Of a season...

The heartless summer is long gone

Soon the clouds will sail away

Rain will no more dance at my window

Where the dew drops will rest themselves

Waiting for the winter to come.

Nothing remains forever

But for the songs

Of a season lost

Nothing will remain

But for the memories

Of a season gone…

In Sleep

Somewhere deep

Where no voice can stir it awake

Where no hand can reach

Lies a dream

Somewhere deep

Where hope does not gleam

Where life does not seem

Lies a dream

Somewhere deep

The dream lies in its sleep…...

(Image: www.deviantart.com)

Growing Up With James Bond

Blogging has never been more enjoyable if it weren't for the likes of him.

Sib had this intriguing display name that attracted me every time I went to comment on one of Agnes's posts. 'Talk to my Soul'; that was something I wanted to do myself. A couple of visits on his page and I was still unsure whether I should introduce myself and make an entry to his page. His tag line seemed to speak to me: 'When you have nowhere to go, go back to yourself'. Yes, I had nowhere to go back then.

Thus started my friendship with this guy whose comments never failed to bring a smile to me. His display picture, I must say, was rather handsome. In the long list of comments that I used to get, I would search for his name and read his comment first.

Do I need to tell you what amazing friend he is? I don't think so. But yes there are some I would want to share. Through all these months, through the countless times I was up all night and couldn't sleep, Sib was right there with me. When I seemed to be battling my demons, he was right there, may be not beside me, but always behind me to keep me from falling. I don't have those sleepless nights anymore, but I know that anytime I do, I just have to look for him and he'd be right there.

I've laughed with him on his silly jokes, I've cried while he held on to me. My silly childish problems, my immature reasons, my weak logic, and he always seemed to bring out the best in them. I've grown up with him in the last one year with him changing me into someone who's think logically than from the heart; I am so grateful for that.

Sib, it's your birthday and I wish I could have had a bite of your birthday cake or played a nasty prank on you on your day! May be I won't be around much longer, I don't know how life unravels. So I just wanted to write here, the place that's home to you, to tell you and the world how very special a person you are. You're a fierce friend, you're kind at heart, you're someone I can always and always depend on; and yes, you're Bond, James Bond.

*wipes tears from her eyes*
(Sorry guys I got a little emotional writing this post.)

Hope you remember your promise to meet me some day in Pakistan in a park under the sun and see me all grown up. I'd recognize you from anywhere, dear friend.

Happy birthday :)
Many many happy returns of the day, with joys of every thing you'll ever ask for!



Much love,
Mehreen.

To Life....

“Are you getting my articles? Long time no see. I am sending you two of my new articles and a new poem. Hope you like them. Hope to see one of them published soon.”

Ankita never wrote long mails. She never wasted time nor did she waste space.

“Send them directly to me. I will try my best,” I wrote back.

I did not promise her anything but she never gave up. I could not get her articles published since the weekend pull-out for students had long been withdrawn from of the newspaper I work for. It was sometimes in June.

The first time I met her, Ankita was a bundle of energy; almost erupting in excitement in her chair. Her mother showed me around, showed me Ankita’s paintings, terracotta crafts and all the poems she ever wrote. That was four years back. She was 14 back then. And that was the only time I met her.

Back then, Ankita was the story I was writing for my newspaper; story of a 14 year old’s fight against a discriminatory system which refused her the right to study in a normal environment. She was the story of the indomitable human spirit. But yes, the first time, I met her she was just a story for me.

Born with scoliosis, a condition of the spine which had rendered her incapable of walking because of lower limb paralysis, Ankita always wanted to do what others of her age did and she more than excelled in everything she did.

“I want to meet President APJ Abdul Kalam. I have seen him on TV and read a lot about him. I also wrote to him,” she once wrote.

Ankita made it a point to send me each of her journals, poems and articles. Every New Year Day and each Diwali ever since I came to know her, I always found a mail from her in my inbox. And I always replied.

She once wrote how scared she was inside the operation threatre where she was waiting for her turn when a little girl, an accident victim, was rushed in. The experience has made me stronger, she said. By the time she was 14, she had undergone at least 16 surgeries for her condition.

It was mid-July this year when I received a mail from her. “This is my first dance video. Do send me your comments. Bye.” Like always, she did not waste any time nor any space.

I was then setting off for a week-long travel which promised to be hectic as well as chaotic. I decided to reply upon my return.

It was a Saturday and I was back to work.

When I reached office, my colleague asked me, “Do you remember Ankita?”

“Of course, I do. I have to reply her mail. It has been more than a week,” I said.

“She passed away two days ago. It was a cardiac arrest. I am carrying an obituary,” she said.

*******

A moment is a lifetime…but only for a moment….By the way, I was born on this day.

(Image: www.zastavki.com)