You can't leave it blank...

You could try to move on.

I could, perhaps, but it isn't easy. I don’t know where to begin, what to change and what to pause.

Start from within, start from yourself.

Is the problem inside me?

No. Maybe.

It is isn't it. They let me go, they never held me back. It’s me whose been holding myself back there.

It’s okay, it happens.

No… it’s me. It’s like I am stuck in quicksand. Moving is impossible.

You can try.

Haven’t I done that, already? Tried. I am too stuck with these people. I know that if I love them I’ll let them go. But I do love them, and it’s obvious that I've let them go, but I can’t accept that.

You have to; you have to acclimate to it.

Why?

Because if you won’t, you’ll destroy yourself; you’ll hurt your own self.

Perhaps that’s what supposed to happen.

No, then you’ll wrong the people who believe in you. Wrong the people who you love and those who love you.

Can’t I just start all over?

That’s what you have to do, start all over. Let them go, it’s a new beginning. It’s yours to write.

What if I leave it blank?

You won’t. You know yourself better than others, you know you never miss a chance. You are to help other people, cheer them, and be there for them. And some of them will be there for you, always and you won’t regret it. Even for its setbacks.

You think so? Will I be able to do that?

I know so, you've already done that. Once, it’s time to do it again. To let those in, who want to love you, who will love you.

Perhaps. And you…

Me…?

Thank you, I love you.

And I, you.

-Momina.

Stagnant in emotions

We are caged from within, by ourselves; our ways of life, our morals, our personality. We cannot change that. No matter how brutal the fall or how hard we try, how many coats we plant on. We always remain the same at our core.  We always fall prey to ourselves. Even the strongest of us breakdown, once in a while, from the pressure of it all.  It’s there, pulling us down, drowning us whilst we try to breath in the stuffy air. Is it wrong, is it really, to want from others at the same degree? Are our expectations really pointless? Do we not deserve the same? Or are some of us just here to look after and not be look-after-ed? It makes us want to change, we make promises to ourselves but in the end we are the same, the same we were yesterday; probably with another layer that is supposed to harden us, but is really just pointless. We are there for others, standing there suspended in waiting while the others have already moved on. They are too far to notice us still standing there stagnant in emotions and morale. They've changed, found another somebody to rely on, to look forward to. It doesn't matter to them, but to us.

And at the end of the day, those little unsaid words of appreciation are really what break us down. It makes us wants to stop caring when we can’t, to stop expecting when we can’t; because we our bound by our ways, our principles, our personality. Whilst they… they've gone... moved on. 

Momina.

Guest Post

For Bliss Thy Run?

Black and blue, vivid streaks.

A flush of white and grey black skies.

Loath for change and love for betrayal,

A single step forward or the alluring past?

Good-bye soul, drowned you were.

When? They question.

Like knives against hearts.

A melting pleasure for revenge

Called applause!

They say-for bliss thy run,

The run for emotions?

Or the pace against time?

You speak no good, 

Disgrace, we face!
Endowment or penalty,

A question was raised.

Rabia Latif is an A Level students, who excels at cooking and baking. She enjoys reading, writing and crafting abstract poems. She also enjoys putting her skills to stalking and photography, both  professional at heart.

Unanswered

The weather is gloomy and dreary; oppressing as heaving mist so everything seems monotonous. Dull. Unexciting. Yet, in this colorless environment, today I hum like a ball of energy, ecstatic. There’s no reason to it in general, but I am content, satisfied; the type of content that comes after venting out something that you've long kept with yourself, the type of content that brings utter joy, even with all the questions still unanswered, even with the future a puzzle.  Why? Because it’s suppose to be that way, not all questions are supposed to be answered there and then, sometimes you just give them time and they  just unfold themselves into answers. And the future, of course is always a riddle. Even when it’s all planned and set for you, it’s really just wobbly. You can see through it, but you can never be sure of how stable it is. A split second, that’s all it takes for the ground to disappear from underneath you. The insurance and protections, they don’t matter then.  We stand, but we really might just drop down any second. Not a single minute is predictable, well… maybe some are, but most aren't.

‘Live in the moment’, they say but every moment we live, we are planning the other. It’s such an intricate web of events. The one moment that you are living this minute is turning into your past by the same rate. And in that very moment you are also planning your future, yes, it could be something as simple as ‘I gotta tell this to my friend’ or ‘I’ll make that for lunch’, but it’s happening.  I said that future is a riddle; well the present and past don’t seem to be such a simple case themselves. 

-Momina.

Let's try, again.

Stop! Let’s wait!

There’s more to be heard

And lot’s more to say!

Stop; just give me a chance,

I believe we can try, again.

Let’s dive into the past,

Let’s, lose all that wrecked.

You know we don’t need all that.

We’ll smile once more

We can face the world, again.

Stop, don’t cry.

I know it’s hard

But this shouldn't wait!

I won’t let us die down

Without any tries.

We’ll just have to fight

Out of the inanity, our way.

-Momina.

A piece of me

I was never much of a writer as a kid; I was more of a reader, a dreamer and a thinker. And my passion for writing started unexpectedly, and it started with poetry. As it happened a couple of years back, I was on bed rest for three months due to a foolish mistake that caused me to fall fifteen feet and break my back. Those were weird days for me, I hated sleeping.  The lying in the bed all day long just made me frustrated and vulnerable. So, once I couldn't sleep and I remember cursing myself and suddenly this idea popped into my mind. I remember weaving in words to the poem in my head and holding on to them till I fell asleep. The first thing I did when I got up was to write the poem down; it was deep and when I read it to others they appreciated me a lot. It was nothing like any of those cat-hat-mat rhyming poems that we've all written. Since then I started writing poetry, I realized that the real contentment is not in writing a poem that rhymes, but a piece of poetry that has no rhyming words and still goes in sync. I always found solace in writing thereafter.

Poetry became a strong attribute for me, and frankly I didn't vary in writing much, then. Almost two years back I started writing diverse pieces; rants narratives, prose and poetry. When I shared my pieces with my close friends, U urged me to start a blog. I was very extremely possessive about my writings and sharing it so openly was nowhere on my to-do list. The constant urging and appreciation enticed me into finally making the blog.

The blog was another story, at first it’s all about sharing, making your passion known; your own little space. And then, somewhere in the middle it changes into the hunger for appreciation for your work; comments and views that you look forward to. At last, you get to the part where it doesn't matter and you do it just because you love to; you love to write, and read and the comments don’t matter because the satisfaction is in writing. And then before you know it it’s a year gone by; you have discovered yourself a little more, you've gone from better to much better and you've met and read these fantastic people. And so, here is where I stand. One year already and the attachment grows stronger each day, because in the end it’s not just a blog it’s a piece of you!

Happy first birthday Blog! :’)

-Momina.

Story: Burning Chaos

She’d been walking, dancing and splashing in the rain for hours, and to her utter delight the rain went on without a halt; sometimes drizzling and at times coming in heavy showers. Rain. She could stand soaking in it for ages and never once feel agitated or cold. The roads were deserted and yet she could here muffled sighs of people sitting in warm blankets talking over a hot cup of their favorite beverage. It often troubled her how ungrateful people can be; after long sought prayers of rain are accepted and the rain is poured down from the grudging grey clouds, hitting the barren land and driving little puffs of dust in the air. And yet those very people who pray for this blessing hide in their homes looking out through a barrier of glass.  Showing no gratitude. How could they not? She could go about rain forever; the way the ground smelled when it rained, the way it pelted her skin, the way the windows fogged up in the rain and the way it made everything look fresh…

A grin was plastered across her face as she splashed in the low floods brought by the heavy rain. Her clothes and hair were soaked in rain and she shuddered every time a cold breeze flowed. Some instinct kept urging her to go inside and change into dry and warmer clothes but she ignored it and instead walked over to the great ground right next to her house. It was not really a ground rather just acres of empty land, in the evenings kids used to gather there and play but it was said to be left for construction of houses. Beyond the vast empty land was the airport. It was quite close and the noise of aircrafts landing and taking off was normal. She laughed when their guests used to light up at this noise and rush to the windows to watch the planes pass.

The ground was flooded by the rain too, and it made her wish they had a swimming pool close by. She started walking to the center of the ground, taking a familiar walking route even in the dark. Her crazy instinct was forming into a bad gut feeling, urging her to go back, regardless she ignored it. unexpectedly and out of nowhere she heard a single cry of a bird, the sound so saddening and piercing that she wanted to turn back towards street-light illuminated road. But the noise above her head made her stop right in her tracks and gaze up at the sky. The noise was one of the harshest thunder, the kind that made your blood drain, and the kind that made you runaway to your mother’s soothing arms, the kind that made you suddenly cold. It rooted her to her spot and then she saw something big, huge and burning come crashing down on the ground right in front of her, with a horrid sound so blaring that it bellowed and sent her several feet away with a gush of extremely hot wind that knocked the air right out of her, as she landed near the road bumping into the ground several times, yet not registering pain. Her eyes locked to the scene before her.

She was stunned as the immense structure crumbled in the fire, too dazed to move, too struck to speak or yell. Her jagged breath soothed after several minutes yet the adrenaline kept pumping.  After numerous tries she got up, her knees were too weak and wobbly to support her. She couldn't even look about her, her eyes could do nothing but register the sight in front of her as she took small shaky steps towards the fire which had spread across the dry grass.  A huge grey cloud of smoke rose from the fire and as she got closer to the blazing aircraft the smoke stung her eyes, nonetheless, she kept moving only to stop a few feet away from the smoldering form.

The bird wailed again, this time more sorrowful and close. She looked up at the sky, now rapidly going grey above her as the smoke rose, and realized it was still raining slowly. All of a sudden the rain didn't seemed so nice, it made the air humid, suffocating and so thick that it made her cough  several times and rub her eyes to clear out her view. She closed the distance between her and the plane and realized it had cracked open and the other part must being lying away. She looked at the mess of ashen faces and burning mass inside, astonished and wanting to gag. And then her eyes took in something different; a tiny hand rose from the clutter of burning flames and she thought she heard a muffled cry, the hand shook slowly a fraction of an inch here, a fraction there and then all too quick the raised fingers went slack. Tiny little hand disappearing as the fire suddenly caught up with a snarl, sending smoke in her eyes and throat. She tumbled a few steps back and heard the bird screech a third time, all grieve and pain. She heard the din of screams and shouts from the road beyond her.

she cast her eyes over the burning chaos one last time then looked up at the sky as the bird went right above her head shrieking one more time, she threw her head back and wailed loudly alongside the bird; a sound of immense pain, grieve and sorrow.

-Momina Latif.

Poisoning dreams

For Adoniah- "Taking it to the next level."

She lay there as the poison seeped through the blood circulating inside her. She lay there numb to the pain and the slight burning that she was supposed to feel. She lay dazed while her muscles and bones mashed into one another, as she repeatedly hit her head against the brick wall. Immune to the pain. She shifted her head, gazing at the blood stained pillow. Alarmed she got up suddenly, only to realize that it was her own, yet she did not bleed.  It dribbled towards her, bubbling vivid red with just a slight tinge of purple. Glowing. She was intimidated, wanting to touch it, but holding back. She backed away, abruptly falling as the room around her turned to a blur, however she never touched the ground, As if the air had halted but she was still falling. There wasn’t blood anymore, but water; pure and colorless. It fell all around her, everywhere, except on her. She cringed away as a drop fell on her, scared. Out of the blue, she was knocked down, falling into a garden, unscathed. As she rose she noticed the rain, which came down heavy and bruised her skin. It turned red, burning red and felt like pinching shards of glass on her skin. She started to run but fell too often, while someone pulled her and her eyes twitched. She rose from her dream as she dreamt on, as the poison seeped through and she slept on.

-Momina.

Lost and gone.

Like a silhouette,

In candle light.

He stood out

But never shined.

Ducking his head,

With shame, remorse.

An evil smirk

Spreading across

The face paled.

The blood flowed

Seeping through

The murky snow.

One last time,

The eyes close.

A single tear

Of regret and loss.

A chilly wind,

And he’s gone.

-Momina.