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YourQuote—Best Writing App
Big announcement:

yq launches cinemagraphs, finely illustrated moving wallpapers to add life to your words. the update is available on google play.
try it out in the latest version.
read yourquote baba's thoughts on @yourquoteapp
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21 1,358 1 weeks ago


YourQuote—Best Writing App
It's #eid and
the only time i hear my mother not wailing
over the death of
both- bodies of some
and conscience of most
of this country she grew up to know as "ghar"- is when a distant relative
from the village she knew as "bachpan"
tells her that he managed to attend the eid prayer
wearing his newly stiched
white kurta payjama
with the skull cap
and was not called names on his way.

it's a different story
that he'd tread that path
from his home
to the eidgaah
in an old and worn out
but still-somehow-moving car
that he had the privilege to not have to
use his limbs
to walk to the eidgaah
where every step
would seem like someone is inching a pocket knife closer
and closer to his 'jigar'
past the scornful eyes
of the colony he once knew as "best friend's family"
or "my second home"
or "brother from another mother"
today the brother seems mad
and angry
and vengeful
for a game of vengence that neither ever signed up for
how did it happen, brother?
the only game we knew how to play
was with
colors of happiness in holi
lights of mischief in diwali
cardboards of making the "better looking" raavaan in dushehra

how did it happen
that you weren't the first
one to hug me this eid
do you remember?
the rib crushing
and soul fulfilling hug
that we fondly remembered
as home.
when did home
forget it's way to the balcony
to sight the moon together
and shout
in unison
"eid mubarak!" is it still eid
if the eidi is not in cash
but in kind
the kind you find in cold mortuaries

is it still eid
if we serve our
necks on a platter
and call it hospitality?
read fatima aslam khan's thoughts on @yourquoteapp
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14 1,971 2 weeks ago


YourQuote—Best Writing App
17 1,842 2 weeks ago


YourQuote—Best Writing App
We can lie to ourselves and each other
say the gaping chasm gurgling out every stone we threw on the other
darker side
is outrageous fiction
malarkey but we can count it on prayer beads
mangling our fingers
until our throats dry oceans
overwhelm the tides into submission
to something subtler
dull the blue so it doesn't hurt so much
to look at the all the places we couldn't burn down
ashes and smokes rising up to the clouds
but when you take away its fury
you take away the cause
the fish will perish of boredom
and alcohol will not mean quite so much anymore

the lava burning our soles is dying of hunger
we have never fed fistfights
into the rings we blew out of wheezing pipes
perilous by nurture
carrying the weight of all the lies we did not believe in
and did not care about enough to question
why did you tell me the moon was not cheese the mice work days to mould
scramble omelettes on
sunny side down
nibble a little
because don't we all deserve a little gouda
after sacramental ruination

the stark subtleties
infamously carrying deceit in strollers say
take care of my horrible horrible babies
the distance is a creation of an overimaginative mind working unpaid overtime
but we cannot envision happiness
and we've tried
lying in beds battling demons
blood trickling down our thighs
closed eyes
donning our overstrengthened armour
watering our overbruising palms
so the blooms disappear
whisper away the waterfalls toiling to tone down razor edges
in a blurring world
let the jagged rocks speak in their sharpness
until they make us bleed
or walk away
we are not responsible for the weight of this world collapsing on our shoulders
like biscuits swallowed on arid tongues
eyes tearing through terror
we lost the right to weep when our mothers slapped us for rationalizations we cannot recall
we remember how the mouth crumbled instead

there are worse things out there
shaming sunflowers into wilting away
facing the sun with a meaningful rebellion no one remembers anymore
but it must have been about something at least as important as bees opening their abdomens for homemaking on matchstick trees
stings hurt the same
(continued in first comment)
16 1,862 3 weeks ago


YourQuote—Best Writing App
What are you smoking my love? hot lava?

p.s: a contronym is a word that has contradictory meanings, if one meaning says "die now" the other would say "but there are dogs to live for"... like that.
#yqbaba #kiss #love #ihavenoideahowtobreathe
read nidus 's thoughts on @yourquoteapp
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6 1,550 4 weeks ago