The carcasses didn’t bloom that spring as I had fallen accustomed till then, the lilacs burning and the verdancy shriveling up into nullness. The patchy blotted surface and the warped edges of a dying leaf nestled in my fist; only dead matter was allowed inside our rooms. We were dead matter as well. Compostable and […]Read More A Number.
The Calling of the Constellations – A Short Story What a folly it seemed to be. The hypocritical consolation that used to envelope me every time that I seemed to utter a sigh. Perhaps, a woe of still grieving a loss, some loss. Haven’t we all lost something? But maybe everyone does not have to […]Read More “The Calling of the Constellations” by Imaan Siddiq
You’re right. When you murmur in the depths of your silent exhales, I might as well be a burden. A weight too heavy for the animate to sustain, as if I am no more than the struggle to be inanimate. I remember glorifying death when I was a youth; there is freedom in death and […]Read More Promise.
A Chord Obscured. Rustling and humming; gradually yet persistent in the befogged blindness enveloping the sorts of aristocracy. The only sounds that I resonated with, striking the hymns beneath the despondency, a shallow putridity clear yet translucent. The resin that our minds secrete as we dissolve beneath the drugged consciousness – a luminous dream and […]Read More “A Chord Obscured.” by Imaan Siddiq
The interminable ruffles of silence,Enveloping and nestling deeper within the recluses of our reminiscence,Sniffing the scent of jasmine beneath the wavering putridity;“This too shall pass…” – death.A Vale of Verdancy luminescent alongside our globular organs,Forsaken yet reciprocated.The glimmer of ravens within your beady iotas.“My sepulchre…” as the whispers invigorate the phantoms lying awake.A brush of […]Read More A Coffin of Chrysanthemums.
An Ode to Sanity – A Short Story by Imaan Siddiq I can’t seem to unsee the demise that lies untethered in my line of sight. The flames of reverence that shall glisten on the doomsday of an unhindered gloom yet I won’t survive. I might as well die of internal conflict rather than the […]Read More An Ode to Sanity.
(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.
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.