Facebook Twitter insta


Volume 3

Spring 2008


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 Color of Jaded


Overture: Sensation.

The consciousness of

Mortal feet treading hallowed ground, each step


to the backdrop of silent symphony;

perhaps borne from composition

brought to life;


a serenade of my soul

an orchestra inherent, as I

Witness midwives of fiction

Birthing revolution, resplendent

in robes of red

and auroral light,

My flesh intertwined with

their world of paper.

The First Act.

A fabric veils

my world and yours.

A raised pulse

speaks volumes of what lies ahead

as I begin to lose grasp

on my scripted reality

A melodrama within


Will these frail legs

stand their own

but why venture in the world of rhetoric

when the curtains have parted

and I begin a

waltz that lies,


between captivation

and lost interest.

Act Two: Disillusionment.

Spun tales of once upon a times,

Recited in octaves both shrill and grave

Resonant. Sound.

But then

your world is paper after all

Blurred now, symbols foreign,

in part

liquid sorrow

that requiems a lost friend

in part


at having to follow reality

in her yellow brick road of mundane.

And so it is

this ode to the real you.

Dissonance, Unscripted.

This wood, cracked

Her stories will not mask

the decay in her every pore

speaks more of you than

A Thousand Acts.

The curtain lies, forlorn


Coward, you lay hidden

in this mask of rouge

for fear that behind the masquerade

you are nothingness, after all, where

Even wind pauses before

Permitting echo, no

These words of defeat

(Even they sound hollow.)

Enter stage right,

the world of the has-been

The color

of jaded

A frozen mannequin.




 More in this Issue: « Previous Article       Next Article »

Desi Writers Lounge Back To Top