Tales of the Unheard

Source: Painting by Mary Maxam on DailyPainters.com It was one of those days when the body seems to have lost all its energy, no longer willing to make simple movements like standing, sitting or doing anything at all. It just lays there…. lifeless yet full of life. I sat there as still as water and as silent as a night, staring at the ceiling, lost in my own thoughts. My head ached thinking there was still so much to do… a long list of never ending work that had to be completed by this apparently lifeless body. Ahhh!! It had been a long tiring week, shifting a home is exhausting for both, the soul and the flesh. From planning on packing, wrapping the whole house, moving to a new place to settling in… a task that literally drains all your energies in every way possible. It was the same for me… shifting to a new place in all the hustle bustle was beyond exhausting. The process of moving is kind of like the start of a new life; you look forward to your future yet feel ...

Continued.... I gradually opened my eyes…. feeling relieved to be able to see again, a little blur but at least I could still see. I looked around …. observing my surroundings but all I could actually see was pitch dark . “How strange…   I was so sure that I hadn’t turned blind, yet it felt that I had forever been sightless.”   It took a few hours that felt like forever till I could see again. But what was there to see? Nothing I hadn’t seen before…. I was used to these purple bruises encircling my eyes and painting my body now and then. I imagined these bruises as beauty marks, pretty shades of cosmetics that covered my ugly, worthless, and pitiable body. I remember the night I stepped into my second home, leaving behind my family and what little I had. It was the first time in my young life that I had seen my present and future even darker than a night. The moon and the stars had vanished from my life; it seemed they had faded away within a murky void…. an e...

Dear Life,                It has been a while since I’ve had the time to reflect on you. For you have left me and travelled afar in haste with time as your companion. I lay here abandoned, adrift in my past and present, awaiting nothing but death. In these moments my friend, I often reminisce about our journey together through time and till the end. Well hello there life… my old friend!   I assume you have long forgotten about my insignificant existence, but I …. I am trapped in the memories of our bond that encompasses over seven decades, a lifetime that we have journeyed though, from nothing to being everything but in unison. Alas, our bond has now reached its end and I stand here all alone, full of despair and hopelessness yet empty-handed. My dear friend, I still remember how we formed our connection for the very first time when my flesh and bones were touched by my soul, the day I was ...

Continued... Tree : “ Tell me merchant, why does it seem that all life has been drained out of your body? What makes you so disappointed in life?” “My whole life”… I was born in 1955 in Peshawar. Coming from a family of merchants and clothiers, business was in our blood and we shared a fairly good reputation in the markets of the ‘City of Men’. My youth is full of good memories but as I grew older our fates turned on us. Times had changed; our country was facing political challenges and socio-economic issues, falling into despair day by day. And the same cloud of despair was upon our business now. Everything fell; our family shop was sold after my father got sick and left us in a great debt. Since we were unable to return the debt, our reputation in the market was lost. There was nothing left for us in our own city so we finally decided to migrate to Lahore. With my mother, wife and children, moving to a new city seemed like a big challenge especially being a pathan in ...

“ If only we could become stars and shine just as bright, a light that illuminates pathways and lives" – Nyla Little do we know of how much we can control our lives, at times it has no purpose or meaning yet it proves to be an everyday struggle. “I remember that I was only 6 or 7 years old when I realised life was as bitter and harsh as the winter. Our empty stomachs growled as the night grew colder...’ said Nyla, a fourteen-year-old domestic worker, a bread earner and another victim of the harsh realities of our ugly society. She smiles at me asking “ are you going to write a story on me too? ” I smile back at her, as I lift my pen, watching her hide her sadness just as she starts to unveil the unspoken truths of this world, holding back tears just to show how strong she is, she questions “what do you want to know first, how my life is or would you rather want to know how poor I am?” Blank, clueless and quiet, I remain silent, gath...