The Way I See It

The way I see it
I only have two options
one: to die with the secret
because father would never admit
that he has started smoking again.
two: that I confront it
and ask why, despite being
a heart patient for over 10 years.

A Blogpost Turned Poem, by Khawaja Musadiq

A week ago, I wrote When Family Becomes A Distant Memory. Khawaja Musadiq, a wonderful wonderful poet turned it into a poem, thousand times more beautiful. Although he doesn’t know the context and details I wrote the blog post in, nonetheless he wrote so beautifully. surviving on a bleak glimmer of h o p e , […]

How a Sound of a Bird in Summer Mornings Makes Me Cringe In Bed

Summers are scary. Specially weekdays. Specially when you are trying to change the world in a little way possible. Specially when it involves learning coding to high standards. Specially when you are unemployed. Specially when you end up waking up as late (yes late) as 8 am.

When you are sitting pooping, with your dumb smart phone in hand and scrolling down an Instagram feed you do not even know half the people in. The sound of the summer birds are a screeching reminder that you are late again, late to start changing the world. Late to learn, late to fill the gaps of disappointments. This kills me.

It’s poetry month and I thought I’d stick to the prompts that a poetry page in India is giving everyday. The prompts are not very, shall I say, aligning. Sometimes I do not even know what to write about on it. As much as it is a creative challenge, it’s a pain in the mind. How am I supposed to write a poem with the first line, that is the first line of my favorite song when I do not know what my favorite song is. 5 steps to make a human. Bridges. Whaaaat!

Perhaps, it’s just that I’m so convinced that I can turn this idea that I’ve left my job for into reality in 5 months, and present it on a TEDx stage in my alma mater, that I can’t/don’t want to focus my time on reading and writing, something that comes very naturally to me. But right now, they feel like a small child pulling your T shirt to take you to a window shop where he/she/they wants to buy a car and you can’t spare that time because you are doing something you always thought you would. Could.

Writing and reading are part of a dream. The thing that I’m trying to make, trying to solve a problem, is well, a hard problem that I’m out to solve. It’s no dream. It’s just that I feel so intensely about it, and the fact that nobody has ever tried to solve it, nor probably ever will, makes me want to solve it quicker and better all the more. is Home For Now

I’d started writing on this blog to engage with the WordPress community. 27% of the seeable (searchable) web is powered by WordPress. There are so many of us! But I haven’t been able to make conversations. Not even a single comment came through. I don’t know if it is the things that I write about are unrelatable to people, or what.

For now, I’ve started writing on more. I’m also writing to properly send pieces to literary mags.

Here are some of the pieces that I recently wrote on medium

  1. Things I Wouldn’t Say Otherwise: This was the first slam poem that I formed at a local open mic. I wrote this the night before the open mic. For the lack of any better content, I thought to myself
    What could be a better subject matter than to think about what things I could tell a bevy of trustworthy strangers. Hence I wrote this poem. All the events in the poem are real. 
    The poem is currently a draft, Medium let’s one share one’s unpublished work as well, just that people won’t be able to comment on it or recommend it
  2. Paper 3 Newspaper Clippings: This is a slam poem/free verse about a bias I was a victim of. Since I was in first grade, fashion and film industry in my country and all around the world played with my mind. Most Indian families do not talk freely about many subject matters. Most of the parents think that studies are the go all be all goal of their children that they should achieve. Most of the times, they do not literally talk about anything else. I haven’t talked to anything with my father for years other than his asking me if I need more money, and my asking him if he’s okay. It’s very obvious to say after this information that I didn’t talk about girls or sex or how is it like to be in the real world, and what are their problems and so so many other things.Due to this bias, slowly and steadily my neurons started getting hardwired. I could only find skinny models, busty breasted models attractive, I’d drool over them, masturbate on “Hardcore Porn“, until two things happened
    1. I couldn’t get an erection with any girl I’d be with
    2. I realized myself out of this fact, spent nights (literally) thinking about it. About why didn’t I get attracted towards other girls. The longer I kept thinking about it, the faster I kept getting out of this fucking bias.
  3. Lost in Words: Why Listicles and Catchy Headings are Ruining Reading Habits: Self-explanatory, I guess.
  4. Once, I: After a poem by the same name, which was featured in Poetry Magazine in 2013.

Also, I curate a weekly literary/arty newsletter. I call it LOL (List of Lit). You can read more about it here. Please Please see the previous issues to known what it is all about. If it’s for you please subscribe?

Until next time WordPress, adios!

Once, I

After Jane Hirshfield’s ‘Once, I’

Once, I
slept on the flowers of the night sky
worriless, shameless

Ifness, lunging, scaring.
I, cliffhanging,

a star, dead as its light,
its last,
hit on the neck-nape of time
of a bird of north,

or a lover so happy
cries, behind the eyes
being done for like
the neck photon