25 minutes

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And its noon here in my corner of the world. Well, not exactly, but it will be in 25 minutes. This seems to be a pure coincidence, as I muster the courage to keep tapping away at these plastic buttons, wondering how many microplastic pieces are seeping into my skin, while I sit in front of the window watching pseudo intellectuals smoke cigarettes and talk in faux english accents about how they flights to new york and how they have a love hate relationship with Pakistan.  These people are so far removed from the actual burdens of the common man in Pakistan that it is both sad and hilarious. Yet it is these people that run the country. While not even living in the country. How strange is that?  I really feel this is one of the few places in the world that can boast this kind of synergy.  The interesting thing is that their conversations consist primarily of these things:  1. How burdened they are living their luxurious lives 2. How they need to make the next chunk of c...
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The Sum of infinity

As I push the pen to paper, the ink seems to dry faster than I can write. Each stroke, each fine line and each full stop generates such a vivid image in the mind - despite the decade that has passed, this does not cease to amaze me. Yet, as I pull my instrument away from the parchment, I seem to be again, on the first word. 


Thus: life draws back into a circle. 

                                    

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