Status Update: I’m fine.

As I type this, a plethora of books and pages are flying around me, the fan is making its certain noise in the room, 7 tabs of lectures are opened and a whole lot of course is to be covered yet. Yes, it’s the time of the year when the academic session draws towards its end but what most important is that, I’ve a huge stage (home exam) of dental materials due tomorrow and I know, I’m going to pull an all nighter. Medical isn’t a one night before exams field and though I’m very well aware of that still, us students cram on the last day.

I just thought to go around and show a waving hand to you all, that I’m absolutely fine and living my life very happy and peacefully, Praise the Lord! I’ve been prioritizing my priorities, getting the facts straight and doing absolute good to myself. I need a pat on the back!!!

Yes, we all get our moments of depression or downhills, but anyway, we keep on moving and that’s important.

Here’s to the fact about the things we thought we would never do but in the flow of life we eventually did; like me, stopping blogging and altogether writing for more than a year but hey, there’s always a comeback! So, why not now! I’d try to resume back to the track soon.

Till then, Shalom!


Posted by on April 20, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Book blast – Emerging talent.

Writing about new writers has always been something which makes me immensely happy and this post is surely pleasing me as I type it. Usually books based on poetry with the same writing pattern and cliche topics do not interest me but damn, this man proved me wrong as I follow the publicity scheme and wait for its launch – I’m getting hooked up to this amazing compilation from its very first cover reveal.


“THE STUDENT DIARIES – A COLLECTION OF POEMS BY HAMZA ASAD” as fascinating as the name sound, the book itself contains a beautiful and delicate blend of Sufism and sensitivity having a fine touch of nicely carved literature, simplicity, influence of events and surroundings.

Hamza Asad, an emerging and aspiring young talent is a blogger, Writer, Debater, Poet, Independent Filmmaker and a Medical Student who has contributed as a Freelance Writer for various websites and magazines throughout his teenage. He is the grandson of professor Hafiz Muhammad Idrees: The First Person in History to Interpret The Holy Book in Fluent Pashto Language. Hamza is a Pukhtoon and He believes in the fact that the founding father of Pashto Nation, Qais Abdur Rashid was the 37th descendant of King Saul – The first Jewish King of Israel.

This book is going to be his first ever publication at a very tender age, which in itself is a matter of pride and achievement. A compilation of his finest poems out of thousands, Hamza is currently a student of 3rd year MBBS at Kabir Medical College, Gandhara University, Peshawar; He plans to come up with a Novel on Pre and Post Medical life.

The book will be hopefully launched by the end of this month and would be available for online buyers as well as the hard copies.

Seeing the passion, creativity and enthusiasm the writer keeps in his words, it’s surely going to be a success to the nascent shoulders which aim to bright and shine even more.

Series: N/A
Publisher: Amazon
Genre: Poetry/Fiction

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Posted by on February 2, 2014 in Uncategorized


Hello, long time!

Well, hello. I know its been extremely long ever since I updated this place last. Honestly, I don’t feel like writing anymore. There is this extended-no inspiration-ice dead phase around. Well, anyhow! It’s never too late ever, so here goes; Happy New Year. Unlike all other bloggers, I didn’t post that special, long post and I am a bit late too – so Happiest Birthday Blog. It was a friend who always encouraged me, appreciated my writings and made this blog for me on 23rd December, 2012 – the same day I made my twitter account as well. It has been a lovely journey on these two social platforms, so far. Made many good and long lasting friends, I suppose. Enjoyed, learnt and taught. Though, life had its fair share of many downs in the cup for me, it has been a while since a treat as luxurious as real, meaningful happiness has been tasted. 23rd October, birthday celebration rang the bell.
2012 and 2013 were surely the ugliest years, gone but never forgotten. Happenings, events, academics, family relations, friends and many things in this year kept me hooked up – mentally and emotionally. I am enjoying every bit of it and I’m quite happy and satisfied with it. A lesson to be learnt all life is that, keeping a comfortable distance with every one is what anyone can do the best with life. After all, not every warm, happy and heartiest hand and face is your friend. Not to get too attached that parting would hurt you and the attachment bothers is what ideal in your living.

I hope to get back to the writing track soon. Been reading, exploring, watching and hanging out lately, trying to live it to the extent of feeling it in its real meanings.

I miss reading your awesome blogs, you amazing people out there. Wish you the best of life and ever great blessings!



Posted by on January 12, 2014 in Uncategorized


The Superficiality of It All

Hira Nazir:

I feel the same at times.

Originally posted on That Paki Blog:

Sometimes I just wonder if going through all of it is worth it. This whole internet life, social networking, posting pictures of your life online, It’s just not my thing. Not anymore, at least. Yes, there was a time when I would go up and post pictures on my instagram just because it was the “cool” thing to do, but I just don’t think it’s worth it anymore. As bloggers, we sometimes believe that life on the internet is what’ll make go forth, make a name and leave a mark. Which is true, considering it is the era of the wireless life we all live, but there’s just something about it that’s like trying to catch a fistful of air that you know you never can. All it does is leave a vacuum, if you manage to catch air.

See, I have been thinking a lot lately and I feel…

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Posted by on November 20, 2013 in Uncategorized


Of Black Coffee, Guitar and Our Love…. Part – 3 (Last part)


Dear Diary,

Aches in the head are bad,
Sprains in the neck are worse,
Injuries to the bones hurt the most,
Paper cuts pierce like swords,
But, darling!
Nothing can match
the pain of a heartache,
a tortured heart, a bruised soul ~



He knew that he has loved only one person with so much purity that he completely denied his own being, it was her. And he suddenly knew that if he died, she would die too. Maybe not immediately, maybe not with the same blinding rush of pain, but it would happen. You couldn’t live for very long without a heart. The illness was lethal, he couldn’t stay, wait to love her more. He never told her as it’d kill her. Just moved apart. But he knew it, it’ll hurt more than being dead. Of course, suddenly stopping talking with someone you’d hear more than your voice is always difficult, no? Intentionally creating walls where the souls are interwoven is always like cutting your limb because you don’t like it anymore. He knew, he’d never live in peace but you do hurt a little to save the dear ones from the massive pain, don’t you? He wanted her, he needed her, she has been the reason behind the every laughter he cherished and every prose he wrote. She is his Goddess. Who’ll know how to uplift him from the depths of agony and celebrate the little smiles along him. Who seemed to have born to hold onto something, which was slipping off his fingers now.
He asked for his life in temples and churches, and in the mosques and prayers hall. He begged the Lord at every corner, in every hour, at every edge. Just to stay with her for long.
But it couldn’t happen, of course, few stories are just left in the middle such that they pierce your souls and shower heartaches over your fragile being… He wanted to gather up all the ink in the universe and write in immortal words to her, the way he loved him – every moment, every season, every time.


He would have died by now, but she never got to know about it. The unlimited texts and calls, mails and messages, nothing could console her anxious soul. She was in the consistent lingering pain of waiting.
” I have a remarkable memory, I remember everything about you. I’d remember this indifference which has gutted me to the bone.”
After not getting to hear from him though being trying for the 100th time, she threw her phone on the floor and cried herself to sleep.

The death day!

To the love of my life,

“Things are never as they seem. A person. A Mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again. I have lived you in every breathe and called out your name in every voice. From the laughter at the bus stand, to the silent gazes in the library, I’ve grown up with you and your love. I have loved you more than ever after sipping the last drop out of my coffee cup and finishing every novel along the river’s side. I have seen your face in the setting sunsets and lived your smiles in the morning rays like hopeful fumes. I have felt you along the strings of guitar and every single star. I don’t know any other way of loving you but this. I have loved you with a wretched heart and a torn soul. Moving away from you cost me ripping out my own lungs and putting my heart on my sleeves where it got brutally injured. I loved you even in the last breath I will be going to take soon. I lost my self in your love, in your vibe, in your presence, in your touch. I knew from the very first day I saw you, that I’ll live for you and die with your name as well. It’s About loving you. When you love someone so much. And when we have a argument. I felt like leaving you for good. And you decided not to leave because you love me so much. And way later we say sorry to each other and forget the argument we just had. And we could be happy, say I love you and I’m sorry that we have a argument we just had! And it’s hard to let you go! And you wish that you could have one another back. I love you. I love your smile, your snarl, your grin, your face when you’re sleeping. I love your hair streaming out behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine. I love seeing your smiles spreading out. I love your eyes, whether they’re cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me. I love how you move your hands while you talk as if you are explaining it to a little kid like a kind mentor, I love how your presence gives me hope, the mere thought of your being. I’d go and you’ll think you’re lost but you’re not lost on your own. You’re not alone. I will stand by you, I will help you through when you’ve done all you can do. If you can’t cope, I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight, I will hold you tight and I wont let go
I know I’ll write you a letter which will start from I love you and end at I love you, and there would be a heartbreaking good bye but I just wanted you to know that I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for decades more. May be with a dead heart but a living soul.
All you wanted was my existence, I couldn’t get you that. I am sorry… I will die soon…”


She couldn’t even complete it fully when her hands started trembling badly. She burst into tears. It felt like someone punched her heart forcefully and stabbed at her back so brutally that her rib cage crushed. She felt like someone has dug a deep pit and put her into it, suffocating her to death. She couldn’t move her limbs. Her lips turned blue, face pale and she suddenly screamed with quivered lips.



Dear Diary,

I know I’ll probably die tonight. It has been 3 months ever since he left me alone in this world and I am mere breathing. I’ve not felt a single heart beat and sensed a single touch. I wanted only one thing in this life and it was his presence. I know what love is. When you find the person you are supposed to love, bells ring and fireworks go off in your head and you can’t find the words to speak and you think about him all the time. When you find the person you are supposed to love, you will know by staring deeply into their eyes. I have loved him in despair and dismay and all the lively happy hours. From the nostalgic sunsets to the passing by trains, from the rushing waters to the green meadows, from the early mornings to the late nights – not a single moment when I didn’t feel his presence. Remembered him. I loved him with the first sip of my coffee and the last splash of my paint brush. I loved him in the most silent and unique ways where my own soul wouldn’t be aware of what I’d do. I loved him not only for what he was, but for what I was when I used to be with him. I loved him not only for what he made of himself, but for what he made of me. I loved him for the part of me that he brought out. I have been living with a constant heart ache…….


Her lips quivered and her heavy heart felt like being ripped apart into two pieces. She was crying and continuously playing his favorite tunes on his very own guitar. For a while, she stopped and poured the hot black coffee inside her torn soul but then again the agony of pain rushed with a new flow in her veins. Around were all those letters they wrote to each other, the snaps, presents and huge fumes of nostalgia. She was crying, trembling, dying at the same moment. The moments she spent with him were passing in front of her eyes like a movie reel, taking a long her every heart beat.


Somewhere between the torture and the fantasy of his presence with the heart wrenching tunes, she slept herself to death after living a meaningful smile given for his picture in front of his eyes and murmuring his last words to own self,
” I love you more than I love my guitar. It pierces my fingers, cuts my skin, rip opens my flesh. Still I keep on playing it. See, that’s how I love you. Intensely. Painfully. I love you more than I love my black coffee. It calms my soul. Soothes my nerves. But it never denies to accompany me. I love you silently. Dangerously. Deeply.”


And that’s what happens to true love, faithful hearts, devoted souls.. They turn into unfinished stories.. The stories which hurt..

unfinished stories


Posted by on October 12, 2013 in Episodic Stories, Fiction, Love Diaries


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Of Black Coffee, Guitar and Our Love…. Part – 2

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up.” A lot of atrocious thoughts were ballsing up her head since many days. These were not insecurities. It was just her genitive, unconditional love.

“He’s not perfect. I know that. Neither am I. I know that too. And together, we won’t be perfect ever. I am pretty sure about that too. But if he makes me laugh at lest once, causes me to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes. I’ll hold onto him and give him the most I can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, write long romantic narratives, he might not be thinking about me every moment, but he will give me a part of him that he knows could break me. I know, my heart says, don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you.”
She closed her diary with this note, cherished a smile, and breathed in air of unfeigned bliss; incognizant of the chaos that was about to hit her life.


It didn’t do any good to them. Distances never do anything better to relations. She was feeling this huge, thick, cold slab of indifference between herself and him. She has been trying to talk to him, several calls, texts and all the efforts, but no use.
There was this long list of things on her mind. “Yes, they don’t teach us in school how to not love. They don’t teach us how to embrace heartaches. They don’t teach us how to ignore someone. They don’t teach us how to know what’s going on in someone else’s mind. They don’t teach us how to walk away from someone you don’t love any longer. They don’t teach us what to say to someone who’s dying. They don’t teach us anything worth knowing.”

She was feeling a sharp, piercing pain inside her soul. He was her world, the reason behind her every smile, a question she’d love answering all her life. She was feeling this fear of losing him. She was sensing this thick air between herself and him. She was feeling, he doesn’t belong to her anymore. It was not a naive, fragile bond of yesterday. It was a relation she grew up with. From the long calls, to those silly laughters, from rushing together to catch bus on time, to being all sophisticated in front of teachers – they lived their every single breathe in it, in their love.

“Falling for someone can be a lot like playing roulette. You don’t know what will happen when you place that bet, but you can take a deep breath anyway and put all the chips out there. And when the ball spins around and around, you pray it lands on your number. Probability says you’ll likely lose, and in this game of love with Leo, odds were I would lose, too, but I had to try.”
For a fraction of second, this very thought made her tremble.

It was scary. Of course, losing a loved one is always horrific. You’d not like someone tearing apart your chest and ripping out your heart, crushing your rib cage, suffocating your spongy lungs, popping out your eyes and breaking your bones to get the marrow out of it. Oh, did you imagine the physical pain? That’s what love does to you, it destroys souls!



Dear diary,


Yours truly…


The indifference stayed there. It was not him being cold, but his fate’s ball rotated so wrong that it kept him closer to not break the ice. He knew that sooner or later, he’ll die. It was lethal, he could not be cured. But he loved her so much. When you love someone so much that it starts hurting you, and then you can not see a single sad feature on their face, right? He knew that the news of his illness would shatter her, tear her apart, kill her. And he’d not want it ever to happen.

“I will love you always. When this red hair is white, I will still love you. When the smooth softness of youth is replaced by the delicate softness of age, I will still want to touch your skin. When your face is full of the lines of every smile you have ever smiled, of every surprise I have seen flash through your eyes, when every tear you have ever cried has left its mark upon your face,I will treasure you all the more, because I was there to see it all. I will share your life with you, Meredith, and I will love you until the last breath leaves your body or mine.”

He thought with tears in eyes, while fighting for his life on the death bed in this cold room of hospital. He ended with a gentle smile, the moment, he thought of her name.

They say, hospitals see more prayers than temples. Can not God listen to my single prayer and make me live for her? For her fragile soul? For her innocent smiles? For her pure love? No? God can not even fulfill my single prayer. Is he going to put a history by doing the first heartbreak in these walls where hearts are mended.
He felt so helpless that he screamed out of sheer pain. That’s how atheists are born. When few hearts are broken, few prayers go unanswered, the calls in vain, hopes unfed, hearts broken.

“Helplessness is such a rotten feeling. There’s nothing you can do about it. Being helpless is like being paralyzed. It’s sickness. The cure calls for a monumental effort to stand up and start walking somewhere, anywhere. But that takes some doing.”
He murmured silently to himself. All he could do was to isolate himself from her and die silently. He was doing so. Though, feeling like getting stabbed, gutted, numbed and dumped – he was doing it. Just for her. To save her, from the greater grief.



Dear Diary,

I feel like ripping out my heart and screaming out my lungs. I’m losing the purpose of my living, my breathe, my every single deed. I am losing him. This damage is going to be permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been. I know, these empty sympathies and fake hopes won’t work. The distances, the air of irrelevancy and all these miles between us have now separated our hearts too. My ears are habitual to listen that voice, everyday! My soul is habitual to sense that touch, my heart used to touch that heart, my lips used to talk to him. But now, it’s been six months, I’ve not listened to the person who is the real reason behind my every smile. But it was unnecessary, there would be other nights. How could you say I would not love you? When all I did was to feel you around and sleep next to you. But I never expected you to write me poetry, or sing songs, or make promises of high dreams and higher hopes. All I ever wanted was you being with me – us together. For darling, I’ve always told you, ours is not a typical love story. Not of roses and butterflies. But of rough pavements’ walks and ordinary cotton candies. I’ve always started days with morning’s light coming through this window, gazing at the sky. But now I won’t do it anymore. For all I could see and get is the blue of my life…… But you’ll never love yourself as much as I do and never care for yourself as much as I do, for darling, I want to let you know; I am always there for you..Oh!


It has been a very long time since I’ve received a gift as extraordinary as you.


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Upon ending up with the right regrets.

Hira Nazir:

LOVED IT. Baby steps just like little drops of rain are, from which everything begins.

Originally posted on Mangos in Manhattan:

At what point does a man, who lived his entire life telling people he doesn’t have a single regret, suddenly become aware of everything he wishes he had done differently?

It’s difficult to say. There isn’t a defined time for such a thing. No one, when growing up, gets told that at a particular point in time you will come to regret certain decisions you made. No one is warned of that dreadful moment because it’s never the same for everyone. A few of us claim to have no regrets, a small percentage of whom actually don’t. The rest just can’t seem to recall them at that moment. This, to emphasize the fact that regrets are not something one can lie about. No man with regrets can ever look another in the eye and say he doesn’t have them. It’s that simple.

Regret is not subjective; the definition of it…

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Posted by on October 1, 2013 in Uncategorized


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