Archive for December, 2015


Happy New Year Everyone!
Lets start this year with some prizes, shall we?
Winners will be featured in #BeyondSanityPublishing website and #Anthology this year in #June !
They will also get cash prizes, 2000, 1500 and 1000 respectively from #JosheJunoon
All remaining articles will be published online and given a certificate.


In dreams I dreamed on the shores of tomorrow,
I dreamt where the suns stood sentinel
in negligence watching the innocence burn
sentinels perfectly content and sane

In trellis of the hot kinned blood, stood,
a bridge made of blackness being crushed from all sides

A bridge that cradled
a set of twins, two boys separated by a year so near twins, almost brothers

Sons of the same planet
Earth of the Earth their father
In a past dry as tinder, stacked ready to go, something new ready rise up, aglow

A stone bridge stuck in medieval Europe amidst the forested hills and the green knolls ;
distasteful like when the years become sacred

Two boys one five the other six, or the other six and one five or nothing both

One droll and the other grim on this papery bridge

Two little boys, one on a bike the other afoot, chasing each other’s colors and shine
their mingling shadows chasing them
fording, the cobblestones trodden by their pitter-pattering feet, crossing this Bridge of Fear their voices prattling and warm
promise of everything lies at the other end, waiting for them. The other side promising them sanctuary a safe refuge from the hands of men

This bridge span for centuries reaching everywhere and we ran and ran and we ran some more. There are no dour trolls under the bridge soured by our presence. Only time stretching our lives, our indelible bodies taut taunting us their fare for our passage of time

In the cave of our youth, we hear the song again for the first time. It’s time to step out
it’s only a bridge, time we don’t need you anymore, we are taking back our names

The flintlock charges go off, we are scrambling running across the stones, we are getting off this, we are ditching this bridge of pestilence

You are on the bike, I am on foot, running after you I see you
You rode I run trying to catch up
I keep you within my sight the distance between us grinning at me and we are furlonged by Age.
But I muster on, pushing myself. I must. Not. Fall. Behind. You blurred in front of me. I let the bond flood me, the blood of my own pounding in my head. I panic. I feel the same pounding headache the fish felt seeing the wolf get slaughtered in front of it.

I gain purchase. I gain I gain I gain. Again. I lost. There are no surprises here. There are no songs .

You are my reflection, only better. You are the charcoal sketch of myself, only vibrant and defined in a world that is drab
the world around us is crumbing, our world is crashing around us.

we are hithering and thithering , we are hightailing outta here. One after the other. One running. One following. None getting none the wiser
childhood felling as we sweep by, passing the felled boyhood

you are pedaling so fast, too fast
I can’t catch up out of breath already
on this derelict bridge
you pedal on and on
not looking back
toward a devastated future

In the dreams I dreamed on the ashes of yesterday, on the birth of the night

I am always surrounded by knaves on all sides corned, and you are always coming in to rescue me from the left
Now I can’t rescue you
Not sure if you really want me to

Why is the shiny new bike not enough for you
Why are you always saddled on the need for want, always wanting more
farther and farther away from me

In those dreams I dreamed I dreamt
you are on a bike as solid as lies pedaling away face upturned, eyes skyward and I am on the bridge made of clouds

You are forever chasing the shine of balloons
I am forever chasing you.

Asghar Abbas For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Find the original post here:

Squares on top of squares,

the many shacks that lined

the city circumference ;

the sky above her city at dusk

shrunk into a blue square on the wall

in each of them.

The city with all its lights and sounds

shrunk to fit in her window frame,

and her square soul stared at it starry-eyed.

The squares of blue,

her eyes stitched

into the sky that spread above

the city that never loved her.

Priya Prithviraj For Beyond Sanity Publishing


Hey Everyone.
I am very happy to announce that in a short time, we received over 23 articles on the topic and we have chosen top 10 and forwarded to our jury.
Me, Writer, Publisher
Samana Riaz, J.E.J
Asghar Abbas, Internationally published writer
And Hafiza Noor.ul.Ain, Writer of The Youth Of Pakistan, International writer
And we will be announcing the best three on Dec, 31st
Top 10 will get certificates and their articles will be published on my website and top 3 will get cash prizes, 2000, 1500 and 1000 along with certificate and submission of their articles in Beyond Sanity Publishing anthology next year in June.
Will update the details soon!

The darkness falls and out of all

The stars up there , find you will

With beauty pure  and spark so bright

Standout one that will catch your sight

The one you can call your guiding star

Always burning just to show you path

When eagles are headed to eyries

And the bats are out for work

When the owls begin to hoot

And wolves are there to howl

I’ll be your guiding star

The burning one to show you path

When the night is dark as coal

And  the crickets fear to chirp

When  black wears  even the moon

Look up and you will find soon

The one you call your guiding star

Burning just for you to show the path

When the stars are off to sleep

And out of dark the sun creeps

When illuminated is every grain

The special one awaits again

For the night to fall once more

To  light the path and let you explore

Marva Sohail For Beyond Sanity Publishing


Josh e Junoon in collaboration with Beyond Sanity Publishing is organizing an online article writing competition on the topic
“Is this Quaid’s Pakistan”
Total words : 1000
Last date of submission: 24th December 2015 till 12am night.
Email at:
Its an open invitation for all.anyone can submit it.
Top 10 articles will be published by Beyond Sanity Publishing company and first three positions will be awarded by money prizes.
Rs. 2000 for 1st position
Rs. 1500 for 2nd position Rs. 1000 for 3rd position

Certificates will be awarded to all top 10 selected article writers.

For details contact

A Tribute To APS Heroes

Posted: December 17, 2015 in Blog Posts, Events, Short Stories

With the intention of penning down a few words as a tribute to the APS martyrs and for commemorating the death anniversary of almost 150 little faces that deserved to be alive today, I merely wanted to write my condolences.

But even after minutes and hours, I realized I sat there scrolling through the pictures and reading the shared insights. All my paper,which I was able to fill was with the tears that fell off my eyes unknowingly. In that moment I realized I was crying for children I had never met in life, I was feeling the agony of their mothers without even my mom having to say that mainstream line; ‘‘You’ll understand once you yourself are a mother.’’ I was envisioning that apocalyptic day when I hadn’t been a part of it. It left me stunt to feel the ache when a time span of a year had passed having that incident occurred. It burnt inside of me- Humanity: The feel.

No doubt, they are sure in a better place, Like Mubeen’s father repeatedly said

’Today would be his wedding in Paradise’

while welcoming the people who came to offer condolences.

And Like Shaheer writes to his brother Arham,

I know you are happy up there with Allah (SWT). I always pray after Isha prayer and ask Him to let you talk to me in my dreams. Even if it is just once. At least once. You should talk to me. Abbu and Ammi need it. I need it. We know you are okay, but I just want to hear you say it.Take care of your friends there. I can imagine how festive the air around Jannat must be right now, I am sure you lit up the sky with your presence. Allah (SWT) must be so happy that such innocent and brave souls are now near Him.”

A boy’s lost dream of becoming an ISI officer was not just a dream lost, instead endeavored hundreds of boys to see this dream.

They are certainly in a superior place. From that brutal morning to this date, the enthusiasm we witnessed in youngsters, when we were anticipating that the survivors would experience Post Traumatic Stress Disorders was heart-stopping. They surprised us yet again, with the fortitude the survivors wanted to go back to school. The siblings and the companions of the martyrs had passion to take forward the dreams of their fellows. Yes this did not kill humanity, instead it revived humanity. The terrorists who by the grace of Almighty are in ‘‘their presumably expected paradise’’ receiving their ‘rewards’ not only resuscitated humanity but passion for education.

The best reprisal line that turned out after this incident was not to kill the children of the animalistic terrorists or to end their descendants, but rather to educate the child of the very terrorists. It takes me by absolute awe, what might be the expressions on the faces of those terrorists when they would have seen innocent faces, singing this tune, which makes shivers run down our spines? What feelings would pass, ripping them apart, when they would be seeing us as a society walking together, commemorating the memories of the day?

Did they plan they were to spread apprehension of no escape?  Hope was spread around. Was their plan to spread apprehension of no escape and end lives? They breathed life in the society. Were they eager to harm individuals? They prepped more grounded patriots. Had their intentions been to target the future soldiers?  They brought forth better warriors. Would they have liked to retaliate for Army? They gave us more martyrs to pay tributes to. Their success was but failure.

Humanity was killed but humanity was resuscitated.

They came all geared up to take revenge in vain and to end the passion for education, instead they triggered it like anything. Every bullet, every drop of blood, the enthusiasm, the grit, the hope increasingly elevated.

A long time after now, we will be telling the stories of how less than ten heinous assailants who lacked humanity, revived humanity, to our grandchildren perhaps, Just be sure you have more to tell than just,

they went to school and never came back…

A candle melts down whilst it burns, the smolder turns into a blaze at times.

Azka Saqib For Beyond Sanity Publishing