“Resurrection Sunday, ain’t it?”, inquired the King with a smile, as he gazed in the direction of the door which opened slowly and steadily. Entered his most trusted advisor who happened to be his one and only son, the Prince.

The King who was in his late fifties, a calm and composed man with dark brown hair and blonde beard that reminded one of a mature coconut if it’s husks were removed. Engaged in deepest of contemplations and long spells of meditation, he hid inside his cozy room, ashamed of his title, granting the moment of magic, the power of…


“Well, I told you, that you’d fall asleep, didn’t I?”, said Sarah as she started to shake me, trying to awaken me. “Alright, alright, I didn’t sleep! I was just lying here eyes closed, by the way, how long was I out?”, I asked with a mischievous grin and lit my cigarette. “Half an hour or so, whatever, just get up, it’s time to leave, we have rested enough”, replied Sarah.

Oh what a fine morning it was, cool breeze blowing all around, it was all so fresh and illuminating, just a few minutes till sunrise I thought. We were…


The white, flower bedecked car idled at the traffic signal and was immediately swarmed by the usual urban panhandlers and street vendors, more so because the car was conspicuous. A grubby looking boy of hardly four knocked at the window and smiled winningly. The woman with the bright red lipstick and the sad eyes rolled down the window and smiled back at the boy, he looked gloriously free. She had no money to give him and instead took out a wilting red rose out of the bouquet in her lap and offered it to him. The boy ran off but…


Sitting alone with a cigarette in his hand, on a cold December night, on his chair, puffing the smoke, Dr. Haris awaited the last patient of the day. He was a psychiatrist who seemed to be in his early forties, thick black hair combed backwards almost with perfection; blue green eyes and a slim moustache, trimmed beard, wearing a glasses and a dark blue suit.

Entered a young boy, Jasim, who seemed to be in his early twenties, looked to be a fine boy but looked anxious, agitated, was breathing irregularly as if he came all the way running to…


> Hey You see, this thing about drugs man?

  • What thing?

> How we can only buy selective products, but not some restricted ones?

  • Aha, so?

> So man, see the ontological fallacy here, the irony. You pay cash and buy them, the legal ones I mean; and those illegal, well you can still buy them but after paying a hell lot more than the original price, to whom does it go? Who reaps all the reward of efforts and plays with the abilities and pleasure of masses? Someone is just manipulating it all brother, none but...

  • Shut the crap, look over there at the thighs of that bitch, the meat on that man, it’s tantalising.

> For Heaven' sake man, stop taking females as sex objects, for once will ya?

  • Oh come on you impotent maggot, chill the fuck out, here, take it, light up the joint!


Relax, y’all…you have my ear

I hear them as they summon me..

But what’s that fuss and clamor about,

Get done with it; these rattling shouts…

Don’t ya ruffle my mind…Enough with the pain

Thunderbolt strikes, lightning spells; Let’s make it rain!

Excruciating pain, we must loosen our chain…

Clouds of despair rise and darken the sky

Shush, give me the blade…Sigh!

Sorrow bleeds from mutilated soul o’ mine

Seeds of revolt…I sow them deep…

Enrich the soil Oh Confidante…

Wrath of rebellion must stare back…

World needs the dancing dove

No cage but rage…Fly high above..

To each his…


Aasia Bibi

June 2009; Aasia Bibi, a Christian and mother of five, was plucking berries with her muslim neighbors that she drank a glass of water and offered it to them. One of them, Maafia, said: “We cannot drink from that glass. You are a Christian, we are Muslims, and there is a vast difference between the two. We are a superior religion.”

They started to shout against her and arguments heated up ending in Aasia Bibi getting accused of committing blasphemy against Islam and Prophet Muhammad. In no time she was surrounded by a mob of people from neighborhood who gathered…


It was a cold night of November and the sky was jam-packed with dark clouds. It had been raining heavily all day, sound of raindrops splashing on the floor and hum of breeze had been bothering Ahmad continuously. He couldn’t sleep, had felt restless and perturbed most of the evening. Suddenly the phone rang and what he heard from the phone call dazzled him. It was primarily on account of the news that he had heard. This news was of the suicidal death of his childhood friend, Jamal. They had just met a month ago and that day Jamal though…


Old is gold; I often wonder, what does this phrase mean? Is it literal? Do old times really overshadow modernity? Isn’t it so that past never tends to leave us? Memories never really fade away completely, or do they? I mean take wine as an example, the older the better. Even the trees, the more older they are, the more mysterious they seem to us, there’s more of serenity in them, and serenity is all we yearn for, don’t we?

I remember when I was in London, we had this apartment on Church Road, Northolt. There was a busy road…


Feels like hell, when you are miserably out of words to write, out of things to read, sick of talking to people, all the meaning-less conversations, these are just formalities of this moral, naive society of ours; boring customs and traditions, absurd routines of people all around us.

All such thoughts were baffling me as I woke up this morning. Rather got up in a frenzy, confounded by nightmares and weird thoughts, I thought it better to head out for a smoke and a stroll. …

Osama Mehmood

''Man gets used to everything, the scoundrel!'' (Fyodor Dostoevsky)

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