Iffat Nawaz

Tucked between moving trains and elegiac dead-ends

Some among us might have wondered what it feels like to hold a lit bomb between our palms. One that will go off inevitably yet its spark, heat, force, weight, and pulsating nature are so fascinating that we are unable to put it down or look away, all the while knowing at the end of the wick we too will be destroyed—a chosen death, a voluntary annihilation.

3w ago

A completely unrelated series of hunger stories

My father used to take me, and sometimes my younger brother, to a particular shop in the Baitul Mukarram Market. It was a gadget store.

Mazin

In the Kingdom of Rain, in the land of breeze, life moved in the rhythm of liquid glass. There, the glass was always full, and the sky never fooled one about the forecast. The stability of such ways brought people no dismays.

Three speaking Mynas

It was an overcast late spring day and two mynas were sitting on a cashew tree not too far from the sea. The branches were swaying as the waves touched the shore and sent out a gentle hello to all who resided close by. The earth vibrated with the rhythm of the wind’s play of multiplying ripples.

You — That Vastness

Your hands, they are flawless, your fingertips holding imprints of the million profound words you have typed, the faces you have touched, the doors you have held, and the way you have kept them now kneeling, in service for your soul, to create something remarkable, like you.

While we were waiting:

How fast does sound travel? Certainly not as fast as light. Under the bright sun, all sounds seem to dissolve into light, no residues, no gripes. But what about at night? Especially in those, where sounds of decay, destruction and discrimination travel fast through frothing

Goa love - the sea and Aguada

The sun was not setting. The moon was out. It was one of those days where the moon protests visibly in the sunny blue sky.

Dhaka demands

Dhaka demands my attention. Not just with thoughts and opinions but even in an invisible ways. Dhaka rests in those tiny moist

February 8, 2024
February 8, 2024

Tucked between moving trains and elegiac dead-ends

Some among us might have wondered what it feels like to hold a lit bomb between our palms. One that will go off inevitably yet its spark, heat, force, weight, and pulsating nature are so fascinating that we are unable to put it down or look away, all the while knowing at the end of the wick we too will be destroyed—a chosen death, a voluntary annihilation.

June 2, 2020
June 2, 2020

A completely unrelated series of hunger stories

My father used to take me, and sometimes my younger brother, to a particular shop in the Baitul Mukarram Market. It was a gadget store.

May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020

Mazin

In the Kingdom of Rain, in the land of breeze, life moved in the rhythm of liquid glass. There, the glass was always full, and the sky never fooled one about the forecast. The stability of such ways brought people no dismays.

April 21, 2020
April 21, 2020

Three speaking Mynas

It was an overcast late spring day and two mynas were sitting on a cashew tree not too far from the sea. The branches were swaying as the waves touched the shore and sent out a gentle hello to all who resided close by. The earth vibrated with the rhythm of the wind’s play of multiplying ripples.

April 7, 2020
April 7, 2020

You — That Vastness

Your hands, they are flawless, your fingertips holding imprints of the million profound words you have typed, the faces you have touched, the doors you have held, and the way you have kept them now kneeling, in service for your soul, to create something remarkable, like you.

November 22, 2016
November 22, 2016

While we were waiting:

How fast does sound travel? Certainly not as fast as light. Under the bright sun, all sounds seem to dissolve into light, no residues, no gripes. But what about at night? Especially in those, where sounds of decay, destruction and discrimination travel fast through frothing

July 28, 2015
July 28, 2015

Goa love - the sea and Aguada

The sun was not setting. The moon was out. It was one of those days where the moon protests visibly in the sunny blue sky.

May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015

Dhaka demands

Dhaka demands my attention. Not just with thoughts and opinions but even in an invisible ways. Dhaka rests in those tiny moist

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