'...and my smile deceives you yet again
you still can't see me writhe in pain
hidden are the scars, hidden each stain
my life's story; all in vain'
'I; a creature of thought, thus no existence without'
and finally to:
'and the cool evening breeze lifts my thoughts from right under my fingers
and pushes them back into the infinite layers of awareness in my mind,
perhaps to be lost, perhaps to be refined and perhaps to be immortalized'
The journey of flirtation with words that started at age 5 (nearly 3 decades ago), when I would distort known celebrated Urdu verses and add a pun to them, has led me through phases over the years where I have seen myself writing, albeit sporadically, more poetry than prose and my writings have predominantly been paronomasias and ciphers at heart. I write on, knowing that by time I'm done, I will have defined my own genre. Until then...