(TW: This is written in the light of the unfathomable strength, courage and resolve of the people of Palestine and an earnest prayer for this genocide, ethnic cleansing and colonial settlement to end soon.) A façade. Enveloping, gradually insisting in the prevalence of a narcissistic idealism, one that feeds the fed and not the hungry. […]Read More The Unnamed.
Restless isn’t it?The glorification of death,A cementing ache of completion.The matter over mind…Alas! Perhaps it is in the edifice of kinship,The Vale of Love breathing in the air in which we gradually corrode,A grain of sand – an aeon of history. To ruminate in the woes of a carcass,Your nurturing blooms in a despondent awe […]Read More To Lost Souls.
A Wilted Bloom It was in the discourse of contemplation that Farukh would get dissoluted in. A resting abode and a prospering bloom were perhaps the instability in her life that made it stable. Maybe, it was in the way that her eyes glistened beside the resting river and the discord of the ripples, another […]Read More “A Wilted Bloom” by Imaan Siddiq
The Odour of Carcasses It fluttered, the rags that hid their differences and the still silence that lay erect in the fading dusk. The verdancy bloomed in the barren landscape which they called home, a rotting rubble of memoirs left intact. Perhaps buildings are meant to rise and fall, just like the empathy of a […]Read More “The Odour of Carcasses” by Imaan Siddiq
It fluttered through the frenzy, An incantation of earnesty. Miles apart it stood, Whole and rattled, As I floated among the earthen layers, And the winter sun, Alas, losing its enmity to me. To what wonder it rested, The dead below us and the dying among us. As if light could penetrate us all, Like […]Read More The Gleam in Our Eyes.
I couldn’t fathom the relentless chirping of the robins and the blooming daisies that enveloped the grazed pathway. It was perhaps the invigorating verdancy or the seamless skies that had made the hike seem more like a vale of prepossession rather than a ravine of boulders. The restless crater heaved in my bosom and my […]Read More “The Assassination of Spring.” by Imaan Siddiq
It wasn’t the wavering verdancy that I wanted to be a deceased part of or perhaps a constituent of a quivering past. Maybe these words are after all mine to write or perhaps the contemplation of a few meaningful conversations, for how can I seem to forget the corner we solely used to revert to, […]Read More “The Figments of Our Imagination” by Imaan Siddiq
The Doors of Eden. To what wonder is it, As I dwell among the blues. Like an inconsequential shred of disbelief, For even death remains a recompense, For the incessant vice of a lost breath. I can’t seem to fathom the unfaltering sagacity, That lies like an outcast in this Vale of Tears. I can’t […]Read More “The Doors of Eden.” by Imaan Siddiq
It isn’t often that I recede into the fading non-existence to but catch a glimpse of a parallel humanity that runs unhindered through the ravines of a disintegrating Land of Eden. It is only in a flurry of a moment that it is contemplated about the verdant landscapes of Kashmir, among the then invigorating breezes […]Read More A Vale of Tears.
It isn’t just intuition to always listen to the silence encompassing as you stand at the pivot of staggering words and a pretension towards the innumerable words of wisdom that lay hanging in the Land of Eden. There isn’t anything without a consequence nor an objective without the art of subjectivity as personalities metamorphose with […]Read More Words of Sagacity.