“Being poor” and understanding them


I just read an article “Being poor” today and I was astonished, just to know how much it truly triggered me.  http://whatever.scalzi.com/2005/09/03/being-poor/

Frankly I have never led a life like that but I was truly not satisfied with my ways. Not because I wanted what my parents can’t afford but because I wanted something which my father didn’t approve. That is next to nothing regarding being poor. But, never have I deprived of food and never have I cried because I am hungry. I have always felt for those who have been hungry and I have always wanted to help those, but the only thing I feel sad is that I have no income of my own.

“Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won’t hear you say “I get free lunch” when you get to the cashier.” I felt really sad reading this and I wonder how can someone afford to stay like that and I pray to Lord almighty, please help these poor souls.

“Being poor is a six-hour wait in an emergency room with a sick child asleep on your lap.” Oh that is something you see very often in my country with government hospitals. I feel sad and sometimes I feel happy that I never had a chance and I wish and pray that none have that unfortunate chance.

“Being poor is people who have never been poor wondering why you choose to be so.” I strongly disagree (In my single opinion) because I befriend poor girls in my college. Just because I see those girls who are “not poor” have a set of gang and hang out with all those girly charms and I see these girls in a corner having a fine time with people of their kind. I, don’t have a big set of gang but those who understand me loves me and I hang with these poor downward girls and have fun. They are grateful and happy that I chose to be with them and I understand them. i never get those good remark and high five like they do for my choice but I find happiness and gaining happiness is deemed worthy.

“Being poor is knowing how hard it is to stop being poor.” This hit me hard, god! I always pray to my Allah, please help those who have go through much. I can accept and understand because I have been through a lot, and I mean a lot. Physically, mentally, financially and all those “lly” wise.

And in the message section I saw a Soni giving head on with the Being poor in her version and I was heart struck. I can never afford to see people suffering, because like I said I had enough and saw enough to make me feel sad and depressed. I have scars on my left hands that of which I cut. It has healed and left a brown lines always showing what I had to do because I was not able to cope with the pain in my heart. Whenever someone comes and tell me about their sad times, I cry. In silence and in the dark, I advice them a lot of brilliant verses and they feel enlightened and in the end I think to myself, “wouldn’t that apply to me.” And I cry…

A lot of Being poor messages got popped in the message section and most of which stood by my heart is the stealing part for food and thinking will that be a sin. There are people who steal because they feel like doing this and some are there because of their misfortune. And there are people and children who steals,for the sake of someone in their home and give them what they stole and they sleep hungrily.

I can’t think enough and speak because my heart is whimpering and I feel guilt in my guts.”If  only I can do something.”

Ha…i wish and hope and pray and cry for the best and Lord Almighty is all-knowing and empowering, he knows what is happening for the best. Leaving onto his palms, I wish hoping for the best.

Whatever may be, hope is what ties us to not give-up.


Stale taste lingering in my silenced mouth.


of all those brightening scenes…
you stood glinting in between
pastures and pastel and coloring bees
pure melody of melancholy seeps
slaying me in the guts
balancing me on the cliff
and singing songs of sheer bliss
everything is a bit silken today…

deep in the shade of humming bees
stood I staring at the forlorn moon
whose silver lining smiled in the glow
casting a spell bewitching to the song
slow flicker of candle in the dark
shades a blue around familiar to me
I admire the beauty of gliding swan
decorating tranquil sky above

pulled inside my own blankness
I stare at the letters in your notes
a mist of enigmatic eerie silence groped
binding me to the cobblestones we walked
you left me untamed
and now I swim in your closet
smelling in this silence
of your coffee stained shirt
recognizing mellow
etched too deep in the linen
is your fragrance…
now drenched in my tears

alongside the water bath
is a sweet little robin bathing
shining his feathers in the heat
knocks an old memory in my head
your shirt…
those blue shirt…

Now in my closet…
rolled up, with my red shawl.
I smell your fragrance
and I dwindle with time
clustered as used tissue
too fragile for a proper iron now.


Coffee With Noor

I despise when others control my happiness, I really do.

You can feel yourself yearning for the person, wanting to talk to them everyday, not caring if you’re always the one to initiate a conversation. You can feel yourself deciding, I’m going to let my fate rest in their hands. They might destroy me, but I’ll take a leap of faith here.

You can feel yourself becoming weaker because it’s that one person who provides strength, and once they’re gone, you’re left on your knees, wondering how the hell you’re going to recover. And if you rarely ever let anyone in to begin with? Oh, boy. You really set yourself up for a fall.

I think it’s something we’ve all been through. The scars on your knees fade over time. We may be down for a while, maybe even years, but we have to be strong enough to take the…

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Waiting for a change.


What has it got us I wonder!

Look around to see the land chocking up remnants of memories once held pride.Now putrid emotions drench the land and spit out horrible gases chocking out brains. Looking at the long spiraling and non-spiraling buildings, I wonder….Don’t they give a chance. For people who was happy withe green and mud in their fingers. Now, deprived of freedom, farmers suicide and leave the land alone and barren for the big corporate to mark the site as “tourist luxury resorts”.


I am not blaming for these technical advancement has brought lots of chances and survival whims for many, but they have destroyed the place where we can leave happily. Each day, just take a on the spot circling tour and you will see the green is diminishing by minutes and grey is taking a toll on the land. Only grey could have been survived, but the black emitting from grey populate white formidable aliens destroying immunity and the instincts for survival sinks.


Never have been the majority against for such a thing and now the reason for their loud struggle is coming into existence. As long as the green starts to vaporize, fresh breath shall sink in and chock us with our blood infuriating. Even in this blazing heat, I see people cut down trees, huge shady trees and use it for something less important in this heat. I can;t comprehend this need of doing what is worst for others.Though they may never smell the patch of sweat bulging on their forehead, I wish they could only listen to the heavy breath of poor, pooling in their sweat for a one chance they could take down a proper meal.


Wishing and hoping for a change and that too, a big one, I look around………..anticipating.



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Lovely green has always been her color, whatever she got to do with clothes or adventure will be opted for green. Delightful pedriot is her favorite of all and she has a set of jewelry that she wears for all her outfits.

Dancing to the rhythm of rain was her favorite and she always went for trekking in the rain whenever she got the chance. She was different, that was the first thing her mother said when she opened her eyes, because it was a lovely set of opaque crystals and lately as she grew up it was a tinge of azure overcoming emerald. She was different.

Running around in baggy jeans parrot green tank top, she smiles and pull her cap sideways just like the kids on the corner do. Keeping to her heels will be that willful puppy equally jumpy as her mistress and she was named after the silky fur, pearl. Pearl was a melodramatic puppy playing with her and whining at teary scenes in the TV, just to make her mistress laugh and those tiny amber eyes glint, broadening her jaws making it as if she is smiling.

Polished gems was eyesores for her, (unnamed because she is important that a name), just like the gems set on display. She would stare at the pieces taking time to study and sigh and leave the store. Tim, the jeweler laugh at her jokingly and say, “someday little pearl, your mistress shall get a handsome gemstone.”

Her life is full of hopes, and ambition to be anything just to prove herself. In the meantime she is a loner in public. But, inside she is a great art piece of wonderful masterpiece. Waiting for a chance to strike, waiting for the day when she can be public, waiting for the apt time to gather her spirits and jump. But she is doing a mistake of waiting for the apt time. The time is now and the day is yours, never wait for the chance to strike because opportunity in ones life is something we create, not something knocking a our door.

“Like someday that wont come now, make today the day of spotlight!”

White Rose- Everything happens for a reason.


Soft hues of yellow and melon seeps through her cream color drapes, pecking on her shoulders and forehead. Slowly purring to the unwanted guest, she turned and closed her eyes firmly.

Dreaming, she saw herself in the pavilion of diamond and rose castle and she was staring at a handsome rose. Lovely and satin, she stroked it and later plucked it and decorates her newly braided golden hair. Admiring herself, she felt her gut tightening and she smiled at herself, for she gleamed in the morning sun like a rose.With blushing cheeks and glistening hair, she stared at herself in the mirror. “where am I?” She pondered..

A knock in the door wakes her from the sweet slumber and she gets up from white curled up blankets. Smiling at her mom, she assured she will be down within five minutes, her eyes half closed. As soon her mother closed the door, she fell back, withdrawing from the pillow because it was soaking wet. She must have cried herself to sleep.

Yesterday, she wandered through the park celebrating valentines day. When she looked around her, it was filled with couples- married, to be married, elderly married, teenage cluster and what not. She was alone. Alone and isolated, with teary eyes she came back and lay down. It must have been then, she slept.

Today, as she got up, tear stains soaked up her pillow, unable to bear her guilty pangs she looked out. The glow of soft yellow was trying to streaming in welcoming. Slowly she got up and drew the drapes. Loud bangs of bright light soaked her and purified her. She looked up and saw that the sun was alone, the trees stood in the forlorn bay and everything was isolated from other. Smiling at herself, she admired the golden globe far away stretching, illuminating dark sides. Yet, inside there was a pang of guilt, asking herself “why?”

Lost in the green pastures and golden glow, her mind wandered through lots of questions and she never realized tears poring out. She was snapped out from her reveries by her mom, wiping her tears she prepared to go, which was then she saw a rose. Lying there on the balcony floor. Startled, she wore that in her hair and looked herself in the mirror. “Just like my dream”, she felt something rise within her and she felt happy. She was happy feeling there is a reason for everything and life is not all trouble. Braiding her hair, she fixed her rose in herself and walked out, with a wide grin.

She felt her soul rejoicing and she smiled all day. Her white rose was hers, making her believe: “There is a second chance.”

She don’t know why, but the rose happened. So did for me, she is me and the rose is my mother.


Blood shatters pain (NaPoMo15)



crimson dreams exhale
infuriating aura behind silver moon
billowing whispers
scarlet glass shatters on her wisdom

love engulf pain
torturing true self
hovering over deep crimson
is the past

scattered across her only dress
soaked with betrothing imagery
seeping inside soul of her own poetry
she spreads herself
into the true self of her sanity

exploding vanity