Ashes

The ashes will always glow for you but everyone around you just seems to be waiting for the last few embers to burnout. The young and aspiring birds fly far from you and honestly, who would want to allow your flickering flames to scorch them? They’ve all tried. Sprinkled you with water droplets, drizzled on you and finally showered you with buckets of icy remarks but you refuse to leave your weak ashy stats to bloom into something more, the next stage of your journey perhaps? Then of course there’s the grey engulfing smoke you continuously emit, a distant memory of the mighty roaring fire you used to be. The dying coal, without any pattern, burst alight, a sliver of the parks you had in your life once. What you’ve done to yourself makes me want to weep at times but I hold it together, trying to be the one constant boulder in your life, the anchor to keep you grounded, the one who’ll always stay, always offer you a seat and strength. But they forget. I’m not yet strong enough to offer you any real support, showering you with pretty words instead. Sometimes I feel that waiting for you to change is like ‘wishing for rain as I stand in the desert’. Your gradually greying ashes have the potential to burst into the glorious flames they were but you just need a gentle stoking to make you come alive again. It’ll be like finding life in a hopeless place <3 Then we can parade you through the dense forest so everyone can see your beauty, it’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it? Attention? Acceptance? Applause? But on your ‘Cloud 9’, the wholes and gaps are widening. You left something behind. After the clapping fades it’s just you and your little helpers but where are they now? They’ve gone. You forgot, the need timbre and dry wood too. Now they’re in ashes and the whole cycle begins again.

I Missed You

I woke up with your fragrance in the air,
In those few moments, I missed you.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I smelt the whiff of your aftershave,
In those few moments, I missed you.
Gliding down the stairs, seeing the bread crumbs still steaming on the plate,
In those few moments, again, I missed you.
Would I always just be one step behind?
Always just nearly missing you?
A few steps ahead, a few behind.
Was is coincidental or fates design?
I guess I'll never really hear this from you,
There's few words: "Hey, I miss you too". 

The Balcony

He silently slid the sheer curtains aside and slipped into the balcony. The sunlight had snuck in tentative rays which bathed the crème colored finish of the railings. It cast short, demented shadows on the red terracotta tiles. He then settled into the comfy sofa. The sofa was quite modern, bought only a few months ago. The bright turquoise cushions were as bouncy as ever, you felt like you’d just sink in them and be engulfed by them. Its white plaited plastic base was clean and sturdy. A deep green Afghan cover had been artistically and carefully draped over the side, almost as carefully as it had been knit. There was a small, mobile frosted glass top table on the side and under it were the remnants of a long forgotten apple core. Maggots had long since left it to rot in peace. Our silent watcher observed it all. Even down to the subtle whispery movement of all the plants that lined the back wall. It was as though he’d been suddenly transported into some touristy Mediterranean villa. With a sigh he settled in even further into the massive cushions.

                                                                                                                            Simran Ali Malik

Thursday, August 11, 2011

The Queen

The Queen’s sigh seemed to echo over the whole castle, even the carved humanoid statues below looked moved by her deep sorrow. She sat on her 25 story high balcony surveying her kingdom. It was crumbling to ruins and oh, boy did she know it. After the King’s mysterious disappearance, life in Alorr was miserable. The people’s pockets emptied out as did their faith and trust in her. The farmers were in debt had faced problems not seen for the last 20 years. But this was nothing to compare with the Queen’s own sorrowful, deteriorating personal life.  At only 18, the responsibility of a whole state had been thrust upon her. She had no idea as to what she was supposed to be doing. Her ministers supported her decisions and counseled her but eventually it was her wisdom she would need in being a good Queen to the people. If you looked at her now at 20, you would think she was a middle aged woman. Her once beautiful and radiant eyes now had a hollow look and where surrounded by valleys and ridges of wrinkles. When looking at her eyes it was like looking into the depts. of hell. Her hair, now limp and greying, was the complete opposite of her once lustrous brown cascading hair. On the first arrival of the new Spanish Queen, everyone had been struck by her radiating beauty but now the once loving states people dreaded looking at the dying Queen. She didn’t have family, love or happiness. Queen Robyn was a lonely banshee stuck in the crumbling castle of “Du’jour de Alorr”, waiting for her knight in shining armor.

An Inconvenience

I saw the door handle twitch. Then heard the lock click. Saw the knob turn. It swung open. HE’d returned. Damn.

It’d begun like my usual Sunday mornings; a 37 year old me lounging around at home in my fab new Bambini sweats, flipping through all sorts of channels while texting my bestie; Alicia, whom I hadn’t seen in absolutely the longest time. We chatted about almost everything including the pair of must-have Louboutins in Pavilion, the pink, cute but subtle officey shirt from Zara, drop-dead gorgeous black leather bags from Charles and Keith which were big enough to smuggle babies in, darling little prams from Kids R Us for Zane and Tara; my kids, which brand of Cod Liver Oil was better to nourish the kids brains, the healing effects of yoga for women who’ve just delivered and difficult, tyrant mother-in-laws. We didn’t even once touch on HIM. She didn’t even once steer the conversation in that direction. This was why I loved Alicia, she understood me better than I understood myself or better than HE ever did. To calm you and to remove the furrow from your brow, I would like to tell you that HE/HIM/HIS is not the big boss sitting up there (God) but HE/HIM/HIS is actually my ex-husband. HE is a forbidden topic between even my closest family and friends. After we’d said our goodbyes and had gone over the details of tomorrow’s lunch in Chilis, Bangsar, I put the phone down. The channel had been on National Geographic. At the moment we were ‘being taken on a journey through the eyes of the savannah’s most feared predator’ as the narrator with the Aussie accent called it. It then showed a gazelle’s head being ripped off. I took pleasure in imagine its head to be HIS, then feeling foolish and guilty; I managed to locate the remote from under my butt and turn it off. Without the children to keep the house full of life and noise, I’d become quite lonely and in my opinion, disturbed.

HE wasn’t here either. HE had packed his stuff and paid his bills by 3AM and was gone by 3:15AM. I’d been too groggy to try to stop him. It would’ve been useless anyways, it was too late. It was one of the things I’d most admired about him, his determination and passion in something he believed in. This had gotten him his job as Managing Editor in The Star newspaper. This had also gotten him out of the house. The kids couldn’t cope and so I’d done the only thing I could think of, I sent them to live with their grandparents in Subang for a month while I sorted everything out here. And now, HE’s coming back to wreck it all again but this time, I’m ready. 

Nooriyah's Struggle

The heat had reached a point where it was almost unbearable but Nooriyah still attended to her father's wounded leg. Her father, Mohd. Ali had been caught in a tussle with one of the Taliban who patrolled the area around their house after dark. Mohd Ali had been seen outside his house after curfew hours. So the Taliban struck him with their always-at-hand rifles. Since Monday, Nooriyah had been trying to nurse him back to health. It was Thursday now.
Their small house in Kabul, Afghanistan, now reeked with the smell of the sick. Aaman, Nooriyah's 11 year old brother having been in a fight with his few friends, ran in and started towards the small alcove that was their toilet. He had a bleeding upper lip and nose. When Nooriyah swooped in to examine him, he shoved her away roughly and went to wash up and find a scrap piece of cloth to wipe his face with. Sighing heavily, Nooriyah went back to her father. As she was wiping the sweat off his forehead, he asked her in a very weak voice: "What trouble has Aaman been up to today?” Nooriyah wondered how he had known because when she'd left his side he had been dozing fitfully. Putting her thoughts aside she answered: "He has been in another fight with those rowdy friends of his, a little blood but not much" she didn't want to scare him, though he would probably be down with fever for the next few days because he was very fragile boy," I'm going to tell him off again!" He patted her arm and said "Oh, my dear, dear daughter! What would I do without you? The scolding and telling off is my part!" He managed a ghost of a smile. Nooriyah sniffed indignantly but then rushed at her father and hugged him, hard, a bit too hard she thought after he began wheezing, weakly under her. His condition had been a bit more stable after he had begun taking the medicines the local pharmacist had prescribed for them.
Theirs was a pretty well to do estate compared to all the other houses in their small neighbourhood where everyone had grown up knowing what was going on in the next house. All the families on the block had very close knit ties with each other. That whole neighbourhood spirit was gone now that the Taliban night patrols and curfew had been more strongly enforced. You could no longer see kids playing along the sidewalks during their free evenings. Or people visiting each other for tea and stopping by for a chat. Even the few local co-ed schools had been shut down after the Taliban passed the law that all education and entertainment were Haram; meaning not allowed and against their religion .They had spray-painted all the billboards that portrayed any females advertising products and they ordered everyone to put up black paper on the windows of their houses so no-one could look in, or look out for that matter. At first Mohd. Ali had resisted this and a few other rules. His decision was later regretted when the Taliban barged through their door and demanded why they had not covered up their windows. That visit made them change a lot: the windows, all their books and paintings were confiscated and burnt; their television set was thrown and broken out-side their house and all of Nooriyah and Aaman's childhood toys were taken away. The Taliban called themselves 'mujahedeen' ("holy warriors" or "freedom fighters"). They were the results of extreme Islamic preaching with the wrong messages being drilled into them since they were young. So one couldn't really blame them for their actions but all humans should have some sense! They were promised Heaven if they performed suicide bombings and that treating people of other religions as if they would go to Hell and burn was the way they were meant to live. But the moderate Muslims knew better than that. They protested but breaking through completely was nearly impossible because in the name of religion the Taliban had taken up arms and ammunition as their tool of force for bending the strong-willed Afghani people to do what they wanted them to. So the couple of groups that had arisen to protest the Taliban 'invasion' ,if that's what we can call it, had to stay very secretive and maintain a low-profile so not to attract any unwanted attention(Taliban related) which would land them in a spot of trouble. Then as the Taliban rampage continued and increased in its masses people protested more openly than ever before.

Picnik

Hey!

I've just discovered a new website that lets you edit your pictures online! AND I'm currently obsessed with it :P. Its absolutely amazing and fun. With many different options that allow you to change your photo's for better or worse hahaha. Heres the link then:  http://www.picnik.com/

Be HAPPY!!!

‘’If you’re sad, don’t waste time. Life is too short. Turn over a new page, new start, and new happiness.’’

I totally believe in this quote! There’s no point sitting around feeling sad. There are so many opportunities everywhere just waiting for you! Of course you could feel down sometimes, it’s perfectly normal! But to shake it off you could listen to your favorite hip-hop dance song or think of something cheerful to perk yourself up! When something sad enters people’s lives, they keep thinking about it, turning it over and over in their minds and slowly leading themselves into depression. A little weather change of your mind should not change the climate of your spirit. When others notice this, some will distance themselves from you while some others will help to lift you up again. So it’s important to surround yourself with lovely, caring and most importantly, happy people! Everyone should make an effort to live life to its fullest. Try something new every day. Like maybe go eat squid, try sky diving or maybe even learn a new instrument! The human mind hates monotony! If something upsets or unsettles you, just shrug it off and take it in your stride. Sometimes people forget who’s controlling their life and they leave everything up to chance. But it’s your life and you need to take charge of it! Here’s something for you to think about: ‘’Life is you car, you could choose to make it a Proton or a Ferrari but as long as you keep your hand firmly on the steering wheel, you’re going to have a great ride’’!  I hope that from now on, whenever you need a dose of happiness, you take my advice. If it doesn’t work, take Bob Marley’s: Don’t Worry (snap snap) Be Happy! Everything’s going to be alright!

A Release

Seeing the astonishment in her widened eyes, lashes slick with tears that threatened to fall any moment, although she was too strong to show anyone the turmoil under her mask of calm. I handed it to her, waiting for the reaction I expected to see. What I got was more than I bargained for. She smiled her gratitude but I saw something falter at the edges of her lips. I could see her trying hard not to fall under the burden that she would now be expected to carry. It wasn't the usual perky beam that crinkled her aged eyes; there was something there that I hadn't thought I’d see. She knew she could not hold her facade together for another minute. I would have left to save her the embarrassment but I did not, knowing she would hate me for it. She broke down, slumping against the wall behind her , seeming to take strength from it, sobbing as though she would never stop. But there was a glint of bliss in the sadness she had overcome. She would no longer have to wait another century, she could be released now. Even as she had seen her whole life falling around her feet, she had stood tall and proud through it all. Knowing this, I simply smiled!

A piece I wrote after having a moment of Inspiration

The River

The river flowed with a current barely visible. Its fish popping up and causing gentle eddies on the surface of the water. The weeping willows trailing their branches along the banks and dipping curious fingers into  the water, dancing to the rhythm of the wind. She noticed it all. She sat there for a while, then swooped in, caught an unfortunate worm and flew away to her nest where her hungry babies waited. They chirped with delight when they saw the juicy worm struggling in their mother ferocious talons. As they tore at the flesh, their mother looked at them with such content-ness. Her eyes had softened and she almost seemed to smile, her beak half open, ready at a moment's call to serve her darlings. Glad at how her small act had brought them such satisfaction. It’s the same with all mothers, isn’t it?