The Future

https://i.pinimg.com/736x/4a/95/54/4a9554c8f60e542aaba402001fc89291--mus%C3%A9e-d-art-pulp-magazine.jpg
Image source: Pinterest

A complex labyrinth of the future

to contain the beast of today—human

Butterscotch streets of Mars

AI takeover, Hawking said

Or a huge crack in time, emergence of The Langoliers

Rise of the dead, the Zombie’s apocalypse

Or the alien’s attack against the beastly selfish breed

killing one another, mercilessly

Or a huge submarine dwelling deep in the ocean

until the World War III is over 

Or a vanishing cabinet to the future of existence

Where freedom is slavery and war is peace

One’s haughty and mighty on the ladder of—

Darwin’s survival of the fittest—shall live.

The maze of earth will hug carcasses of the rest

and hide them in it’s belly—safe from the beast

Advertisements

Morning to evening

My mom calls me in the morning and talks about random stuff, we talk for about 15 minutes and she mentions my grandfather being sick, to pray for him and to call him up. I tell her I would (thinking in my brain maybe I won’t. Don’t think of me as a heartless person. I hardly ever talked to my grandfather. Even if I did give him a call, he wouldn’t recognize me. He’s been going through old age senility for a while.) I made a mental note to still give him a call.

7:22 p.m. my phone rings and it’s my mom, she never calls twice in a day, so I am assuming there could be two reasons:

  1. She pressed the button by mistake
  2. Something bad happened

I pick up the phone and try to pay extra attention to her voice, it does feel coarse, like it’s breaking and then in an instant she is crying and telling me her father passed away.

“My mother already passed away, my father has passed away too,” she says crying like a baby.

I stop in my tracks, I open my mouth but no words come out, then in an instant I am knocked back to my senses…all I can think of is the statement we Muslims say when someone dies: Indeed from God we came and to God do we return. And after that I don’t know what to say to my grieving mother…

She tells me she’s getting ready to leave for the funeral…and then she hangs up.

She hangs up and my brain hangs up too.

I was never emotionally attached to my grandfather, not even to the slightest bit but I do feel something. I feel like someone punched me in my stomach…like I can’t breathe well. Nothing feels good, I don’t wanna talk to anyone, I just want to lock myself in the room and stare blankly at the wall.

I don’t know what’s going on in my brain, maybe I am thinking how quick it was, morning and evening, poof! Like how fleeting this life can be. Poof! Just like that you can one day go. You could be young, you could be old, but you go, you do go, no one stays.

Or may be I am just feeling for my poor mom, who lost both her parents within two years.

I don’t know whats going on, but I know one thing, I am certainly not in the state I was before the call and I can’t shrug past it..and don’t want to or else I would be a heartless person.

Summer resigned

sunset-chaser

After three years of sunshine,
there finally were dark clouds

pouring rain

no sweat, no headaches

just sweet melody of dripping water
on the open armed leaves

and open mouthed grass
taking in the life

after three years of death
yellow to green

yellow to blue
the anger of sky

is now a cuddle
for everything that is covers

is beautiful
just beautiful

Everyday

Remember that pianist who said that if he did not practice everyday he would know, if he did not practice two days, the critics would know, after three days, his audiences would know.

-Taken from Zen in the art of writing by Ray Bradbury

Once I read this quote it hit me hard like a brick. I know I have been lagging behind in my resolution of writing everyday. It’s been one of those phases, when you tend to give up and its hard to get back there.

From today, I am going to try to stand back up and I will make sure I don’t step on that banana skin again.

There are no candles on the table

It is dark, it is stormy

an old man walks through the room

a cane in his hand

he blindly walks around

but lits no candles on the table

 

the widow at the end of the street

peeks outside

the dark stormy night

a chill makes her shudder

but she has no candles on her table

 

the broken family on the adjacent street

has a lady crying

in her gloomy room

the wind howls outside

but there are no candles on her table