I found a gold pendant which I decided to keep. I wore it around my neck and looked in the mirror. Did my mother ever wear this pendant?

I frolic and burrow myself inside the vastness of the fields And the prairies that stand tall Of spaces heavily concentrated, and then stretched out to infinity

I see you, with whatever half awake, sleep drifting irises, I see you. Dusted in the shelves of unread books, I see you and I know you, They will never know you but I do, in ways you are afraid.

The girl stared back at her and asked a question that made Mrittika’s heart beat faster. “Don’t you recognise me?” 

her heart was a two seater unfit for a family so big i grew to be a woman mirrored in her shadow when she was younger

“Can’t a man even get payesh and shemai on Eid in this house?” Altaf Shaheb screamed from the drawing room while watching the news, “There used to be so much joy in this house. It used to feel like Eid. But your mother has grown so sluggish now, Saadat! She used to be such a good cook. Our neighbours back in the old neighbourhood were crazy about your mother’s chicken bhuna. But now I can’t even get a plate of payesh the night before Eid.”

Spirit breaks at home along with love mingled with innocence.

The sky to the west and overhead is mired in darkness; but to the east, light is gleaming out like a jasper stone, as clear as crystal.

Martyrs and-slash-or heroes they call us Is it worth all the fuss? While they celebrate We ache to recuperate

It's time to take care of ourselves, both mind and soul, To live a life that is complete and whole.

The pleasing melancholia of Friday morning hovers through the window as a heavy gloom and sways within the fake plastic daisies lying on Marium’s table while the smell of burning spices filled her entire house. Marium’s mother couldn’t care less about the condition of the kitchen now. Her husband has just collapsed to the floor.  

It began with a faint sound of walls being scratched. Initially, the man believed it to be the normal sounds of an old home settling during the middle of the night.

Someday, I will write about those places, the cities, monuments, and faces.

But I understand. I am part of a historic pattern. So not everything is personal. I can't help but fall into some of the traps and become prey to some of the vultures.