Final Farewell

The heartbeats are silent.

Now they don’t speak.

As they once did.

And I feel mine’ll stop dead.

I fear this might be the final farewell.

I see through your eyes

Those conquests of the past,

Those laughters shared,

Those tears we once shed

I fear this might be the final farewell.

We stand still as a world comes to end.

And the world stands still as you nod your head.

I feel like dying, as the distance grows.

Too dead to say, “I love your nose.”

I fear this might be the final farewell.

But now, words don’t have significance.

And neither do any gestures.

I’ve lost all meaningfulness,

And so has your existence.

I fear this might be the final farewell.

Your eyes are giving away your secrets.

Contain them; your tears, your murmurs.

Keep your affection safe in your eyes

And keep me in your heart, forever by your side.

I fear this might be the final farewell.

Let me sink into your eyes

Let me drown in your smile

Let me feel your words

Let me stay right here

I fear this might be the final farewell.

Just give me a sign, a whistle.

Tell me your worries.

I swear I’ll be there to listen

Once more, I will be there to fix em.

I fear this might be the final farewell.

I know I’ll miss the way you talked,

I’ll miss those jokes that we laughed on.

I guess mostly, I’ll miss today.

But, I need courage, “goodbye!”, to say.

I fear this might be the final farewell.

Poem by Sarmed Wasim For Beyond Sanity Publishing

Our Identity-An Excerpt

“Who am I?”

is the first question that ever clicks the mind of a sensible young human being as the need to know the purpose of one’s existence. One can be then provided by all essential rudiments for logical reasoning from the history of one’s ancestors to sort out the question. On an individual level, everyone is equally interested in finding an answer to this and so are you and me. Every person has a specific individuality which is distinctive from everyone else. This difference in choice and thoughts defines the variations in life purposes and aims of people. But here, we are asking ourselves the question “who are we?” which definitely demands a more ‘plural’ approach.

The Youth Of Pakistan By Hafiza Noor-ul-Ain

Beyond Sanity Publishing

Faith-Doubt-Question

Call me a tyrant or inhumane,
Or cast my soul to the blaze,
If I am to ask a question,
Or am to doubt the ways

Curse me a wretched life,
Or cast my life to the blaze,
If I am to seek the truth,
Or am to doubt that says

But first, call me curious,
Call me a soul with fear,

For, It was the same that gave,
Muhammad the strength to hear

Hear in the cave of Hira,
The sudden voice of Gabriel,
That sent Him to run in doubt,
To ask, “Is it real?”

We grow to never question,
To never doubt its need ,
Not faith can I call it,
But, a hollow creed

The bearded folks of present,
Curse at a hand when raised,
Or cast to the fiery blaze,
When questions are braised

And we, like rusted dust,
Mix in the winds that lie,
With hollow creeds and sins,
We never ask “but why?”

Call me a tyrant or inhumane,
Or cast my soul to the blaze,
If I am to ask a question,
Or am to doubt the ways

Curse me a wretched life,
Or cast my life to the blaze,
If I am to seek the truth,
Or am to doubt that says

Sohaib Arshad For Beyond Sanity Publishing