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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Moss Green: The End

MOSS GREEN: THE END

In a distant time the thought of oblivion would have ignited anxiety - the simple thought of pure darkness would have been enough to overpower me. 

    Now I welcome it.

I close my eyes, and instead I am standing at the edge of a stone entrance. 

    The war era tunnel, has made its place between an overgrowth of trees that have fed on the rain and remains of the fighters long buried underneath. 

    Green moss creeps towards the top of the tunnel entrance reaching for the topmost jagged stone, staining the once grey and silver walls with much needed color. 

The wind tastes heavy and cold on my tongue - the eerie silence is cut only by the dripping of dew from leaves I cannot see - the sound amplified beyond comprehend-able reason  The ground beneath my feet seems unreliable as my shoes struggle to grip - squeaking and slipping in the wet Earth 

    They say there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but all I can see is the end as it would be, reflected perfectly as if someone was holding a giant mirror on the other side

Yet, I don't see my reflection, so I know the short passage is just that

    Billions have passed through it before me, and billions will follow. 

***

I open my eyes and I'm back: 

    Amid the dim hue of my screen, my fingers are working furiously. 

Keystrokes bending to my will.

    Each clipping noise transferring the evidence of my consciousness onto digital paper 


Is it not a blessing to know that there is an end?


- Muneeb Naeem 


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