Take me for granted and I'll be your memory.

She lies in bed. Staring at her hand. First, the left and then the right and back at the left. And just like that, the motionless fingers move. First, the thumb, then the ring-finger swiftly followed by the index and the middle finger. Nothing extravagant, just simple quick abrupt motions. 


This amazes her. A varying seed of a thought has constantly flitted across her consciousness but refused to stay long enough to become a thought, a realization and an epiphany on its whole.


Her gaze shifts to the right limb and the exercise is repeated. Soon enough the legs are stretched beyond the quilt and the tiny 'obscene yet beautiful' toes are shaken from their slumber. One by one and in no particular order. And just as easy, the seed that became a thought matures into a realization.


She takes a step back.


All she needed was to think it. No, all she needed was to look at it. Visualize it even and lo, 'Bob's your uncle'. What would it feel like to be denied this. You visualize, you look, you think, you make a concerted effort and it just stared back at you. Comatose. What then.? 


Would she value this inexplicable gift more then.? Once it is gone. Like the time, she hurt her legs and couldn't walk, run or trip. How much did she miss the trip where, she could brush off the rubble, laugh at the scar and blow away the pain. Immeasurable.  


She knew now, the epiphany wasn't too far away. Heck, she didn't even have to make a concerted effort or look for it, or even think about it. Nay, not even a visualization was needed. For it had enveloped her. Like only an epiphany can. 

Vaada

My first attempt at writing in urdu:


Tumhari is tooti hui muskurahat ka vaada
Ek jaam jo hai piya aadha
Har shaam ko hota hai tumhara nazara
Ae shaitan-e-ishq, tere har sawaal ka jawab hai pyar hamara

Shuttle-bug..

That train, I must catch..
I don't have my possessions.
Should they be here with me, I know not.
I should be in that train, I know that.

That train, I must be on it..
It stops where it stops and it promises a ride.
These times, I must bid them.
Those memories, I must keep them. safe.

That train, which calls me..
How do I cut these threads that connect me.
With no one to help pack or wave goodbye.
I feel empty and I'm so full, from everything.

That train, of new dreams and hope..
I see a field of daisies and a sky of a blue unknown.
I hear smiles and I feel laughter.
I sense warmth and love and comfort is our flavor

That train, shiny and morose..
Tattered suit and polished shoes.
A wrinkle for every adventure and a tear for every joy.
I should go quietly but it won't come so easily.

That train, won't you wait just a bit..
I know I must and I know I will.
But, I do love this place and this was mine.
Let me be here, just a while and smell the dead flowers.

That train, not long now..

Smiling and shiny.
Broken and morose.
Gleaming and bright.
Dark and painful.


We all have our stops and our stations. Some, we take out of choice and others we take out of need. This journey we travail, till we find the stop that we would like to get off. For now, maybe tomorrow and hopefully forever.