Ode to Karachi- Reclaim Your Right!


******** Ode to Karachi********

Karachi will come out of its silence, gripped in fear where politics becomes the means to control it’s streets and businesses. #Karachi

KARACHI whose streets are ruled and where hearts plays it’s beats gripped in fear and violence will one day scream for its freedom.

In Karachi, when this happens neither the phone calls, or the old associations, or the slogans, or the murderous routines will hold that pain and it’s emotion . It will sweep all those whom have contributed towards its decadence and it’s destabilisation.



#Karachi it’s such a sad and dismal state of affairs where the concept of politics is NOT to serve its inhabitants BUT to hold them hostage.

It’s not the #karachi we remember from our youth and childhood days and not that karachi that carries it’s references in the old literature.

I miss that #Karachi of peace and lights where it’s corners did not produce mutilated bodies and violence but harmony and music.

And it’s that #karachi, that carried the music from its shores to the landscape of snow in the North and to its deserts. It is that I miss

I miss it’s cosmopolitan air; I miss it’s bazaars and shores; I miss it’s colour and love upon that canvas of peace. I miss myself. #Karachi

In Karachi, where I grew up- you tainted it and disgraced it with your politics of hatred and violence, I will reclaim it back one day.

#Karachi that carried my being from its bazaars and noise where ever I went ; the colours of those days upon my skin YOU cannot eradicate.

I miss all thousands who were murdered; the beautiful minds, the young souls, teachers, doctors, and all. It’s you all I miss. #Karachi

These careless whispers
Aimless walks
In your corners
I miss
And you
my murderer
I have not forgotten ……

#karachi where my blood has been spilled; where my livelihood was stolen; where my children have grown in fear; I will reclaim it back.

Karachi where it’s shores had connected the oldest civilisation to the world and you distanced it in your murder and in your violence.

And when I ran under the rainof bullets; and the body of a limbless child blown away it; you will never realise that lament. #Karachi




Islam, the universal religion has placed such an importance on the concept of cleanliness and its impact within the composition of the society that we must adhere to its message and implement. Islamic civilisation of the past believed and practised this. The civilisation grew unbounded in all four corners of the earth. So it is important that we understand as a nation the importance of this message and introduce in our policies in urban planning and development, keep our homes and roads clean, public buildings should not layered with posters. . In all matters of our belief, and in our day to day living this concept of cleanliness should be of paramount importance.





Karachi- Wrapped Up in Violence

Wrapped up in violence,
This city of mine and yours
In Edhi and Chippa ambulances
The bodies and its remains
Wrapped up in darkness
The city and its lights
As its screams go unheard
As the dead search for their graves

Wrapped up in innocence
The old days of its grandeur
The horrors too painful
To bear and to part with
As our young and old
Fall one after another
Some too young to remember
The old days and its glory
And some too old to forget
The mayhem created
In the name of democracy
As violence rules this place

Wrapped up in violence,
This city of mine and yours
In Edhi and Chippa ambulances
The bodies and its remains
Wrapped up in darkness
The city and its lights
As its screams go unheard
As the dead search for their graves

Only alien to these crimes
The political elite,
The so called responsible
Shifting blames
From one end to other
Wrapped up in these games
All with their stakes
As the shots are fired
As death roams in its streets
The people, out and about
In search for their lives
As their screams go unheard

Wrapped up in violence,
This city of mine and yours
In Edhi and Chippa ambulances
The bodies and its remains
Wrapped up in darkness
The city and its lights
As its screams go unheard
As the dead search for their graves

Only the alien, to this
The parties responsible
Wrapped up in blame
Through statements
Through TV appearances
Through behind doors
As the blood runs through
As the clock and count never stops

Wrapped up in violence,
This city of mine and yours
In Edhi and Chippa ambulances
The bodies and its remains
Wrapped up in darkness
The city and its lights
As its screams go unheard

Wrapped up in profits and gains
The shameful acts committed
The offers to make more
Through death and violence
Money to the dead and injured
As they hand out through words
As the dead search for their graves

Wrapped up in silence,
The old songs of devotion
Wrapped up in grief
The old moments of joy
Wrapped up in sorrow
The old days of freedom
Wrapped up in Edhi and Chippa
Our conscience of tomorrow
As the dead search for their graves


In Conversation with Allama Iqbal on Self Esteem

Self esteem is a product of nature and human existence – Journey of discovery and wisdom. It is learnt through experience, knowledge, tolerance and upon principles of humanity.  It is inherent, embedded and its manifestation comes with an awareness of one self and how we relate to others.  By its very virtue of being given and presence, but one has to work towards it. West tried to understand the concept of self esteem through rationale, through logic and reason but the East added more. Allama Iqbal covered this not in one dimension but in multiple dimensions and added more what nobody had done it before- the human dimension and its transactions with the forces of nature and the Universe in itself to create that balance. It is that state or being in that state where the concept of being unique and different, a concept of being rare and accommodating kicks into action and also the concept of loosing oneself in that very existence we call existence, life and its oxygen. At times losing one existence for a bigger cause provides that sense of belonging and awareness which cannot be captured- one can feel it only.

Therefore, what you see in Iqbal and taken up by others as well but no better than Iqbal, that there are stages to what one arrives at. Iqbal used philosophy, poetry and law and most importantly Islamic thought to rebuild and bring it out in the open the concept of “Khudi” which brings out all different forms of human composition in alignment with the nature and its patterns. Second stages of it were the experiences of culture, and different civilisation, travel which enabled him to harness this concept more and finally it was he himself, as a human through reflection and ponder, which really brought it out the notion where not he understood this concept about himself which became the core concept in his poetry, in his writings and all we see through the concept of creation of Pakistan and its ideology but he bounced it off into different directions for all of us to find this.

In a more summarised forms it is one of the most simple and yet the most sought after, this intangible commodity from the early humans and their civilisations up till now – What is it we as humans do? All of us try to and all of us before us tried to answer these questions: from the times of Socrates, Aristotle, Plato to the present world, where some express this true art, some through literature, through philosophy and literature and we through the ideology of change and progression.

The search for our questions continues. That has existed from the moment of time as it kicked off into action with human development and its existence. It is the human composition and its fabric built from these tissues and molecules of spirituality and love, again the product of nature. And its manifestation is human transactions and all our affairs of heart and mind. How we reconstruct our behaviour and actions and expression of thought through the intellect which is been provided to us and its use and the instincts to help out further.

And finally it’s the composition of our thoughts, its expression, behaviour, patterns, all these things that become and make us what we are. We become humans not from what we know of and what we are in the end but how we are viewed as within this universe. The vast and unbounded physical space one side provides a grim view of our miniscule presence and almost forgetfulness but at the same time the very awareness and realisation that this whole Universe Almighty Allah created for us to discover, to learn and to stand upon its wonders and reflect leads us towards only dervishes can discover, the moment of liberation from those physical needs and its presence.

We all are trying to find ourselves in all our different forms and shapes but the road to discovery and objective may be the same. How humans are different through the difference of languages and culture, barriers that exists through the geographical boundaries but there is something that binds all of them and it always has through the period of time, the sense of humanity and its expression and how we work towards it.

And an  example which I have used occasionally when asked or given the opportunity but never really provided the full reasoning actually brings me to this last paragraph below and how it relates to this concept of “Khudi” and self esteem as far as I am concerned in an effort to provide that answer or attain that realisation.

As a young boy, I had always wondered why I have to read Shakespeare, and all the English literature and different mechanics of science. I had always wondered why I am being asked to look into detail and align myself with the effects of English civilisation, culture and its architecture, all that it brought in subcontinent and other parts of the world from the notions of British Empire. Why this effort and awareness to know all this?  Will it bring that respect or determination to succeed or whatever partial means to achieve those end objectives?

It was enthralling to read and to reflect about these experiences in the deserts of Bahawalpur and Multan through its heat.  It provided the shadows of peace and tranquillity. But then life moved on and the question still remained during those years why this? I am sure there be more to it. And that brought me to this distant land; we call England, United Kingdom in search for those questions, as I needed to know the reference point how the English see themselves. How this very civilisation came to bring its very own effects and the rest. This quest was to lead me to read about Roman civilisation and their conquests and their influence in the field of warfare, science, politics and literature and more.

As the story goes, I went like a beggar from English to the Romans and from Rome to Athens, to marvel upon their architecture, and how they developed the concept of thought and rationale, in the writings of Socrates, Aristotle, Herodotus, Plato and many more. But it did not end there- Although I was partially pleased that I have now found the source where it all came from. Few more years down the life, the journey brought upon from Greeks saw Egyptians as their masters and constant references of their pyramids, preservation techniques, the early development of epistemology, etc. Egyptians brought me to the land of Euphrates and Tigris, the land of Babylon and its civilisation.

And few more years went past looking for answers and all those connections I was trying to discover to build my ties with this world and the Universe in general and finally the very realisation came  like the warmth of sun one cannot avoid and the cold of the winter as I retraced the whole journey where it all started from- From English to Romans, Romans to Greeks, Greeks to Babylon, and all looking at where I stood in the very same desert where I had started to look outwards but never looked inwards. All of these civilisation and their traces and journey ended in the land of Indus, in Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa, the most ancient civilisation known to mankind and it is where I  stood upon its chest and on its soil. As I looked at the rest of the world from that desert and from that place we call Pakistan, the whole world and the old civilisations looked upon it right at my feet covered in dust and face, carrying all the ancient marks of all those civilisations and their aspirations.  It is then that day I knew that I had become unique, and found those rare patterns to my rare existence which Almighty Allah had placed it in there as a gift. It was there I knew where I was the most oldest person living on this planet earth and all its imprints upon my conscience and intellect and it is where I finally knew the meaning of “Khudi” and self-esteem which Allama Iqbal had so beautifully constructed and explained through his poetry, the breath of imagination and all those dimensions he covered and travelled within that infinite concepts of time and space. It is where I found myself amongst my own people, my own civilisation, culture, art and the journey of time which Islam had provided and all its interconnects to all civilisations before and after. It is where I stood on those grounds that had been borrowed by all, to see their reflection and to have their point of reference. My reference was Islam and its civilisation and its shelter and refuge and all that contained in there which Iqbal had so beautifully and masterfully explained. My references were principles of humanity, wisdom and experience. My references were of justice, self-esteem and all that makes one humble and provides that courage through those compositions of distance and travel to lands unknowns …unimaginably far!


Suicide Note- Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Upon requests from many friends I am presenting the links to this poem Suicide Note and all its parts leading onto Part 5 which you all have seen and read.

This poem was inspired by a story of a 24 year old  mother and her two children decided to end her life and the two children.. I came across this story almost three years ago in Lahore, Pakistan. Since then, this whole concept remained in me for many months, the causes, the helplessness and all those factors that contributed towards this.

Please find below all these parts and the links which will take you towards the final part 5.

Part 1- Suicide Note- The Introduction


I am an outsider
A view from inside
I will kill
And my own
Two angels
All that existed
For me and them
To return
To perfection;
As the sun rises tomorrow!

Part 2- Suicide Note- The Golden Bridge


As life walks past,
Upon this golden bridge,
Symbols of our past
In distance, of unity and strength
From promise of slogans
Of “roti, kapra and makan”
To dazzling boards enshrined
Of our failures and mistakes,
Words golden and enticing
Of change and of progression
In hurry and in quarters,
This wave of humanity
In conflict or in peace,
In meanderings of their mind

Holding onto these rails,
In complete removal and silence
In peace and an ocean of smile
A beautiful woman and two angels
In patterns strange and exotic
In view, by us all and by none
A bridal dress upon her skin
Last few breaths, one last look
One last glimpse of life
Of its warmth and of its indifference
To end the beat, to become a bird

Will we ever find the answers?
To the questions, in her life
The first impulse
The first instinct,
As they will see, this act of fusion
Like the old traces of fire,
Upon ignition and reaction

As we stand there, me and you
Tied up in routines of our existence
For some, remains a lifetime to enjoy
And for her, the last moment
As she jumps this from that bridge
And two angels, with her in green

Sudden and instantaneous,
Pronounced dead, all gone,
Her beautiful dress in red
In blended with her blood,
Hands clenched in tight grip
An old note, the suicide note
To hold onto death
The only possession in sight
Creased and long,
Carefully written,
In a beautifully writing,
No names, no address
All left behind, all left behind,
As life walks past,
In hurry and in quarters

There lies the woman,
Her beauty and life
And two angels,
As the evening begins to draw,
Few silent stares, few broken conversations,
Few shots in black and white as I hear the clicks,
Cleansed they have the place, time to go home

There on the spot,
Still there, an old note
By this golden bridge, as she fell
The letters of her life,
In an instance of time, taken
Torn apart, as witnessed by all present
With symbols of our greed and indifference
Where once she lived and reasons
That torn her apart in seconds of our existence!

Part 3: Suicide Note- The letter


My name is hunger and poverty,
In this land of mayhem, my identity
Proud citizen of this nation, forgotten
Lost in this indifference of humanity
In this beautiful country and its corners
Live here I with my two children
In my home with no walls of protection
With empty stomachs and faith
And years of injustice, with voices silent
My name is hunger and poverty
Here I reside, inside this country
In absence, all that I once stood for
From years of my light and existence

I too have stood there in protests,
I too have knocked upon doors
For justice and change
Too little I have heard,
Too little has come from that promise
As I walk back, in my hunger and poverty
Many years in this misery, have spent
24 years of age, seems so distant and old
As I carry this burden and my friends
Two angels, in this hunger and poverty
I have no regrets, I have no shame
Carry I no opinion, only the routines that linger
As works brings me here and there
The product of forgetfulness, the convenience
Discarded and eliminated, my life
That is my fate they say suffer and don’t question

I too have read stories of laughter and magic,
So tired I am, nothing in me to recite
As I and two angels await with empty pots
My name is hunger and poverty
Followed I am by this in my silence and dreams
In this life of mine, in this country of freedom

Not a sentence or a word I will get in your conversations,
These lofty conversations on democracy and of change
Of justice, of humanity and of kindness,
Present I myself with last supper, my gift
Of conversation on food, and music of hunger
To these places of my arrival and decisions
No flowers, no prayers I shall receive only condemnation
As I plunge into darkness, as I rid myself of this pain

This life of mine,
Neither the sleep nor dreams
In my possession
This life of mine,
Neither the voice nor change
In my possession
As I lay awake
In search of answers not in my possession
Into such proportion this fear has grown
Submission to death, with such ease
Tomorrow you will find me, near the bridge
And two angels, no longer I can wait,
In those long queues, no longer my hands can take
The old stigma of indifference, I am too proud
No longer these promises, mean much to me

I am only 24 years of age
This weight of thousand years
And this urgency to escape from this body
My soul has no patience, in this dry and barren land
Upon my conscience, upon this body,
You just stare, in silence, as thousand’s thoughts come across
My features carved out of numbness in view

One day in another time
There with gardens and in chambers
As I lay awake, before the final hours,
One last attempt, just last breaths,
Only I will take these last ounces of strength
To settle my account, no longer I need you, or this state
Futile this effort to ask you, futile it is this place

Of all those efforts that I have taken and in vain,
My steps as I move towards my end, in nearness,
Nor an eye or soul will move, in this ocean of indifference
Only three I leave behind, as of their only daughter
And one who travels like whispers from one place to another
In search for few crumbs, with dignity and patience
Tired, too tired to carry this burden in my space and time

Only the creator and His court and justice, I await
Only 24 years, too old, all these years I have carried
They say life is beautiful, it carries you till eternity
Only few steps for me, neither this beauty nor eternity
Removal from this place and its existence, my requirement
My soul has no stomach; my soul has no dreams, the perfect agreement

They say we have a choice, they say we have a voice
Where are those choices, where are those voices,
No choice I have but only to end myself,
Endowed upon me by my meanderings
Empty stomachs, and these 24 years of my life

Forgive me my creator, my Lord, my Allah, my Everything
As I take this plunge with my last breaths, to free myself
Not in madness or in trance as my mind remains intact
My soul has no stomach, my soul has no dreams
The perfect agreement, I have come to arrive, with myself
As I fly with angels towards you, let them be my witness
My soul has no stomach, my soul has no hunger!

Part 4- Suicide Note- The Trial


Stand there me,
To witness story of her life,
Unnoticed and unforgiving
It was I who killed her
I was there that night
In her hunger and poverty
As she wrote those words
The words, her suicide note

My hands carry no shackles
But in shackles my conscience
I was there on that bridge
As she flew into her own space
With angels and her bridal dress
In warmth of the sun and despair

My poetry could not save her
Neither the distance nor the knowledge
Neither you nor the State
Now all in place, for you to see
It was neither the hunger nor poverty
But our indifference and ignorance
How we all killed, one way or another
The notes, in our heads, to examine
This terrible sin of indifference
As the trial begins, as the conscience strikes
Knows it not to rest, knows it not the time!


The Suicide Note- Part 5

Travel they far to the places unknown,
In quest for their dreams, in search for peace
No cure for this disease, only the manifestation
Look upon they in horror and in silence
The fruits of our labour and formation
As the memory strikes its verdict,
Alone they struggle, alone they die
The absent cure, only the dreams
Sold through the tortured years,
The slogans of change and promise
To end, all we wanted in our existence
Cannot kill they hunger and poverty,
Only they kill their own
Never could they understand,
The sweet promise as the years rolled
The minds once inspired the revolutions

Comfort, in death, the only solution
As they take turns, as they kill
Themselves, their children and all
As they bring themselves to the poison
As silence haunts the bewildering minds
Of all that happens, of all that is in view
Of the dreams that now rest in graves
Of all what you donate, in my absence
If only my death can make you a star
The money you will disperse,
The appearance you will make,
The leaders of my land,
The politicians of my time
As the camera roll its old lens
The old tattered note, clasped in her fist
“Sorry Mother, not strong enough to care
For myself and two angels, time to go now
You can have my share of bread and water
I will miss you till eternity, but will remember
The old betrayal of dreams and slogans”………



When will you own and claim?
The moral fabric of responsibility
When will you own and claim
What belongs to you in disguise?

When will you forsake,
These practises of surrender
As we fall into this abyss
When will you understand?

It is not the decision of fate
But of our own makings
When will you realise
In this world or next

Answerable we are
For all our actions
As you ride off
To new adventures and blunders

One day, all will fall
All your grand promise
Of change and progression
As ants begins to queue up