Facebook Twitter insta

•   A BIANNUAL LITERARY MAGAZINE BROUGHT TO YOU BY DESI WRITERS' LOUNGE   •

Volume 8


Forbidden - July 2011


Verse

Osman Khalid Butt

Written by
Osman Khalid Butt

Osman Khalid Butt is a twenty-seven year old actor, director, choreographer, writer and video-blogger based in Islamabad, and is also a self-professed struggling-artist stereotype. A journalism graduate, he is the co-founder of Desi Writers’ Lounge, as well as poetry editor and creative consultant for Papercuts. He has also remained a freelance writer for Instep, The News, as well as the Editor of the web-zine Text Teen, and wrote his first screenplay for the indie-horror movie ‘Siyaah’, which released nationwide in 2013. Though he has dabbled in television, TVCs and film, theatre remains his first love; he has directed four productions under the banner of his company, ‘The Living Picture Productions’, one of which he wrote himself. He has also collaborated with the Lahore Grammar School, Islamabad, directing three plays with its student body, and regularly gives theatre workshops across the country. He says he juggles all of this by drinking too much Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster for his own good.

        
      
       
            
              

Read more by this writer
Read more from this section


The Deep End of the Four-post


papercut   SHARE THIS ARTICLE

-

george.

(to the tune of ‘who’s afraid of the big, bad wolf’) Who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf?

martha.

I am, George,

I am.

‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’, by Edward Albee.

-

my amber-eyed infection
lies naked by my bedside
ready for round two;
cigarette stubbed out
the last smoke circle dies virgin –
she missed out on
all the fun.

i denied him thrice
last tuesday, but my mind played truant
the day after; it now plays
hopscotch with Woolf and her
pocketful of stones.

my dragon-slayer, my don juan,
my david, my goliath
he skips the foreplay, bends me over
and gets right to it
rationality is white noise
or so his voices whisper
between the slapping skin; between
the dementia mustnotsayitoutloud

something went snap
in my head; the mother who warned me
– of boys and the thing in their pants
– of invisible monsters that… i forget
just broke like a porcelain doll.

i would shed perhaps a tear
or two, or fifteen
but i am kissing
the mouth of madness
a 6 centimeter centipede
wrapped around my –
somewhere.

and
who doesn’t
enjoy
a
good fuck.

 

 

 More in this Issue: « Previous Article       Next Article »




Desi Writers Lounge Back To Top