Writer’s Block

There comes a time in your life when you have a million thoughts stacked up in your mind, several things pending, projects in the pipeline, work waiting to be done, words waiting to be said and you amongst all those quintessentially awesome and incredibly messed up things find yourself disconnected. Detached. Its like you want to flow with all the force but everything in the obvious and obscure time and space is holding you back. To me that’s a writer’s block.

Not being able to let go, not being able to let it all out and especially when words fail me.

I found these ‘Dyslexic fragments’ in an abandoned folder in my phone.

Thought I’d share. Just for the sake of words and all that’s beyond them.


He and the entire idea of his being are two things I can never wrap my existence around. Will there ever be enough words, expressions, sighs, touches, heartbeats or moments to make him aware of that?

Will there ever be enough of me to contain enough of him?

Fuck it! I don’t need to.


Incredibly close, utterly exquisite and unbearably distant.


Your existence.


A pang of pain, a rumble in her chest.

His crooked smile that looked more like a smirk.

Shoes. Her broken heels.

The pile of their clothes at the edge of the bed. Broken pieces of glass everywhere on the floor.

Her need to break, completely. His desire to fall for a broken heart.

Will white pants go with this teal V-neck? Dilemmas.

The need of being loved. To love. Unconditionally.

For her to be his. His precious jewel.

Misery and mystery. The despicable games that can be played.

Adrenaline rush. Drugs running in the veins. Choking on the smoke from the cheap cigarrettes.

A death every moment. A death by choice.

The loss within.


Barefoot in the moonlight. A trance created by the joyous souls.

A goodbye to last forever.

The story of the night. Every other night.

The curse in the polite conversation.

The fall of the desperate kingdom of love.







“Darkness. Too much of it.”

“I have better memories associated with that word, just so you know.”

And she walked out, leaving him with his uninterrupted chain of thoughts.

Ponder Over It, Yeah?

Suno, you guys wanna watch the match together at my place?” Samad yelled from the balcony of his apartment on the 3rd floor, looking at his friends playing downstairs. Raza and Ali rushed to get the popcorn and went to Samad’s house.

Funny commentary, joyous laughs over the fours and the sixes got overshadowed by a loud thud and the shaking of earth under their feet.

The three on them never found out the match’s result.


Aliya: When will you reach home?

Sahira: In a bit. On the way only.

Aliya: Come soon. Bhai’s back from his trip. Get Coke on the way please.

Sahira: Sure thing.

Aliya had only read the last text from her sister when she heard the loud thud, saw the chaos spreading with the flames and gave in to the screams of pain and plea.

Sahira lost a roof and the souls breathing under it.


“Ammi kab ayeing aap log, I’m dying of hunger.” Rizwan said. “Bas beta pohanch rahey hain, khana hi le rahey they.”

They never returned back to their sanctuary or a son awaiting to be fed.


Sana kept sneaking glances at the phone hidden under a book in her lap while watching the Urdu TV soap with her family. Her face brightened up when she saw his name flashing on the screen of her phone. She tip-toed to her room and picked up the phone. “Hello”, Zaid’s voice at the other end made her sigh in relief. “I just got my phone recharged. I missed you.” “I love you Zaid.” She confessed.

A loud blast, a house set on fire, falling of the walls, last breaths.

He never heard her voice ever again.


And a so many other stories ended today. So many shelters turned into dust which used to be filled with carefree laughs and tears of understanding. So many still struggling to live for a few seconds, hanging between life and death. So many praying for a prompt end for the pain is just unbearable.

And so many praying for they survived yet another day. For their loved ones are breathing and tucked in their beds, sleeping, dreaming… Hopelessly.

Our lives have become nothing but a number, a statistical figure to be flashed in huge fonts on the television screens, to be announced again and again by the nicely and expensively dressed news reporters and to be written on so many statuses and tweets on social networking sites.

Our sanctuaries are not safe anymore. Tonight it was them, tomorrow it will be you, me or someone we love. Think over it!

Pehle katl-e-aam sarkon pe hua karta tha, ab humare ghar hi humari qabar hain.