To Lost Souls. 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 […]Read More To Lost Souls.
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
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
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.
The Guillotine of Absolution Wasn’t it impeccably soothing as the consciousness would divulge in the blinding pits of twilight, suspended along the finite silver thread as it glimmered upon the melanin of my skin. How the once verdant bond was now left vacant with a stammering, shivering soul in pursuit of a sanity lost in […]Read More The Guillotine of Absolution – A Short Story