Noor ur Rehman

Too much life we discard In everything we abandon Empty cigarette packet Looking askance from the dump As if missing all tobacco and smoke Few sensual tomatoes With rotten yellow bottoms Smelling of love dulled by time And punctured by doubts Few broken brushes That tired licking a canvas’ face And caressing all those curves […]

Your friend asks you a seemingly innocent and naive question, “Every morning when I wake up, I feel this headache. Why do you think it is so?” You turn around and look glaringly at his face and wonder why he expects you to know the imbalance in his metabolic processes, or the hormonal disturbances which […]

Often at around 12 pm, you go out to Food Street and sit outside a tea stall on a plastic chair to take a cup of tea and think. For the last two years, it has become a common practice that rings bells within your head every night like a call of hunger. Sometimes, when […]

ecourse to psychology, therapy and drugs is a common antidote to avert bad moods, self-loathing, anxiety and a whole flock of depressive disorders. However, it seems probable that these intended cures hardly help one save the hope of recovery in the near future. Somehow, the whole understanding of therapy miscalculates the reasons behind depression and […]

Morose and smoke-smelling The words fall from my pen On their knees – already crippled No mourning – they will never be read Meaning doesn’t flow but Evaporate and mingle with the dust Which a riot of thoughts Leave in its trail.   Smudged images of lips And a tempting gaze appear And then, swim […]

What if I refuse To mourn death And colour all its walls and windows With rainbow colours And smuggle all its fears and decay Out of language And burn them with scented candles? What if I distrust love And expunge all its oily legends Out of hearts, books, and songs And poison it with carbonated […]

Midnight, food street, in a dingy tea stall Few friends sprawled on plastic chairs Cigarettes are smoked and inhaled with sighs A joke exhausted, saved from repetition A beggar woman spreads her dark wrinkled heads A momentary silence, and stupid faces She has left, tea cups come Marxism, sufferings of poor, more cigarettes A naked […]