my world of dreams

Mixed with realities so surreal,

And take the liberty to choose you.

And take the liberty to pick you!

Now, again I stand here,

And wait till I fall prey to understanding.

A curse I need to free us from, you and I.

And now all that's left is your call. So, take the liberty to choose all you want.

And take all you need to consider,

And take the liberty to let go.

Choose me, Pick me!

Wash away. 

Talha Minhas; 9-5-2011.

To Jane...

Shallow is the human bond,

So is the day and night.

Confused and yet so ignite.

Follow not the path of your dreams,

For you may drown when you scream

And die…

To your surprise, there is no Heaven nor Hell.

It is the end; to your plight,

Thus ends your lust for an eternal life.

Talha Minhas; August 22, 2011.

All Too Low

Covers of Heaven and Hell

Be no more as I see, now

Fading truths all over

Having no sense of security

Pity, Selfless courage and Life

Fall into semantic likeness

Bringing back the time, now

In this unending maze

Heath below me, now

Stays away for fear of anxiety

Makes appearances through dark pathways

Keeps me holding the flickering light

Soothes me no more... 

The lights are shame

Pity of darkness is lame

Covers of left-over relations and associations

Amalgamate with pseudo feelings of falling prey

Drowning into the matter highly toxic

Soothes the empty veins of bloody hands

In vain, I try to write this song of pain

The veil tears itself apart as moments pass by

Covers of selflessness be no more

And as you fade away, I fade to matter...

Dreams so surreal, and so unreal

The feeling I despise

Night befalls with its haunting thwart

Now, against I stand 

Shaking faith become so certain

What seemed real, becomes so uncertain

Fall back, drown, give up, stay down

And never come back

For when the sun rises 

The night promises it's inception, once more

Let there be darkness

Let there be all the strangeness

Let there be questions and no answers

Let there be uncertainty

Let there be no life and Drown...

Silent Beings...

“I have to be fast! There’s got to be some way out!” the man was talking to himself, and was fumbling, “Here we go!” he said and jumped outside from the window, and on to balcony and started running down fast as the armed men came in through the only door letting inside.

“Hey, you! Please, sir help me! Some guys are chasing me, they have guns with them!” the man tried to convince this person in a suit to help him. “Who are you? Who are those people? Have you called the emergency?” asked the person.

“No. I can’t. I just need you to help me! Take me somewhere safe! I can repay you, I could give anything you’d ask!” said the man shaking and out of breathe.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you! You need to call 911! I can’t help you!”

The man pulls out a gun from his pocket, and pointed at the person and whispered in his ear, while not making an impression of harassment on the public around,”I don’t have any other choice; take me to a safe place!”

“Okay, okay! Take it easy!” said the person sweating and scared as a bird.

The person took the man to his car right next to a shop in the corner of the street and drove off.

They reached outside a building; rotten, old, over-crowded and smelly. They stepped out of the vehicle, the gun kept at the back of the person by the man, and walked inside. The person lived on the fifth floor of the building in the last room of the corridor with a big pad lock on the door. They entered the room, and the person asked to be spared.

“Please, let me go. Take all you need, but don’t hurt me!” said the person almost weeping.

The man put the gun away and said,”I’m sorry, man! I didn’t have any other choice. I am in a very big trouble!”

“What do you mean?” asked the person.

“I don’t know!” said the man.

“What? Why?” came another question.

“Because I can’t remember! I woke up with a severe headache, and this girl was lying right next to me in this small room, and she was dead and a lot of blood was on her side of the bed with this gun in my hand! I don’t know where it came from, and I don’t know how I got there in the first place! Please, you have to help me! Please!” the man starts choking, and the person gets a glass of water for him from the tap right next to the burner that was in an attached kitchen.

“Thanks!” said the man.

“So, you’re saying you woke up today with a dead girl next to you in a room you’ve never been to with a gun in your hand?” asked the person.

“Yes, and then, these people start pounding the door and threatened to kill me. I ran out of the window and came down into the alley and ran into you!” justified the man,”Please, you need to help me. But don’t call the police.” pleaded the man.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room for some time, and everything stood still there; time seemed to have come to a hold and there was no voice inside except for the traffic noise coming from the outside. The person asked another question,”Did you know the people that were chasing you or the girl?”

“No, I had never seen her or those men. I barely had the time to notice the details of the place and to get my head together.” said the man.

“Do you remember something from last night? Or anything from your past life?” asked the person.

“I think I do have a little notion of my past life, but that’s too bleak. And I can’t remember anything from last night!” said the man helplessly.

“Well, try hard! You need to put stress on your mind! We might need some data to be able to help you!” yelled the person to the man.

“Well, what if I couldn’t. I am scared. There’s blood on my clothes. Clearly, I killed that woman. Those people might be her friends or police officers under cover. What if they followed us? What if they already know who I am!” the man started choking again and takes a sip of water from the glass.

“Stop! Don’t panic! That will get you no where!” the person was somewhat frustrated at the man, now and wanted to get the situation out of him. “Tell me something about your past life! I need to know something about you.”

“I don’t know; I am not very sure. I think, I am a professor, or may be a counselor. I have a picture of some young people sitting in front of me in a circle; there is a big room and there’s about fifteen people. But, it’s not clear. Let me think more about it.”

“Well, that’s good. May be you could think of something more.” said the person.

There was a noise outside the corridor, probably two people were having an argument and they were banging the walls of the room.

There’s somewhat another unrest that took the men off their situation for a second, but after a minute it stopped. Now, there was another round of silence.

The person takes off his coat and tries to shift the mood to a low intensity,”So, do you like music?”

“I do, why?” asked the man shifting his attention to answer the question.

The person goes to the music box and puts a CD in it. And a slow ‘80’s folk song starts echoing the room, and there was a sweet exotic atmosphere in the room by the music and it gets exaggerating as it goes higher. The person starts shaking his hips to catch the beat while facing the player and moves his lips to sync with the lyrics of the song as it slowly moves on. Then, with a snap, he turns to the other side where the man was. There was a loud bang of a gun shot in the dark room, and the body drops on the floor... the hand reaches out for the lights and turns the switch off. And the door slams in. There is a continuous silence, a long uncomfortable silence...

All You Know!

I don't got silver;

I don't got gold.

There's all the love; 

With me all alone.

Im trying hard;

To know it's you.

Im trying to find;

My all in you.

There seems no sure way;

I give in, again.

With all my heart; 

Drowed in pain.

I look at you;

I fail to do.

What seems like it;

I can't look at you.

Everywhere, I find you;

Can't see if it's true.

A lot of time, it's been said;

I try to see it's not true.

There are no words;

There are no sounds.

The silent I have;

Has got me abound.

Why can't you see;

It's hard to say.

For all this time;

I failed to say.

See the truth;

With compassion in eye;

I wait for you,

To say, and come by.

Talha Minhas; April 2, 2011.

What!?

  I wonder if what I think of what I love really is the thing that I would love for all the life that I would live in the future. It is a very depressing question I could ask myself, perhaps some other people may think the same. I do not entirely know why I am writing this; maybe I would like it to be read; maybe I would like for it to be published in a good paper magazine; maybe it just isn't the thing that I want it to be, but I guess that's okay. Being what you would aspire to be is really a soothing feeling; more important than this might be to actually know what you would love to be. I struggle to be a good listener, or perhaps a good speaker. But, I really start to think of the degrees one could think of when it comes to being good. I tried being a good speaker at my final project in the philosophy intro course that I took in my freshmen year at college, but I guess it all came too personal and not-so-very academic. I guess, that's what it really does to the stuff that demand an intelligible, objective work. I tried being a good listener; it pretty much is easy, but maybe not that easy. It is stupid that I tried to listen to what I may not find very interesting, but atleast now I know that. Anyway, maybe both the experiences that I had were not as bad. I know, for one thing, that I could be a good listener and a speaker, if I wanted to. There may come some set of orders, or perhaps some base-lines to do that; it could even look a little too fabricated and artificial but what the heck. I could live with the fact that I gave it a shot.

  Right now, I'm wondering if this piece needs a little conflict to it to be a better work of writing, but then I start to question do I really need to do that? Is it necessary? Would it be a chaos if I don't do that? My English professor says that a good piece of writing is the one that goes along with the flow and has a conflict there to help it go along in forward direction. Well, here is mine: I am not able to find a conflict; that's my conflict. The more I try to look for a conflict, the more I keep getting further away from the very idea of a conflict, unless driven by a gun at my head. This shows that I even have a very immature sense of humour. I remember having a conversation with my friend who is somewhat depressed by the way that he only sees things in conflict, always. The only resolution that he finds in it is revolution; and that makes me go always against him, not literally, but we argue, yes. I could not resist advocating the view that conflict is another reason for there to be harmony and a synthesis, while he argues that conflict never needs to be to have a synthesis; it could be there if it has to be, and we have to fight for it to be there. Well, this is where I stop to tell him to write a book about it. The answer that I get for this is pretty predictable: Fight for the synthesis. Why don't I find a conflict in anything, then? If there is no conflict, if there is no synthesis to be there on its own, then what is it that makes a synthesis? I think, this is logical contradiction in my statement, but really, if I don't see it, then is there no conflict? Is it only created for the sake of just being there? Do we even need a conflict to move forward? Maybe my friend is just right.

  Being there in the moment where you see a whole series of events that occur simultaneously, including the one that you experience, makes me want to think of multiple conflicts as being the cause of time moving forward. But then, is time really flowing forward like a stream, taking every shift in conflict to be the reason for it to change its course? This is stupid. If this is really it, I maybe need a new pair of glasses to see the world, or perhaps ask everyone that I am not seeing any conflict anywhere, so why do you? Or how do you? I need a thing to think at all times to feel that I am alive, to feel that I, too, am the part of that moment in which people experience multiple events. I need that thought to make me always thinking or doing something. I listen to music, I play music, I watch movies, I sing, I write, I breathe, I think, I move myself from places; is this enough for me to confirm the fact that I am a part of it all? Maybe I need a string to connect some of these events to one another to have a time-line there to inform me of how I am able to sketch the flow of the time and how the experiences are relative to me, only. But then, there's the brain doing that already by recalling all that stuff that I do or think to make the experience into the kind of rope that I demand now to connect me to the past, or perhaps to the present, if not lame it is.

  Struggling for a synthesis is what creates conflict for us and we are to be able to understand that it is not conflict that we need to resolve, but the struggle. This is not me, this is Buddha saying. I think, why not? Buddha maybe right and maybe he just wanted humans to be living for the sake of living and not for others, perhaps. This is like saying 'Dude, you have a life, go live it before it's over!' But, what is the essence of it if you don't explore the dynamics of it. And yes, if you really do find a conflict somewhere in the journey, why not just welcome it, if it's just there for you to have a paradigm shift in the course of your time-line that sketches your life, or will, or has already? This is refreshing. You find new and new conflicts and think that there is something new waiting for you on the other side. Maybe this is the conflict with me that I do not find a conflict out there to make me feel alive; and keeps me alive. Sure, it could be it. Or, it could be something other than this, but that is another conflict, right?

  So, what does it have to do with why I sometimes do not understand that what I really love to do is just not the thing that I want to do as it turns out later? You guys really have a good lot of time to go!

An Extraordinary First Experience

It was, perhaps, the most wonderful place I had ever been to . All the people were dressed well, except for some, who were probably hurt. And that women in the white dress was really a nice person to have helped that man in the wheel chair to the room. The place was really warm.


"This is a BIG house!" 
"It's not a house. It's a clinic."
"What is a clinic?"
"You don't need to ask so many questions, Love! We're going to get you checked. And then you will be just fine!"
"Who are these people?"
"They are patients."
"Why are they here?"
"To get themselves checked by the doctor!"
"The doctor?"
"Yes, the doctor!"


I don't entirely know why Maria and mother took me here, but I like this place. Mother does not seem to be in the best mood to answer all my questions, anymore.


"Hello, young man! How are you doing?"
"Who are you?"
"I am the doctor!"
"Are all these people here to see you?"
"Most of them, yes!"
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Doctor!"
"You, too. Now, tell me where does it hurt you?"
"In the left hand!"
"Does it hurt now?"
"Yes, it did at first, but Maria made it feel a little less hurt. You want to know how this happened? I made a story about it, just now; I love story-telling!"
"Sure!"


Mother was cooking in the kitchen the day when it started. I was three and saw this light flickering. I thought I might have a look at it. While trying, mother said, "You should not try to touch the fire!"
"What is fire?" 
"That glowing light is the fire."
"Why should I not play with it?"
"Because it could hurt you!"
"Why would it hurt me?"
"Because it is dangerous!"
"Why is it dangerous?"
"Because it is hot, end of discussion!"


That was five years ago. I still wish I could touch the fire, just once. But my mother won't let me. Mother still tells me the same thing whenever I express my feelings to want to see what it's like to touch the fire. I, once, even got very close to touching it, when my mother saw me and pulled me back. It was the closest I ever got to the flickering light. It was pretty hot around it, just as mother said, but I still haven't found how it was dangerous. Father once told me that it was like being in an oven. But that made me even more wanting, perhaps, because I didn't know what it was like being in an oven! 


...it was just today that I finally got to see what made it dangerous. After that experience, I could tell "It IS dangerous!" But let's back up a bit to explain how it happened. I have a lot of free time. I guess, that's what a seven year old has in excess, free time! 


This morning, when I was playing with my favourite toy car that Aunt Mary gave me as a present last November, on my birthday, mother came to me in perhaps the most beautiful dress she has in her wardrobe, with glittering jewelery all over her neck and fingers-- and ears, too! She told me that she was going with her friends to a party and that she would be a little late, so she had called Maria over to our place to baby-sit me. I didn't like the word baby-sitter for me a bit.


In a minute, the door bell rang and mother said "That must be Maria!" A chill ran across my body the moment i heard "Maria". She was a big girl and she lived in our neighbourhood. She could, sometimes, be a bully to me, which made me a bit frightened of her. I wished she wasn't on the door, but I was proven wrong when Maria came in. 


"Hello, Mrs. Saleem! How are you doing?" she asked. "I am very good, thank you!" mother replied, "And how are you?" "I am just as good, thank you!" she put in, in a hasty manner. 


And that was it! Maria was going to baby-sit me for the whole day! Mother said the last thing to me, "Be a good boy and don't make Maria have a hectic time!" And she kissed me and said, " I love you!" That made me melt! "I love you, too!" said I, and she went!


"Alright, buddy! Rules, now! No eating dust! No playing with sharp things! No messing around! No nose-picking! No yelling! No disturbing me while watching T.V.! And most of all, No being a BRAT!" ordered Maria. It was haunting! I had to make a move to make my time, a kids' time! so, an idea came into my mind. I became the perfect child! This was rewarding. Maria was pretty impressed and was convinced that I wouldn't be of much trouble for her. 
That was it! I won! I went into my room and started playing with my favourite toy car. Then, I remembered fire. The kitchen was far away from where Maria was watching T.V., and so I thought it may be a good idea to go experience what I always wanted to experience! 


I came out of my room, crossed the living room, where Maria was digged into the screen like a crazy fan of one of those guys that played musical instruments with such rage that it almost felt like they were trying to break the instruments and were crying their lungs out! And then, I entered the kitchen. For the first time, I was alone in the room that was famous for bringing me the most delicious food that mother always made!


I reached out for the stove that was pretty much of the same height as I. And lit the stove with one hand reaching for the gas and the other lighting the electric gun. With a sudden burst, the light came flickering on. It was magic! Perhaps, the most amazing experience of my life, yet! I may have had some early thoughts about it, but I guess that my intentions were solid and I was pretty determined and, somewhat, fearless, considering the fact that NO ONE was watching me! I felt great freedom! 


Anyways, I reached out for the light! And as I was growing nearer and nearer to the source, it became hotter and hotter! I may have even backed for a while, but that feeling went out as I remembered how eagerly I had wished to experience it all the time! I gave another shot at it! This time, voices came from inside me, probably saying "It could hurt you! It is hot! End of discussion!"


I don't entirely remember what exactly had happened that made Maria run into the kitchen and reach for me as I cried louder than those "crazy guys", but I could tell one thing, I had finally done it! And it, somehow, hurt so badly, that I wondered maybe that was what mother may have meant when she told me that it could hurt me! 


Maria, took me to mother's room, where she picked out a white box with a red "plus" mark that Mr. Ahmed, our maths tutor, told us represented the "Addition" function! I don't entirely know why Maria wanted to do maths at the time, but she pulled out a roll and a bottle of red juice from the box and poured it over on my fingers and then covered it with the roll tightly! And then, the pain started to fade away! As I thought, I asked Maria to teach me the trick that she just did that made me feel less painful! 


Instead, Maria yelled, "Are you crazy? I told you not to be a BRAT! you seem to not understand the word, do you?" I didn't know what to say. Maria didn't need me to answer that, perhaps. She called from the phone and in, probably, ten minutes, mother came in and I was surprised to see her home so soon! Then, she took me in a big car to this place where I met you. 


The doctor said, "I will make it go away in no time!" 


And then, he rolled off the roll and said it was pretty much in a bad shape and promised me to make it look just fine. And in a few minutes, he washed my fingers and wrapped them in a new white roll. And then, he even gave me a big lollipop! And it felt even lesser painful. The doctor hugged me and said, "You should listen to your mother when she tells you to not go near the fire or any thing that she says might hurt you, okay?" "Okay!" said I. 


And then father came in and he hugged me real tight and asked me if it hurt me and I said, "It did hurt at first, but then Maria made me feel a little less hurt, and Mr. Doctor made it feel even less hurt! And he even gave me a big lollipop for free!" Father, mother, Maria and Mr. Doctor started laughing. 


We came back home. Maria went home. And for the first time, I felt good for what Maria did for me! I will ask Maria to teach me the trick she did this evening, for sure! 


"I finally know, now, what it really is like to touch "fire"! And I think I will be carefull around it the next time and the time after that AND the time after that for all of my life!" 


"Go to sleep, my love! It is getting late." 


That's my mother. I should go now. Night Night, dear diary! I love you! And I love you Mr. Bear and you too, my car! Good night!

The Ultimate Trait

It was a Sunday morning. The sun was partially lit, as winter was right on its threshold to soak the world in it's cold, streaking chilly fog, which I have loved for as long as I could remember remembering anything for the first time. I had to go to the open-market to get some fruits and vegetables my mother had asked me to get for her to make a perfect meal that all of my family loves to have every beautiful sunday evening. I entered the market and was really astonished to see a good number of people, which, most certainly, implies that I go to the market very seldom, who were buying what they thought was the most delicious food they would like to have for the day, since everyone has work lined up for the following day, they could not afford to choose to do the task the following morning. Plus, Sunday mornings have this really strange feeling in its air that makes everyone want to get out of their beds and go to a market to buy all the stuff they would need for the whole week to come and get it done as if they would not have the chance to do that again, until the next Sunday, once the Monday showed. And some of the people are really really enthusiastic to do this job and wait for the day to come so eagerly that they get the whole thing planned. The incident that caught my attention was of this one lady, who was pretty old but very strong, as she was holding five plastic bags almost filled with fruits and vegetables to the extent to which it was not designed to carry. She was almost about sixty years of age and had this really white skin, sweat pouring off her face made it look like as if she was shimmering, literally. She wore a pretty traditional "shalwar kameez" and wore a nice looking clothe to cover her head, it looked pretty much to me that she was actually trying to pull it off as it was bothering her while trying to bargain with this salesman who seemed to be pretty fretted. The salesman was a younger, much younger man, who was, perhaps, in his early forties, was trying to make a point to NOT afford to give the vegetables for as low a price as the old lady was willing to give to him. The old lady, in response, was pretty much determined to buy the most healthiest vegetables she had ever seen in the price she once use to buy, which was, I guess, pretty low for the salesman. I could see the vegetables the two were "fighting" for and, I must say, those were some beautiful vegetables! It was really interesting to see that the old lady was in this as much enthusiastically as the young man was and it was, most certainly, a "battle of the skills (of bargaining)". Ultimately, the old lady used the "Ultimate Trait" that I was very familiar with, because my mother always do it, and I'm very sure that she inherited the "Ultimate Trait" from her mother, that made it almost inevitable for the salesman to give in. The trick was, as the legend holds, to stop caring any further and stepping back from the place and moving on. Just then, the seemingly most impossible happened, not as much impossible for the legend, the salesman called back and agreed to take the offered amount and give the produce. This was stunning! I stood there holding myself to keep me on my feet as the old lady took another bag loaded with the vegetables she just "won" from the salesman. I could have given the lady a medal of appreciation for her demonstration of the "legendary" bargain, but I guess, I was not able to do that because of the social strain I feel around me in any crowdy place.

Why Is There Hate?

Why is there hate in the air?
I can feel it around me, i swear!

The poison kills the immunity of my brain;
Tears my heart apart;
And every step i take to healing, goes to drain!

Why is there hate in the air?
I can feel it around me, i swear!

Thy shall not give in;
Thy shall not lose faith;
Thy shall love be embraced;
And give death to hate!

Why is there hate in the air?
I can feel it around me, i swear!

And the people seem to be induldged in self;
Making them blind and dull and swell;
Clearly, it gives no time to repel;
The adrenaline rushes in you to rebel!

Why is there hate in the air?
I can feel it around me, i swear!

by Talha Minhas; 8-7-2010