Archive for November, 2015

Time.
Don’t we all loathe what it can turn into?
We curse the times we were sad,
we cry over wasted time,
Regret untimely decisions,
hate ourselves getting old and made of wrinkeled skin and bad eye sight,
Hate that time makes us choose things we don’t want for ourselves.
We hate the change time brings because we love our familiar little hut of wishes and ifs and would bes and what ifs.
We don’t forget, we don’t forgive, we don’t move on and we don’t want to.
We want to live the way we see fit and the way our heart lept into the heights of proud and happiness rather than sadness and adjustments.
We crave the life we had and we hate how time changed it all.
Why time?
Why do you change?
Why does it feel like you hate us?
All the clocks in the world pause for a second and we would consider it the end of the world and civilization.
Are you kidding me?
Do you even believe in civilization?
Stupid, haha. What is human?
A clock? Born when the seconds hand starts moving. Seconds turn into minutes and minutes turn into hours and the damn clock just keeps moving when we want it to hold itself because we want to see the moon more than the sun and the clouds more than the sky and thunder rather than clear skies.
We want to see ourselves cycling and playing and coloring books and eating almost melt icecream because these things matter to us.
Why do you steal all these things away? From us.
From us all.
We are all unusual, fragile and empty. But we are architects too.
We build our little cottage of bucket lists and comfort spots and you make the walls rust and crumble.
Is it just me?
I don’t know. Maybe.
Maybe not.
Maybe I want more. Maybe I want it all.
Maybe I want all time to be in the palm of my hand.
Or maybe I just want my time back.
I want to be myself again.
We all want ourselves in the mirror not some deranged fantasy of a human mind.
We want to live.
Our faces don’t shine, dear time.
Our eyes don’t sparkle. The butterflies are dead.
And all the plants in my wish garden too.
Why did you take all these things away?
I thought I was Timeless.
Clocks, time and regrets, #Invictus #IrumZahra #BeyondSanityPublishing
#igreads #bookstagram #bookstagrampak #books

More than often you are surrounded by the puzzling questions of life and it’s substitutes.
Love, drugs, music, travelling, books, photography, Cooking and so many others.
You call them interests when you start them and when you start replacing the uninteresting and somewhat annoying and even the most hated of things with these interests, they travel through time and space to create a new door for you.
A door to escape
A door to feel yourself through the eyes of your interests.
That is exactly when these doors become the substitutes for life.
You forget living through life itself and you begin living through them.
Everytime you feel blue and you think the world will end, you go through these doors and feel alive.
Ironic.
Life loves us and we love these doors more than we love life.
Why?
I don’t know.
Do you?
No.
Because whatever you say or think will be an excuse. A reason.
You will start defending your wild and free heart.
Sighs.
Heart is such a kid. It is more than a 100 years old old man and a 5 year old kid on a swing at the same time.
He loves these doors and he makes sure you believe that you don’t and you won’t live without these things.
Where would you go if not these doors?
Will you be lost?
Or found?
Accept it. You’ll always choose these doors over everything.
Question is, for how long till it locks you out and leave you with no keys?
What would you do then?

Life and other disasters, Invictus

Art By: Sheharyar Fakeha

Here is what inspires us to be better humans:
I smelled a flower today’ is a poem where the inspiration of it came from reading another poem ‘Nano’. Nano talked about American warriors surviving war and going through PTSD, mostly people who operate drones. Recently, an idea of using animals as drones has been floated by the US government, since they already have the flying mechanism and only needs to be equiped with the rest of the machinery.
Being an animal lover, and a peace loving resident of this world, I defy war, war related inventions and most of all, exploitation when it comes to animals, humans and everyone who cannot speak for themselves. I wrote this poem as an answer to that poem and with the idea that nature needs to trust one of its own. Humans have to stop turning nature against itself.

I smelled a flower today

Its petals drenched with the drizzle

Yet the scent unperturbed, condensed;

Even warm in the creases at night fall,

Its warmth transcending into my nerves – life

Beneath the solitary blue sky,

Grey and dark its hold

 And hushing the remnants of smells,

In the cold silence

The flower – my last ray of hope

In the dead,

Beneath smoke ridden sky,

With ashes clung in the falling droplets

Among heaps of dirt,

Into puddles of broken earth

I smelled the flower,

In a hurry to fill my nerves,

With a mystic tranquility and peace,

Or before a fruit shares its womb

I smelled amidst the metallic buzzing of a nearby wasp,

as it turns against the orchard,

With the wings of a rocket,

And the shells of a drone

I smelled before the falling petals color the puddles,

Dark and grim,

I smelled the flower

When it could.

cidrah

Sara Samin for Beyond Sanity Publishing

Art By Cidrah Usmani

Find The Writer Here

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The Sky Ghosts series by Alexandra Engellmann 

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the first two books of the Sky Ghosts series in any ebook format and have a chance

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Sky Ghosts: All for One (Sky Ghosts #1)

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Jane and Pain are Sky Ghosts – and they kill for a living. Highly trained

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Sky Ghosts: Marco (Sky Ghosts #1.5)

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It was hate at first sight. She broke chairs on his head, and in return he broke her

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Alexandra Engellmann for Beyond Sanity Publishing

Its brutally insane of you think that tears matter to people who live more pretend lives than you do.
You change your clothes, the way you speak, the way you treat people, the food you eat, the places you go.
But you would never be able to hide your nature.
This is what makes us relate to animals.
Our nature. Will never change.
We might be nice to everyone. We might tell you we love you more than the oceans and the trenches in the oceans but, what we don’t tell, is is a whole storyline of our wicked, selfish, stubborn nature.
Tears? Really?
Are you for real?
Are those even real?
Please. You always cry for something other than you are upset about. Your head is exploding with anger and frustration about how the universe throws you around like a freaking football and you start crying because you see a dead word? A dead flower?
Spilled ink?
Faded cut marks?
No. You just need an excuse to take the salt in your eyes out.
Who could really blame you?
You made yourself like this.
You, yourself is to blame.
Idiot.
When people matter more than nature, (They never do) you carry on as nothing happened. When inside your brain lobes you curse your every breath, regret every moment and yell at all pieces of burned memories.
Stupid heart.
The sheer force of royal blues hit you in your wings like that ice cold wind on the mountains.
Screw tears.
They don’t matter.

-Invictus, Irum Zahra

*Copyrighted Material*

A thousand angry fingers are fighting. “I’m right! Im right! There’s wrong in your writing.” There’s a war of opinion, it’s a slaughter of facts, as fearful dominions blame who they can for the acts of hate that they scrape across our tired eyes; and as we try and decipher truth from the lies. So soon people point, push, drag and despise anyone they believe to be the devil in disguise. “ Hang them, hit them, beat them down. Don’t let another one of ‘those’ in my good town”.

I tried to tie my own tongue and keep quiet. But my fingers felt need to fight in this riot. Though I am not seeking a thumb from anyone, I was beginning to fear I was a disloyal son; for our mother is weeping for every child. Whether radical, righteous, anxious or mild. She’s worried this war, like a fire in the wild, won’t stop until all is consumed but the ash that is piled. “ Stop this! Stop this! My dear children! Life is so much more than the motives of men”

And I watch this war from a cafe in Glasgow; outside enjoying coffee, crisps and tobacco. The smoke swirls my head into a strange sense of comfort, as before my eyes I watch my own world distort. Where political posts attempt to equal social justice. Where blood, bodies and bombings add to our numbness. Where others opinions slowly shape and become us. Where poets lack rhyme, guidance or substance. Where In friends we see foes, and in fellow citizens: dangers. Where we speak with our fingers, and to ourselves become strangers.

Maham Fatima for Beyond Sanity Publishing

Art by Maryam Manzar

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Somethings never change.
Nature. Profanity. Thinking.
Somethings always change.
People. Attitude. Beliefs
What is the measure, the limit, or the way of grasping the angles of depression and being repressed?
I saw a woman on a bus today. Crying.
With a small bruise on her face and silent tears dripping from her face as she held her little baby in her arms.
Is the society dumb?
Are we insane?
Have we lost our minds?
Is hitting necessary? Can you not freaking speak? Damn you society.
You have turned us all into blindfolded idiots.
I hate you. And I hate the way I am part of it too.
I hate the way I saw her and I couldn’t do anything except offering her a tissue.
Are we that helpless?
Screw Morality.
Change is so damn important. Would God come down and offer us a ‘I am changed’ badge?? No. Get over yourself.
Stop blaming.
Stop complaining.
I am saying that to myself too.
Change. For the love of God and all things human, CHANGE.