Rituals of Sadness

There are days, in which I feel like I’m drowning in the world’s sadness.

Like there’s this silent, heavy, invisible force of it slowly passing through the city, and only I, along with very few people, get to feel that.

Suddenly everything you lay eyes upon becomes a tragedy; suddenly every sound your ears pick up becomes a melancholic symphony. You look into the dark night sky, and see the full moon. You wonder if it could be some silent force bringing up what you hide deep inside. Suddenly you crave foggy sceneries, or a hazy sunrise that puts your noisy thoughts to rest and gives way to melancholy instead. Or you find yourself picking up an old notebook, filled with notes you scribbled in during the most difficult depression and thoughts of suicide. Everything becomes a sad piece of poetry; everything gets a calm, dark musical tone.

But what I find most amusing in such a time is the comfort this sadness brings along. I find most amusing this familiarity of it, where it feels like I can exhale in relief in its heavy presence, once again. But I think it’s more than familiarity.

I think it’s the capability of finding a sense of bliss in such a state. For bliss can lie in everything. In what we call happiness and what we consider sadness. I try quite hard to maintain a certain mode of positivity, a certain willingness to socialize and make happy, enlivening conversation, but there comes a time where I feel like I have to give my sadness its fair share.

And in this current phase I had to wonder… why am I trying so often, so hard to push it away, when I find so much bliss in that emotion, paving way for a lot of creative outcomes and precious thoughts.

I have such thoughts, because in my deepest, most overwhelming moments of sadness, I found my deepest sense of self, and I found an arising of love that is beyond words. I found music, art, and poetry. Jaun Elia, an urdu poet, paved my way through realizing happiness in pain.

I then somehow feel so close to God, to love, to Being, to that… home.

Sadness, although present so often in our life, is scary to most people. It is to be avoided. But it is still going to be there.

Sadness does not equal suffering. I think people easily find loneliness in their sadness, thinking no one else relates to their feelings, although we all know it too well. But no one wants to talk about it.

I think that’s what people, who carry a lot of sadness with them, must have experienced for an instant. I find myself heavily attracted to people who carry this calm sadness with them, even if they don’t know themselves how precious it can be.

I find myself thinking “you must have tasted it too, and I’d like to know how you got there.”

Although I know the Answer


Letters to my Mother


On days
When it is stormy
On the inside of my skin,
I can hear
The echoes of my heart
Inside my ribcage,
You gently pick up
The pieces
Of my broken dreams
Where they have fallen
On the floor
From the ends
Of my fingertips.


Violets bloom
Out of the soft kiss
You plant
On my forehead,
Spreading the fragrance
Of happiness
All along the marrow
Of my bones.
I have painted my hands
With different shades
Of love,
But, mother,
You will always remain
My favourite.


My little prince,
You always used to tell me.
There is a fire
Inside you
That originates from
The pit of your belly,
And snakes its way up
To your heart.
Never let that fire die.
Some people are
Too blinded
By the intensity
With which your skin


On those rare days,
When you ask me
If you look okay,
With your playful tone
Only just hinting
At the nervousness beneath,
I smile and
Gently put my face
Against your cheek,
Feel the continents
Shift beneath
Your skin,
And whisper,
You are more
Just beautiful.

A Pathless Path

Every second I walk into the future like a mute bat flies on a moonless night; unknown, uncertain.

I slowly spread my wings only to get knocked over by beasts with haunting smiles. I try to curve my lips into a smile
but it doesn’t reach my eyes.

Is there something wrong with me? In a world dominated by blue sky,
I prefer when it turns red.

Walking barefoot on a roadwhich is anything but smooth, I try to wave at those,
who are already miles ahead.

With my bruised wings and bleeding feet,I move ahead carefully placing my one foot in front of the other.

I will reach there, I breathe,and continued walking on a path which is anything but great.

An Angel: I call her MOM

You gave me what I wanted when I didn’t know I wanted it.. A relationship. Love. Companionship.

You took away things I didn’t think were problems.. My loneliness. The silence. Empty rooms.

I enjoyed having what I didn’t have for so long.. Love. Intimacy. Connection.

I embraced the feelings that came with you.. Feeling loved. Important. Wanted.

What a wonderful thing it is to be someone’s special! How lovely it is to be in love. I have been missing this for so long….

Now my faith in God has restored. He took my brother but He sent you to catch me when I was shattered and lost with no will and purpose of being alive.

I just wanted to tell you that you’re an amazing MOM. Every single word you say is magical. When I talk & share with you is the best part of my day. I love you so much but may be not as much as you love me. I’m just out of words to tell everything… that you already know❤

Nothing to contribute..

He used to be.. fun to be around. What happened to this man? Sitting among his friends, smoking cigarettes, watching them talk as he considers what to say. He doesn’t have anything interesting to bring to the group. He is lost, He has been for a while. The times where He was able to pretend are behind him. He wishes he still had the energy to exaggerate the events in his life through his creative words, pulling his environment into his stories. Making the odd funny joke or comment to entice laughs and connect with his audience. Those days are unfortunately forgotten now. He has lost the ability to engage with humans.

As the other beautiful people around him converse and smile and just ‘be’ — natural and confident — he sits quietly. Every now and then someone asks ‘are you okay bro?’ to which he smiles and replies with an extended ‘yeeaahh’. He is just tired — the easiest lie to cover up his truth. He is sad. He is lonely. He is lost.

And so the night continues. He makes an attempt once in a while to say something engaging but it’s a waste of time. He gets a quick response and then they turn to someone else — they have picked up on his lack of interest. So he goes back to his silent listening while he smokes a whole packet of cigarettes. And he writes. They think he is texting when actually he’s typing up his next piece for WordPress, where he will share his nonsensical loneliness with his audience. Loneliness is a state of mind, that’s what they say. He wonders, what came first? The depression or the loneliness? He does not actually care. He just wants it all to leave him alone so that he can be the man he wants to be.. and enjoy his bloody evening!

Dear cigarette/ The thing I least wanted to do

I touched you last year for the first time my entire life. When I had even a single puff, you soothed to my soul that soul which needed someone badly. I won’t regret having you in my life because I know you will kill me one fine day as I won’t die daily and you changed the person inside me. My day starts with one and ends up with uncountables. When I had no one you were there with me, whenever I miss you I find you around me. Do you know? Your love has been started working. Sometimes I feel as my heart has been stopped as it won’t beat again and at the same time, the smile comes on my lips as I will be no more. Sometimes while sleeping I squeeze the bedsheet just because of chest’s pain and at the same time I smile and whisper a few words of my dreams that I will be no more. Whenever my hands start shivering, at the same time I smile and sing that I will be no more as I know you will kill me one fine day and I will be no more.

River of Anguish

A soul once only bruised, later to be broken into a thousand pieces of shattered glass

The youth that promised so much, wasted with the constant overcoming of darkness

Each promising hope of happiness shadowed by a reality unwanted and feared

Moments of calm held onto with tightened fists that suffocated them into purgatory

Returning now and then for the bat of an eye but never long enough to sow seeds

A river of anguish constantly flowing with embankments too few and far apart

A boy, almost in mid-life, left scarred and scared feeling like a child

Afraid of the past, little hope for the future, no vision past the dark clouds

Waiting for a sign from the Universe, the Heavens, the Gods

Waiting for the instilment of peace like a baby bird waiting to be fed

Praying the time will come that the waters of the river of anguish will be purified

And he will finally walk forward, free from his broken mind and sorrow.


I……actually missed you

It dawned on me that I did


without you flew by like nothing, yet, somehow it felt like ages

Bro! I missed you For real





Time anticipates, awaits your return

As do I. but you won’t………..

Months without you flew…I missed you
For real

Where is the light?

They mention a light.. at the end of a tunnel

They talk about a light.. behind the shadows

They promise there is light.. behind the dark clouds

They encourage that the light.. is within you

I search, I long, I wait

Yet all I find is darkness, loneliness and pain

Where is this light they speak of

Is this a selective light

Only shining on the faces of those

Who deserve it’s warmth

So do I not deserve it

Am I not worthy of such comfort

They mention a light.. at the end of a tunnel

Yet all I find is darkness, loneliness and pain

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