A New Narrative

It seems to me that every developing country has a similar story about the priorities it has for arts and humanities. A lot of people in Pakistan, for instance, disregard any career associated with art as “thoughtless” and “suicidal”. Sure, the market is a little tough. Artists aren’t exactly in great demand. Its the engineer and the doctor, the computer scientist and any other type of scientist that inspire great respect amongst the individuals in our society. If you want a shot at getting rich, don’t waste your time with art. Art is for losers. Go to a science school, graduate with flying colours and you may have your chance. There is still no guarantee, however, for you see, the market isn’t changing so much. My experience in taking courses from the School of Science and Engineering (SSE) at LUMS has been brilliant. I have dared to dream, aspire, and all that jargon the school promises. More importantly, I have felt the yearning for creativity and art to be completely side-lined, as there is always a desire to produce the next big app, product, start up and all the other ways to “truly make a mark”, as they say. This is the place that tells me, “hey, you can be rich”, and to be honest, I see all other motivations pale in front of this tantrum.

Continue reading “A New Narrative”

Arguments and the Stubborn Fool

I have the ‘argumentation’ habit; for some of my closest friends, I am a stubborn stupid who does not acquiesce to whatever they say. Nonetheless, they do agree to the fact that I listen to their arguments throughout – without a pause – and then reveal my stupidity. I feel proud of this achievement – at least I listen to what they have to say. Many among us don’t even do that, which deprives them of the ‘feel’ in the argument presented by their counterpart. For once, I have finally discovered a primary applicable use of parliamentary debating.  Continue reading “Arguments and the Stubborn Fool”

My Turn Disappears

They speak, and they speak on,

My turn finally arrives, and disappears

The heart aches, searching wild for lost opportunity

asking of the guilt non-existent, which they

think does exist – again – the turn to reply disappears

 

Annoyed, irritated, unsatisfied after a broken meal,

I ask them why and they reply with sneer and taunt,

rejecting claim, once again – my turn disappears

Now the veins I feel, I feel that they constrict

So I try to rekindle the candle against a winter storm

 

But winters are never warm, a cold reply fits

They ask me to abandon, and move away

‘you have no taste for this, no mind and no wit’

I ask them why – their reply disappears, and in turn

ends my turn – the clash ends before it has time to groom

 

Now, midst lost claim and time gone, I asked myself

Why? How? What? Where? When?

To all, I could not find another story but just one

and that one was all the reason of my plight

the plight bearing enigma, horror and damnation

 

The argument began – vicariously I re-imagined,

between two friends, one sane and one ‘insane’

heaping muck, tossing down the spirit

but not one who was expected of such – the crown

rested on a the sane, the shame he refused to own

 

Self righteous, a man or an axiom, still uncertain

however losing, cursing and rejecting

the calm ‘insane’, who clamored for righteous explanation

when none of it came – what to do now?

dismiss, reject and burn the inner man – the insane

 

And so a path finally forged, the crucifying purpose

of an ill man, killing the insane, killing what we used to call

the people who told the church to accept that Earth is not flat

but truth is hard to take, when power, reputation and self is on the stake

bravery vaporizes, and the insane has to die

 

Why? How? What? Where? When?

It happened, and it happened with no one to stop

And today, the insane yet lives, no, he hides instead

hides behind not a veil, but a trap,

a trap that reiterates – your turn has disappeared.