Choice

They tell us,
To follow our dreams,
But whose dreams really?
Do we follow?
This society,
With its pleasure centered mind,
Making us believe,
That we will have,
The ideal life,
The perfect one,
Telling us the ingredients,
Of a happy life,
So I ask you,
Now all grown up,
Are you happy?
Are you really fucking happy?
Maybe we should have focused,
Less on the definition of happiness,
Handed to us,
And focused more,
On being content,
With what we have,
In defining,
Our own values,
Using our own damn mind,
Just once,
So we don’t become,
Zombies,
Mindless imbeciles,
Following trends,
Seeking pleasures,
Things out of our reach,
But it’s never too late,
To get up from your ass,
Use that rusty head,
And change your life,
Enlightenment is a blessing,
For us cursed souls,
Look deep within,
And find what inspires,
Your pathetic self,
Let it consume you,
Take control over you,
And for once,
Make an effort,
To change,
And I promise,
If you have,
Just a fragment,
Of your soul left,
You will find happiness,
Not in the brothels,
Not in the beer,
Certainly not in this,
Fricking materialistic life,
But in the service,
Of one another,
In the smile of a child,
In the rain,
In the kisses of your love,
In this imperfect world,
Embrace the little things,
These Small moments,
Will make up,
For the void,
There is no perfect time,
No perfect place,
That will bring you joy,
The time is now,
The place is here,
Find it,
Cherish it,
Love it,
Be content with it,
Or keep complaining,
The choice is yours.

Sheharyar Azeem For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Valentine’s Day

She claimed to have fallen for me,
everyone at the college said so.
I was not sure.

I saw her eyes,
when they were on mine
were transformed
into a brightest star I once saw
from the roof of my home
oh my humble home
The smallest place to dwell
and I heard a bell!
she only loved
my borrowed clothes,
my stolen boots,
My shiny watch
from a wealthy cousin,
A charity gift.
she only loved
An image of mine
I let it pass….

on February 12th her friend told me
That she was expecting some gift from me
I madly made a wretched decision
to buy the reddesd cherries for her
To show my passion and profess my love

I started saving some notes,
stole some more,
counted all my previous dough
To give her on February 14th,
The reddest cherries of them all,

One night before that fateful day,
my mother went all funny, I say
and asked for my precious money
I asked her, why?, she did not tell,
I declined but ‘nothing’ she uttered

Next day I saw a heinous sight,
My mother’s body in sunlight.
Drenched in a pool of red
half dropping from her bed.
the color of her vomits
was the Pure and Red
I threw my money but
Kept my promise
of giving my love
The reddest cherries.

She accepted them with my apology,
They were pressed on my way to her
In red she was dressed
The juice dripped from her lips
which were tightly pressed.

I saw her as my eyes flood
drinking up my mother’s blood.

Iqra Aslam for Beyond Sanity Publishing

Artwork by Maham Batool

“Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic”

Though I’ve tried before to tell her
Of the feelings I have for her in my heart
Every time that I come near her
I just lose my nerve
As I’ve done from the start

Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on

Do I have to tell the story
Of a thousand rainy days since we first met
It’s a big enough umbrella
But it’s always me that ends up getting wet

Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on

I resolve to call her up a thousand times a day
And ask her if she’ll marry me in some old fashioned way
But my silent fears have gripped me
Long before I reach the phone
Long before my tongue has tripped me
Must I always be alone?

Every little thing she does is magic
Everything she do just turns me on
Even though my life before was tragic
Now I know my love for her goes on

-STING

Love is You.

I can’t even imagine someone saying these things to me, or someone close to me. I know it makes me sound like an idiot, but why do we have to depend on someone to be loved?

We can love ourselves right?

We can be our Valentine. We can be immortals loving ourselves and consuming ourselves like the Auroboros. 

We would look in the mirror everyday and smile. Smile at the person with flaws and insecurities. I know it sounds cliche but what if you could look pass those horrible things in your past and you make it positive, redeem yourself. Be happy with who you are and let go of all things dragging you to hell and below.

We are broken people, trying too hard to fit in, making ourselves starve or over-eat because ‘people’ aren’t happy with how we look, how we dress and how we feel.

Screw them. Screw them all.

We need to feel alive in our own skin and if we like eating, we should. If we like being bony, we should be able to. You are art.

Look like it.

Fall in love with yourself. Somehow.

Find a flaw, start loving more everyday. A bit everyday. I know this is boring. I know you get tired of the same movies, same blog posts same books same music, GOD NO.

Obviously it is all the same, This world is such a tiny place. We all look alike, we all feel the same feelings, love, hate, disgust, compassion, affection, pity, anger. So yes, the songs sound the same, the world looks the same, the blog posts are long and boring and yes the movies all have the same plot.

I know it may look like the world is ending, but its not. I am here. Everything is there, he cars, the buildings, the people, the endless line of events, art galleries, concerts, travels, money, books, they are all here, this world doesn’t stop when someone dies, its selfish, but it is the truth, so why should your life stop because someone leaves? if they left you, it doesn’t mean the word is dead. everything, EVERYTHING, is there for you, as if you never left too love a person who doesn’t love you back or care for you or doesn’t think you are beautiful. these things, these people, they belong to you, like they belong to everyone else, this air you breath, its yours, it belongs to your flaws. it belongs to your insecurities. so what if you feel sad when you listen to closer by Kings of Leon. but at the end of the song you can hear the music healing you, and you listen o that song on repeat and you know, this sting song makes sense too! all the storms hide under the skin of your flaws! love yourself to brig them out, to change the world, make the world known of your presence. that you matter, so the next time you leave, this world for someone else, it misses you, when you’re gone.

But try to find that flaw and start to love it even if you don’t.

Be yourself.

Try to look at things from a different perspective everyday. One day, imagine you were an artist, the other, being a musician.

Please, trust me. I know it will be weird but you can do it. Love yourself please.

Love.

Yourself.

You are the love of your life.

Invictus By Irum Zahra

The Rival-Sylvia Plath

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
You leave the same impression
Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
Both of you are great light borrowers.
Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,

And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
And dying to say something unanswerable.

The moon, too, abases her subjects,
But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
Your dis-satisfactions, on the other hand,
Arrive through the mail slot with loving regularity,
White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.

No day is safe from news of you,
Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.

Poem by Sylvia Plath

Image by Shehryar Fakeha

Desolated Recursion

The sun dips below the horizon

And silhouette lays foundation of dark

Out come the beasts of night

Allied with demons causing plight

The silent river embraces the moon

And stars take cover of clouds

Petrified air accompany the leaves

Fall a prey the creation to sleep

Muddled spinning shadow of her was seen

Lamenting in the district with the beasts.

Marva Sohail For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Image by: Cidrah Mansoor Usmani

A Beautiful Site

 

“Do you do this to fish compliments ?” asked my gorgeous classmate from the other table. I stared at her, noticing how her foundation clung to her face like a mud mask. Her eyebrows had been accentuated with the broad strokes of cosmetics. Her eyeliner highlighted her feline like personality and ruby red lipstick burned my eyes. Yet i admired her. In spite of putting on layers of make-up she still believed she was beautiful.

And then there was me. A girl who to whom even if the world bowed down to swear by her being moderately attractive would just bend her head and shy away because she knew the truth. Sometimes I just wondered what it would be like if those words of being a useless pile of rubbish were not drilled into my mind. I sighed. Some things were just mere figments of imagination.

I picked up my bag and went home. Sitting in front of the mirror I strained my eyes hard to see what the world saw and swore by but I couldn’t simply see. Pin straight light brown hair with natural amber streaks . Almond shaped light brown eyes framed by curled lashes. A too slim nose followed by a set of cupid shaped lips. All these plain Jane features were pasted on a heart shaped pasty white face. At least that is what I saw. And thats what he told me.. That I was simply no good.

My heart lurched in my chest. Although it had been years, yet the traitorous organ never failed to hurt at those memories of belittlement. Its said a father is a girls first hero. He sets the bar of how the girl should let others treat her. Some hero he was. A hero who never let any opportunity to cause the optical floodgates to unleash.

As streams of hurt flowed down my face, the broken record film of my last encounter with him replayed itself. How he told me he wanted to shoot me. How I am a disgrace to mankind. How an offspring like me should burn in hell. How useless I am.

 

An utter pile of rubbish.

How I am dead to him.

The knife dove deeper and deeper into the deepest crevices of my battered soul.

All this..why ? Because I was a girl ? Because God failed to send me into this world as a member of the dominant ruling pedigree-enhancing race ? As a boy ? As a man ? Surely it must be a great sin to be a female.

As my shattered heart continued to beat and lurch erratically inside my ribcage I questioned my whole existence. If the world claimed I was a beautiful girl, then what was the point of such beauty when one cant see it through their own two eyes ? When it cant win over a fathers approval , love and support that I craved for my whole life ? If beauty can let you pocket the world, then why did my facial bussiness card fail to get me the acceptance of my primal caregiver ?

As I pondered over these aching thoughts with a pulsating heart, I knew one thing for sure, he RUINED me. He ruined my trust in men, in relationships and most significantly in love.

I was truly a beautiful site of a ruined human carcass…

 

 

 S Butt For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Art & Literature-Sheharyar Fakeha

It is poetry, that comes into your mind when you see people who can write words, painting as well. Drawing, Sketching and creating a combination of art and literature. Beyond Sanity Publishing will feature one artist each week, to represent words and art in their lives. Here is one of them : Sheharyar Fakeha. A 22 years old Picasso with words of Poe.

Art is an expression of life, which means it expresses emotions. One of the huge inspiration for me has been nature, the sunsets, landscapes, oceans and green valleys, I believe that nature is art as well a God who is an artist that created everything.

Interpreting art depends on a person experiences, their visionary thoughts and culture. Art is not perfection; art is something that continues to develop as it is seen, meaning to open all human capacities, thoughts and emotions. Art is a creation that represents liberty to whatever the viewer wants art to be.

My name is Sheharyar Fakeha. I am 22 years old from Karachi, Pakistan. and to do painting/arts is one of my huge passion. I am a self taught artist I don’t have any formal training from any institute, so I have learned everything everything from trail and error process and some basic information that I gathered from the internet. Occupationally I am studying to be a doctor.

I took my first steps as a painter when I was around 15, drawing comic superheroes. Later, in my teenage years, I became interested in the portraits and abstract art.
I don’t have any formula for painting nor I am looking forward for one, I just use normal brushes and acrylics ending up splashing them on canvas. I am just doing what I love to do.The most important thing is a basic idea, I guess—a plan. If you have one, you can start drawing. Sometimes I get in my head a general sense so I begin with the big shapes, placing them in a composition. When I’ve got the result, I start to color it, the most difficult thing for me. At the end, I complete the final details. Another important aspect of my creative process is patience, stay calm and you will get good results.

I am neither into social activities nor working out on huge scale, I just do it for myself.
a piece of advice for everyone out there from me is that take chances. tell the truth. Date someone totally wrong from you. Say no. Spend all your cash. Get to know someone random. Be random. Say I love you. sing out loud. Laugh at stupid jokes. Cry. Apologize. Tell someone how much they mean to you. Tell a jerk what you think. Laugh yourself out till your stomach hurts.

Live life. Regret nothing.

Sheharyar Fakeha For Beyond Sanity Publishing

A Labyrinth

‘Why are we standing in the rain?’ her friend asked her a little agitatedly. She had nothing to say to it because she had no idea why they were standing in the rain. It was a beautiful day. The rain had washed the dust off the trees, making the greens and the browns extremely vivid. The sky was in a different mood, changing shades and never settling for one.

She kept walking under the umbrella that her friend was holding for both of them. She was doing so more for the comfort of her friend than for herself. The rain had never bothered her. She liked all the dirt and water. She wanted to be a part of it all, a drop of rain, a leaf of a tree soaked with raindrops, a small part of a cloud pregnant with water, ready to empty itself or a speck of soil waiting for someone to step over it.

His voice brought the usual mixed feeling that it always did. It was a mixture of lots of emotions varying greatly; a shade of pleasant happiness, a degree of unpleasant regret, an urgency to run far away from him along with a longing to stay rooted to the spot and an element of excited anticipation.

She turned to look at him. He was, as usual, babbling something about how badly someone had done something and how it could have been improved. This was the strangest thing, she thought. All her life she had been a supporter of ‘support the one who is doing it’ yet she knew perfectly well how this guy was. His whole attitude can be surmised as, “If you can’t beat them, criticize them”

Often, his critical remarks were true, but what is the point of trying o discredit people. She couldn’t like the people with this sort of behavior and yet she did. She knew he was a show off. All that he ever did was to try and impress people. Yet, between all his impressions were times when he was not impressive at all. Somehow, those were the moments; she fell in love with him.

She looked away from him. The easiest and the most difficult thing to do in the world, is to look away from someone. It is a decision of a moment. Either you do so in a second or you remain stuck there forever. Once you are stuck, no matter how much time you try to look away you remain stuck forever.

“Have you ever been trapped in a situation where you keep moving in circles, you move so much but never ever reach anywhere?” She asked her friend.

“Yes!” Her friend replied.

“What did you do then?” She asked.

“I opted out of the circle. Now I move in a labyrinth that shifts and changes, but I never find myself in the same spot twice”, said her friend.

“So, you just opt out of it. What if it is not a matter of choice? What if you are trapped?”

“My dear friend you are only as trapped as you think yourself to be”

She knew her friend had a point. She needed a labyrinth. She was walking away from him, planning to draw the most complex and difficult labyrinth around her. No more circles for her, she decided.

Both of the friends kept walking in the rain under the same umbrella. The road was beautiful, rising and falling like the body of a moving snake, moving away from a food that was not caught. It was a road moving away from its destination, instead of moving towards it. To move away from the destination is difficult, but even more unfortunate is doing so unknowingly. Yet, the most painful thing is to realize long after you have reached somewhere else that the place from where you started your journey was actually your destination. The start was the stop.

“But you are still lost, you know?” Her friend said.

“What?” She asked.

“In a labyrinth, you are lost”; her friend said, gazing at a building so far away that it looked like a dot.

“I choose to be lost than being stuck. Sometimes, you find in losing”. She replied back, not completely understanding her own thoughts.

They both kept walking, not knowing why they had been standing in the rain!

Iqra Aslam For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Avoir la foi

“Sarah, and at that moment, at that very precise moment he felt like he was thrown away into to the space with his soul ripped apart savagely. Backing away in fear, agony he slipped into vicious constellation of chaos, his past. And those terrible omens of death with their cunning cold burning auras sucked life out of the grey eyes. He was a terrible mess of was and is.”  Nathan’s voice broke. Closing his eyes tightly, he clenched his jaws tightly. He was playing with the miseries he had inside his brain. He was relating about the burns he had cloaked beneath the grave silence. There was a thick dust of time between the present and past. Hideous and terrible and loathsome. Taking a deep breath Nathan opened his eyes and looked at Sarah , she sat there frozen and broken. Her face , so pale and her lips closed tightly and her eyes, those hazel green eyes dimly lit. Tears trickling down her cheeks. Nathan nodded his head and began to speak slowly,” He kept waiting for you Sarah. You had to be there. Beside him, with him. It was never just him. It was about both of you. It was about the vow never to broken. It was not one soldier war. It was not Deans war alone Sarah. Why did you leave ? Just because he couldn’t get over the traumas he had to handle on his own? Just because he opened his heart to you ? It was his worst battle Sarah. I saw him ever fight. He was wounded, his soul was shredded. His grey eyes had long lost there shine. He was dead Sarah. He died the very day you left. He was a lump of flesh and bones just with a pouch of memories he had to fight with.” Nathan walked over to the chest of drawers with his hands in his pockets. Sarah had not spoken a word, she was crying silently. Her lips white. She looked as if someone had drenched all the blood out of her. Tears falling into her lap. She was apparently staring at her hands. But her mind was far away from her surroundings. She was at the Hudson Beach, she could hear herself saying how much she hated Dean, and how he stood there dumbstruck over her words. She heard Nathan’s voice in background.

“You see these letters Sarah ? All these letters he wrote to you but never posted. Just because he feared. Yeah, dean feared you. He feared the look in your eyes for him. He was paralysed over the words Sarah. And it took him years to recover and when he did, he had already left us. You know what he wrote in these letters? Not a single letter of how much hurt he was. Not a single phrase of mockery. Not a single statement of explanation. He just wrote… Sarah, all he wrote was how much alone he was… How  much he needed you beside him… in how much pain he was… “ Nathan jerked his head and turned around and hurried towards the window. He couldn’t control over his tears for long. With his hands over the sill of the window, he cried. Amidst the tears he began again,”  I saw my friend die in front of my eyes. I saw him laugh, smile and cry and whimper. I saw him dreading the agony and then living through it. I saw his laughter die away. I saw him in blood and bruises. I saw him ebrious and insomniac. I saw him bleeding and fainting. I saw him on his death bed. I saw his faintly opened grey eyes… I heard him Sarah. I watched him take my hand and speaking in his old husky voice. You know what he said?”  he swallowed a lump of tears.

Sarah lifted her head up, her face wet with tears and her eyes swollen with her hands over her lips.

“Promise me Nathan, you will never tell her about anything…she will hurt herself. Promise me Nathan, you wont for the sake of good old times…I know she will return one day…maybe with flowers in her hand and cranes to put on my grave.I had never been much of a friend for you Nathan… forgive me..”  Nathan sobbed harder and rubbed his eyes furiously and said,” and before i could promise him he left… he left me alone and went for the better place. I loved him like my brother but I couldn’t save him Sarah. I can never forgive myself for closing his eyes with my hands. I hate myself for putting him in his grave. I could have saved him. I could have… ” Nathan sank down exhausted onto the floor cushion. He threw his head in his hands and pulled his hair and wailed. And Sarah , her lips trembled and her eyes wide open with fear. She was shaking and she began to sob and whimper. She had flashbacks.

 Her face shining with tears, Dean wiping away the drops, holding her hands tightly.

 White dress, Cathedral, Vows, smiles. Candles, cakes, wishes.

Dean late night arrival, her voice shouting angrily , Dean bending down and giving her flowers.

Paris tours, miss calls, Dean excusing, Her voice complaining, dean coming with next flight, sick and exhausted. Making up her mood.

Dean fainting, hospital, reports, Dean hiding away the papers.

Sarah was shrieking loudly,” DEAN!!!! No!!!!!”

Hudson beach, i hate you dean. i just hate you. his pale face and trembling lips. backing away with fear. her anger, his fear.

Sarah wild with pain stood up and walked around crazily throwing away the vase and glass stands from the table. Nathan looked at her, she was a mess. Briskly rubbing his face and eyes hard he ran towards her.  She threw another glass at the floor and advanced to hit the table with her fists. Nathan reached and pulled her aside.

” What are you doing Sarah? Don’t do this!” Sarah pulled herself free from his grasp and threw herself over the glass table. The glass broke with a huge shatter as Sarah fell down on the marble.  Glass pierced in her arms and hands. She was bleeding badly. Nathan horrified, pushed her before she could pick up the fragments of glass and hurt herself.

“Listen to me Sarah. Dean has left. He’s gone. You are hurting him by doing this. Don’t do this to my friend.” shaking he pulled the glass piece from her arm but she was drenched in blood. She sat there staring at the open window with blank eyes.

Running over to the kitchen, Nathan looked over for the First Aid Box. He couldn’t hear the sobs and shrieks. There was all silence. Speedily returning to the lounge, he couldn’t see her on the floor neither she was on the sofa. Horrified he looked towards the window. She was there over the sill with the letters in her hands and a blend of mysticism and throes.

” SARAH!!!!!!! “ Nathan yelled his lungs out and ran blindly. But it was too late. She had jumped. Down… down … down…

—————————————————————————————

There was a pool of blood around her crumpled body. Letters all around her body. Nathan fell down on his knees and picked up a paper floating in the blood.

yours forever.

Dean.

and over the name was Sarah’s ring finger… the platinum band soaked in blood as the words engraved read,

“Avoir la foi, mon amour”

——————————————————————————————

Areesh Fatmee For Beyond Sanity Publishing

An Imaginary Eraser

She wanted to efface out some pages out of her life so she asked for my help. I was busy in collecting and compiling my pages so I asked her to wait for a while. She kept waiting till I kept compiling them. After some time, she expressed her urge to read them. Without any second thoughts, I just let her read. During her reading, the sequence of those pages got changed. She was holding the middle page, the first page and then the last page. From the middle page, she came to know about the synopsis of real life. She came to know the real secret confined in those pages.

”The crux of our whole life lies at the centre, equidistant to the two poles of beginning and an ending.The centre is a medium which abridges the differences between these two poles without thinking about his own existence. He isn’t being selfish even for a second that he has no one to support him in his adverse hours. He has no one to stand by him to provide him shelter while bi poles have. During the wind storm, poles are able to camouflage themselves without even thinking about the state of centre. It is because they know how worthy a centre is. They are envious of centre but centre thinks it is their ego which prevent them taking care of him. The centre is devoid of every worldly joy like our life. The centre magnifies real plot of our life that it teaches sacrificing instead of materialism. Our good and bad times are like those poles which only preach us selfishness and insanity.”

She got her answers and I could see the joy in her eyes and immense delight on her cheeks which were glowing.

Fizza Abbas For Beyond Sanity Publishing