The killing-not-to-be-killed truth

Being honest is not the best policy you can consider when someone is trying to save himself from the truth. And she masters this art. Being righteous is never quite enough. She’s just like a deceiver, self-bound up in chains. I want to save her but I’m afraid she’ll strangle me with her superciliousness and haughtiness. Just like she always did. She doesn’t stop pushing and pushing. Her hands are getting bigger and bigger, stronger and stronger. And I can’t keep a distance. All what I can do is paint my face to hide my pain. For the sense of purpose and devotion shall save me one day.

Since we were young, we’ve been told that it’s always greener on the other side. I thought by then, why to waste my entire life planting here while I can enjoy a greener life? I kept digging and digging until I got to that other green side. Yes, after a few months, I managed to keep a distance. It’s not happiness. It’s not contentment. It’s not vivacity. It’s not serenity. It’s not ecstasy. It’s an irresponsible- unstoppable- gilt edged- impermanent- tale. This is different, I’m not sure if it’s better. But this is the best I can afford for now.

If only she knew that a smile, a caring word and a warm embrace would have solved it all. If she only knew that being given whatever tangibles someone needs before naming them is just never enough. Since when have tangibles become persuasively satisfying? And to add insult to injury, I am supposed to translate these tangibles into to-give-back-emotions. I’m expected to give what I’ve never received. I can give it but I just refuse to. Not out of stubbornness. Out of utopian logic. Out of pain and sorrow.

The Road Not Taken (Poem)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

One Special Birthday Gift

I got this poem from a dear friend on my birthday:

When the sea is calm
thoughts dissolve in its flow

thorns from the valley
cast not their ways

for an adventurer you are
mighty yet not fray

an inspiration to others
as just are your ways

a sincere friend i have gain
yet lost nothing in return

I pray for thee patience
as the journey has only begun

changing the wind’s direction
from east to west you may

yet always be gentle
as honey is sweeter than clay

happy birthday!

Waqas Baggia 

I love my friends.

Fiction or Truth?

She was too sensible, good humored, lively and excessively pretty to be loved by anyone… There was no single man on earth could not fall for her eyes, her voice, her elegance, her genius… That’s when she met him, his ugly countenance was the first she noticed… He was so high and so conceited that he believed no one can endure him… She was not supposed to be there, but she was and they met…

She never wished seeing him again, never liked the conversations they had, never liked his path in this life, never liked any single thing about him… He was the most disagreeable, horrid man that’s not at all worth pleasing… But she did not wish to be hasty in censuring anyone, that’s why she ‘gave him a chance’… If she did not venture, who else would anyway?

He was too vain and selfish; he was about to do anything to please his own self, to satisfy his own desires… He never quit trying attracting her. It took him a long while to get to what he wanted. He was harsh and she was too fragile and pliant and he was smart enough to be the first to find a solution whenever she faced a problem… The first to advise whenever she needed a mentor… The first to hug her whenever she needed someone… That’s when she woke up one day seeing that his mystery turned the tide, finding him part of her life… Her intimate friend, her brother, her father, her mentor and her lover -yet she sometimes denied that…

She tried so hard to understand him, to figure out what he wanted from her…He was the only one to make her cry and the only one to wipe away her tears… He had no words but actions… She wished to hear him expressing his admiration to her… She never wished to hear this from anyone else as she did with him, yet he remained silent… He tended to hug her tighter whenever she asked about it… That kept her guessing, off-balance and keen… To be candid with ostentation or design belonged to him alone and she never succeeded in changing that about him…

His vain killed her slowly… His well and ill-treatment always bothered her… His ingenious and ingenuous kept her always worried… She wanted to settle for something whatever was it… But his superciliousness and haughtiness never allowed her to… She could easily forgive his pride if he had not mortified hers…

With all what he does to her, she remains with very cordial feelings toward him… That’s surpassing her capacity but she can never let this stop… Is it love or forbidden love? Will he make it a happy ending or will it be another sad romantic story? Will he change for her or will he remain the same he? Is she even the same old she or she became an exact copy of him?

Gradatim – Josiah Gilbert Holland

GRADATIM

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step toward God,
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,
When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night,
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,
While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men!
We may borrow the wings to find the way —
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray;
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown
From the weary earth to the sapphire walls;
But the dreams depart, and the vision falls,
And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound;
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth, to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit, round by round.

Josiah Gilbert Holland