We All Die 20k Deaths a Day / Dee

RIC Journal

the city has my marks-
like stains ;
they wont go permanently
but they fade with time.
on some days
when the weather is softer
the stains remind me of places
i have been
places that marked presence:
here is a corner in a bookstore
where I sat next to you
and read eliot’s wasteland

“and drank coffee, and talked for an hour.”
i read
you listened
time stood still.

the ashtray has the last cigarette
we smoked
its turned purple like my palor
almost all the grass we sat onhas burnt to a dull brownliked brick cakesthat were left in the shadefor too longforgotten

i want an eraser
i want to go to all the places
we went
and erase every stain
that bears our togetherness.

love is not a word
it’s not an emotive quantification
for how often
how long
you and I were etched into skin:

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Spaces / Dee

RIC Journal



……. drip

let the droplets accumulate in
a pool of an insignificant amount allow them to flow from the tap

from the brow

from your eyes

from the moment

part of you comes tearing from the being

to be let back in

ultimate expression of creativity

of longing

see someone else exhibit our love

at the turn of the road

the hour

the minute

this week

that month

of that year

when finally

you will learn to forget

what it was like to wait

to long

to want

to be loved

to be held

to be yearned

to be smiled at

resting heart rate should be 71

should be this

and a bit of that

and a lot of what

others want

others need

others claim


yourself to grieve

order to be free

to be one

to be many


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a qasida to longing (an ode) / Dee

RIC Journal

love existed before longing
longing precedes loving
i reach the fire you had made
find ashes alone
lonely in their dreams
waiting for someone to throw dust
so it may rest
find your presence here
in the twig that you may have used
to map your journey in the ground
some berries and plums
pomegranate as red as the blood

dumeguftaar keh us lab pe machaltee huee baat


i am a lone traveler
followers are not travellers
i am a lone follower
lost my pack
each one on purpose
for you
if longing is a purpose then
i shudder at the thought of your lips next to mine
quivering in their longing, parched in their own solitude
jung’s individuation fails here

dumeguftaar keh us lab pe machaltee huee baat


gathering flowers from this earth you walked
waiting for a direction
none to be found
your sweat…

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Of #tags / Dee

RIC Journal

sylvia plath did not commit suicide
#loneliness murdered her

being #misunderstood is what 
you do to me when you know i
need you 


measuring me
strangers who endorse
or convict
on social media platforms

i worry about you daughters
i #worry

#gods who lost interest
in pain and misery
found their way to your
accounts of #beingseen

one tick
two ticks
blue ticks


measuring each others vulnerabilities
the new age wars are not #within
they are sought after on your #TL

jung, lacan, manto ghalib jon alia, freud, horace, faiz, fehmeeda riaz, gulzar, rumi, zehra nigah, morrison , atwood

all await your #
an endorsement

there are no pauses
whenever lonely
unlock the phone
multiply the chaos
and sleep to new tags

you define yourself?
not anymore
the four lines do
cleverly tangling you to yourself

hashtag me a…

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Resting Place / Dee

RIC Journal

i’m standing at the threshold 
a child plump – hair tied 
eyes fixed on liquid lives i do not
understand. i am four

the eagle swims through watery clouds
i leave my diary open in hope
you will read its chasm filled pages
i want you to understand. i am fifteen

birds of prey wait and watch
i give you your last *ghussal
your lips have sworn allegiance
my anguish remains a secret buried
with you.
i wanted you to understand. i am 21

white serenity migrates over the
*Quetta skies
to warmer abodes
you watch me watch you watch me
i want to make you understand. i am 30

brown hair i pleat
kneading love into your laughter
you share stories from school
i ache to understand. you are 15 daughter

i stand at the door
at the gate
near cars 
by the window 
to smile at your…

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Oscillate / Dee

RIC Journal

when a man passes by
my hips sway-
a will of their own
they have.

at a signal the car sighs
men turn and look-
she moans.

far from the heat of the city
in a cool room on the second floor
she strips the layers of her skin
placing her hand at the seat
of her soul-
the universe sighs.

red is the colour of my blood
it comes in myriad shades
pumping a million desires,
laughter ripping the ceiling apart.

sour lemons grow
i planted you three summers ago
changing recipes of lure-
the earth groans.

my body aches –
longings no god can satiate;
of the soul another time.

bitten remains of the apple
stuck between my teeth
from the beginning of Time-
my tongue traces eve.

milton, dante, jung, lacan, faiz, manto, bible, quran
frida, zehra, plath, scriptures –
the vomitus of wars
against the self

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Counting My Losses / Dee

RIC Journal

the marigolds did not grow this year.
you left us.
a friend died of cancer.
my migraines have grown in number.
the children have started to worry.
i stopped fighting nights.
blame is better shared.
spent lives heavily rest
on my chest
I stroke their cheeks their hair
they all look like me none like you.
you must feel cheated?
i am sure.
they say it will rain soon maybe today is soon.
is today soon enough?
eagles hover low
filth of our consumption
lies heavily on their bodies.
they do not complain like me.
they just do not fly anymore.
i drove.
i counted.
five thousand empty eyes
thirty aimless cars
twenty five choking trees
seventy five children
hiding in their fathers pockets holding onto their lives on the
tiny seats of the motorcycle.
smog filled eyes and restless hearts
i heard a tree gasp for air.
they closed…

View original post 113 more words

we all die 20k deaths a day

the city has my marks-like stains ;they wont go permanentlybut they fade with time.on some dayswhen the weather is softerthe stains remind me of placesi have beenorplaces that marked presence:here is a corner in a bookstorewhere I sat next to youand read eliot’s wasteland”and drank coffee, and talked for an hour.”i readyou listenedtime stood still.the ashtray has the last cigarettewe smokedits turned purple like my palori want an eraseri want to go to all the placeswe wentand erase every stainthat bears our togetherness.love is not a wordit’s not an emotive quantificationfor how oftenhow longyou and I were etched into skin:tattoos of faith.we promised eternity.the lies I have told myselflie on the left hand corner of this roomhuddled togetherbrushed under the afghan carpet .its not visible to anyone.secrets are so hard to keep-that’s what carpets are for.breathing is an arti mastered itthen i stopped breathingi live in gaspingand some other rapturesnow.pristine existence -i hold my head on the neckwith straight shouldersan upright backi’m crumbling within;someone asks:how are you?i hear myselfscreamingi’m dying without lovei need to be heldand kissedi want to see myself dissolvein what was my rightlove is not about affordability quasicinisit’s about burning yourselffor a woman you cant breathe without.I am well, thank you.I answer.


‏مجبوری دیمک ہے
رشتوں کو ادھورا کرتی
خالی ، کھنکھناتی در و دیوار

اچھی ہے
مجھ جیسی نہیں

‏بچھڑنا ضروری نہیں واجب ہے

‏سگنل کے کھمبے سے ٹیک لگاے
وہ ایک عرصے سے کھڑا ہے شاید

کہیں رات ڈھونڈتی ہے کنارے اور تم
میری شب کو بجھانے بڑھتے ہو

‏میرے حال، میرے حالات سے مختلف ہیں مگر
تم بتدریج احساس دلاتے ہو مجھے

میرے ساتھ نہیں جلنا سو نہ چلو
مجھے وقت کے ریلے میں بے وقت تو نہ کہو