Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared. – Buddha
Dreams woven intricately through the dark canvas of life,
sparkling at times,
at times becoming dim and dull.
Dreams equivalent to stars, seem to move further away as you reach for them.
They move away as you reach for them, taunting you and mocking you,
for your inability to reach higher,
for your weakness of losing hope,
for stumbling again and again,
for not standing up after you fall down.
They mock you.
Like stars they twinkle. And disappear. Then appear again.
Or maybe they are just there, and you fail to see them.
A cloudy night perhaps?
But the clouds part to reveal them again. And they mock you, again.
She’s trying on her mother’s jewelry.
She reaches for a gold ring, delicately, picks it up and slips it on. It’s too big and slides down. She puts it onto her thumb instead.
Next she attacks the bangles on the dressing table. The gold bangles clang on her small wrist, the diamonds winking playfully at her.
She looks at the gold necklace encrusted with rubies. She does not need to unhook it. The necklace chain is more than wide enough to slide over her head unhooked.
When she looks in the mirror, she does not see an 8-year-old Kundan in pigtails. She sees a princess, a beautiful princess of a faraway land. She feels beautiful, adorned with glittering jewelry. She feels as beautiful as her mother.
She carefully unbraids her hair and slides them over one shoulder. She slants her head to one side and watches the rubies glinting in the light.
She needs a tiara, she thinks. She picks up one of her mother’s shiny hair clips and attaches it onto her hair like a crown.
Next she rushes to her mother’s cupboard and takes out a shiny blue dupatta and wraps it clumsily around her waist like a sari. She gets a red lipstick, applies it hurriedly and smacks her lips, like she has seen her mother do so often.
She stands in front of the mirror, admiring her work. She leans in to have a closer look. She looks beautiful, she feels beautiful, and special, because she is wearing her mother’s jewelry.
The knob on the door rattles and she turns around to see her mother enter the room. The little girl runs expectantly to her mother and stands in front of her, awaiting her verdict.
The mother beams down at her with love affection and surprise. There’s a smile on her lips. She realizes that one day will come when she will have to leave her, when she will get married and go away. She realizes that she’s very lucky indeed to see her child grow up.
She takes Kundan back to the dressing table and makes her sit on the stool. Next she wipes off the extra lipstick from her face, and dresses her up, for real this time.
And when Kundan looks in the mirror, she’s not wearing her mom’s jewelry, or her makeup, or her shoes, she’s wearing all of her own things. And she looks even more beautiful than before.
Says the mother, “You don’t need to wear jewels or fancy clothes to look like a beautiful princess honey, you already are one.”
To be truly lost in a cause, you forget the world around you.
It fades into the background and leaves the Subject shining invitingly.
The Subject’s light pulls at you, and you move to the center, helplessly attracted.
The protesting voices and the consequences are silenced.
They twinkle silently, an unheeded reminder of what could go wrong. And yet you keep moving towards the Subject.
You feel the gut instinct, you feel your heart telling you the Subject is worth it.
Your heart tells you to believe in the Subject, for you deserve it.
And that my friend is what we call ishq, to loose oneself, to surrender so completely and yet get so much more in return.
The white, pure beauty and grace flashes in front of your eyes, and
you feel the heat escaping, peace spreading and a coolness embracing you..
And you open your eyes to find the Subject still standing there.
And that is when you realize the world doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just you and the Subject.
The world just doesn’t matter anymore.
She stood on the river bank, listening to the gushing of the water, the spray hitting her face every now
and then. The river looked wide enough. She could cross it. She would cross it. She made up her mind.
Taking a deep breath she put one toe in the water, only to pull it back, the water was cold. She looked
around. There was nobody in sight.
She took another deep breath, and thought about how far she’d come from there to here. Now on the
brink of revelation, she couldn’t just give up. She couldn’t just throw it all away.
And she wanted to know if the grass was greener on the other side didn’t she? Didn’t she?
So why was she hesitating? She rethought, for about the zillionth time, was it worth leaving everything
behind? What if she drowned halfway? She wasn’t that good a swimmer.
And what if the grass wasn’t greener in the other side?
Questions, questions , questions.
Well, she thought, bracing herself as she prepared to jump, she wouldn’t know unless she tried now did
And then she jumped.
She was drowning. She wanted air. She struggled to stay afloat. Her clothes were pulling her down, she
swallowed the sweet river water, and she was drowning.
That’s what she got for crossing this thing alone. She hadn’t even informed anyone she was going to do
this, she thought bitterly.
She resurfaced, only for a moment and called out for help, but her cries were muffled.
Who would hear her? There was no one around for miles. She hadn’t told anyone, she thought bitterly,
and now she was going to die. And she wasn’t even halfway there.
Wasn’t there something she could hold on to? A rock? A branch?
Oh God, she thought frantically, please let her find something. Please let her find something to hold on
to, she didn’t want to drown, she didn’t want to die. Not yet, please not yet,
The water was entering her eyes, her lungs, breathing was becoming difficult.
She was being pulled along the water. The river had become her enemy.
So what if you entered a darkened tunnel?
So what if you left everything behind?
So what if your hands are empty?
So what if your clothes are tattered?
So what if you don’t know where the tunnel leads?
So what if you’re tired, hungry and sleepy?
You know now that you have more space to carry new things now that your hands are empty.
You have a chance to get new clothes now that your clothes are dirty.
You’ve realised the importance of being blessed with food now that you’ve experienced hunger.
You’ve realised the importance of sleep now that you’ve gone without it for weeks.
You have a chance at a new life, now that you’ve left the old one behind.
And you’ll realise the importance of light, after being submerged in darkness for so long.
For you know now, that there is light at the end of every tunnel, and you’re going to find that light.
I’ve come to sweep you away”, a reflection in the water says.
“i’ve come to sweep you away to a land where you’ll be free from all of this. You’ll be in a world where you’ll have me. And i will take care of you. Come. Come with me.”
The reflection in the water holds out a hand to her.
She’s stepped in the water now, mesmerized.
Step by step she goes into the deep, her feet disappear, her knees, her waist, her head, untill you can see her no more.
She’s gone into the water
Some say she drowned.
Some say she found another world, a world she believed in. They say she found happiness in that world.
Sounds like a dream in the making
silent whispers ringing through the night
sparks of silver, unobserved
threatening to die, without a fight
They reach out, spread out, or maybe not yet,
not sure, unsure, not within sight.
What is this i see, can this be true?
my chosen path, my fate not right?
The fireworks have started, too slow for now,
nonetheless they have, you’ll soon see the light.
Maybe all this is a dream, a fancy,
wishful thinking at its peak,
just might dissapear after the end of my night.
Another day will come, and burn my fancy away,
or it might stand there, cemented, fortified.
Can this be real, the loss of hope?
that refuses to go away, stubborn, defied?
The heart cries, in shame, in guilt, and in regret.
Decision why do u have to be so unsure and untimed?
Or maybe my fancy needs a hearsay,
encouragement and words of comfort,
to prepare itself for the stumbling unforeseen flight,
And maybe that flight will fly,
Take me to the stars,
Who knows my dreams might come true.
– Mariyam Khan Baloch
1st October, 2011