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.
2m 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.
3y ago
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.
3y ago
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.
4y ago
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.
4y ago
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
7y ago
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.
8y ago
Dhaka demands
Dhaka demands my attention. Not just with thoughts and opinions but even in an invisible ways. Dhaka rests in those tiny moist
8y ago
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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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