The Nameless Relationship.

This is killing me,

It is tearing me apart,

It is crushing my body,

It is torturing me,

It is sucking my soul,

I am having trouble breathing.

But I cannot end this,

No I cannot,

Not because I care about you,

But because a part of me lies in you,

A part which you stole years ago,

A part which can never come back.

And a part of you lies in me,

Close to my heart,

Attached to my soul,

Which you slowly poured inside me down the years.

It has now become my drug,

Which keeps me sane,

At the same time eats me deep inside.

You are not someone I love,

Nor are you someone I hate.

You are just a sour soul,

Trapped inside a rusted body.

You are a black magician,

Who tricked me into the trap.

You drugged me, you stole my soul,

You made my body your own.

You are a criminal,

And you should be sentenced to death.

This relationship that we have,

Is unknown to us, to our friends,

To our family, and to god himself.

And so it would be best to let the almighty decide,

What this relationship can be called. 

 P.S I know i write alot of post scripts, but eh whatever.

 Basically, there is this instagrammer called 'thegoodfornothing.' I don't know him personally and i dont even think he knows that i exist. So yeah,that guy has inspired me to write this , because he writes things like this and posts it on his page. I guess I should dedicate this to him or something. Pfft. Nevermind. Happy reading, though it is a sad post.

What is she made of ?

She rises with the sun,

And settles with the stars.

All day long she runs,

And only stops with scars.

What is she made of?

 

Love is her forte,

Caring is her nature.

Vegetables she sauté’s,

Hearts she never punctures.

What is she made of?

 

Insoluble pain she dissolves,

With a smile she fakes.

Everything she absorbs,

No quarrel she makes.

What is she made of?

 

Beauty is her inheritance.

Eternity is her right.

Inacceptable is her resistance,

Back she should fight.

What is she made of?

 

Love is what she is made of.

Charismatic is her smile.

She is a mother,

As she had once walked down the aisle.

 

P.S First poem :D. I dedicate this poem to my mother.

I love you maa. And no, I don’t need an occasion to write something for you.

Come back soon. This place is a mess without you. Miss you :*

The 5th Call

It was a beautiful evening. Birds were chirruping. Flowers were blooming. Clouds were negligible. Iqbal was a nine year old, who was a great friend of his grandma. Iqbal took great care of her.  As a part of their daily routine Iqbal and his ammijaan were walking to the phone booth to call his grandpa - Mr. Abdul, who was in Jeddah. Ammijaan used to feed the sparrows on their way back home. That day was special for them all. Ammijaan’s daughter was expecting a second child. Ammijaan could not wait to tell Mr. Abdul about this news. 

*Phone ringing*

“Nobody is answering the call ammijaan.”

“Try again Iqbal.”

*Phone ringing*

“I am afraid, the call has been left unanswered.”

“Oh lord. Iqbal, quickly go back home and get the telephone diary of mine, it’s in my almara.”

“Alright.”

Iqbal immediately left. Ammijaan could not keep her mind under control. All the negative thoughts

rushed in her mind. Then she saw Iqbal running towards her. He handed her the telephone diary. She quickly flipped the pages and asked Iqbal to dial a number, it was the number of their neighbour’s back in Jeddah.

The call was answered in the second ring.

“Hello, Mrs.Hosseini speaking.”

“Hasina, Mrs. Abdul here.”

“oh, Nasa alkhair.”

“Hasina, I wanted to ask you for a favour. My husband, Mr. Abdul isn’t answering my calls, and I am really worried.”

“Oh, is it. I will immediately go to your manzil and see if everything is alright. Call me back within 10 minutes.”

“Okay, be quick. “

Mrs. Abdul started reciting a phrase from Quran. Iqbal asked her not to worry so much. But ammijaan just couldn’t stay put. Right after ten minutes she dialed back. Nobody answered. They kept calling for the next 15 minutes. Finally the 5th call was answered.

Mrs. Abdul dropped the phone and fell on the floor. Iqbal was startled. He quickly picked up the phone and was shocked.

They had got the news of the death of Ammijaan’s husband, Mr. Abdul. As later informed, heart attack was the reason for his demise.

That was the last time Iqbal and his ammijaan had visited the phone booth. They never enjoyed the evening walk. Ammijaan never fed the sparrows again. Her life had become a misery. And Iqbal could not get over the fact that he was not to blame, for what had happened. 

Death, my friends, is inevitable. But to waste your life over somebody’s absence in your life is pointless. Anybody can die any minute, anywhere, and you can do absolutely nothing about it. So instead of mourning over somebody’s loss for the whole life, live your life to the fullest, so that 

nobody mourns about your death as much, cause they know you couldn’t have lived your life better.

P.S This is my first go, when it comes to short-story writing.The last part might be a bit illogical, but well it seems different, for all I care. :P  "The 5th Call" is adapted from a real life incident. I hope you all like it. :).