Category: That Book I Never Wrote

  • To give up silently

    To give up silently

    “When you give up on something, it becomes a weighty silence that you carry within you for the rest of your life.

    It’s a quiet acceptance that what once was the centre of your being will never be a part of your being again.

    The silence is the only gesture that will honour such loss, such surrender.

    And when anyone asks, if they even know to ask, all you can muster as a response is a sheepish grin and an involuntary shrug, hoping to appear nonchalant enough to hide the pain and the shame that you struggled with in the tortured darkness all those lonely, distraught nights.

    That’s how the light fades, and the dullness replaces the enthusiasm that once defined your spirit.

    Only, there’s no one looking close enough to notice. So your shame remains safe, and your heart, incomplete.”

    Another excerpt from the manuscript threatening to bleed out of my heart and onto the keyboard.

    From the sequel to my novel, this is a piece that may make it into my next novel titled, Taqdeer: A dance with destiny.

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  • This is going to hurt

    This is going to hurt

    Another excerpt from a manuscript slowly taking shape in my head. From the sequel to my novel, this is Taqdeer: A dance with destiny.

    In this scene, the main character, Zayd, once more finds himself faced with the betrayal of one close to him, but it’s not enough to deter him from remaining defiant against the odds.

    “Eventually, I get tired of dodging the bullet and instead I stand, square-shouldered, facing the onslaught with eyes wide open, my heart gently ticking away in my chest, waiting for what I always knew was inevitable. Knowing that it will hit me hard, but defiantly standing there waiting to see exactly how hard it’s going to hit.”

    Will his love story ever be completed? Or is life only ever meant to be an exercise in fulfilling duty towards those who have rights over him?

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Prisms of beauty

    Prisms of beauty

    If you keep chasing rainbows, you won’t find the time to notice that you’re the prism creating the beauty that you so desperately court.

    Breathe beloved, and pause for long enough to appreciate the beauty of you, despite the ugly of them.

    (From the sequel to An Incomplete Love Story that may never be written)

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • Chasing ghosts

    Chasing ghosts

    Of the multiple lifetimes that I’ve endured, reality flirts between the beauty that I saw, and the ugly that I experienced. Sanity was relegated to an after thought when what I saw was a vision uniquely experienced by me. Too real to dismiss, but too fantastical to be believed.

    It’s the belief that I need to share it with others that taints the experience. But I often wonder if it’s really a belief, or is it a dictate of nature that I will remain incomplete if my experience remains my own. Is the purpose of life not to share our wonders with others?

    The pervasiveness of ugly has revealed the ugly side of ugly to me in moments when I was distracted by the beauty of a being. My fixation on beauty was never enough to turn their gaze away from the ugly that gripped their lives. Unfulfilled vengeance shreds a soul with the promise of making it whole.

    Fighting the shredding has left me chasing their ghosts of beauty while they invested in the ugly of being. But my ghosts, despite being beyond reach for an embrace, are mine to behold, and mine to court. Offering shards of light into their darkness, teasing them into the light for a few brief, magical moments, before they recede again, the fear of the light turning to darkness echoing the horror of hopes so often destroyed by the ugly of their past.

    This tug of war. This wretch between beauty and pain. If not for the beauty of the ghosts, sublimely serene and mesmerisingly aching with the promise of peace, succumbing to their ugly would have overtaken my tender soul. But tenderness is not formed through frailty. It is the deepest gashes that revealed the tenderness within, without which the hardened crust of my contact with the world would have had me convinced that my ghosts were mere apparitions, and their ugly was the only truth.

    The ghosts of the betrayers have unwittingly gifted me with the vision that they spurned. A vision of wondrous enchantment, seeing the tenderness of their soul, while they focus on the crust. Hope feels like a threat when the lifetimes that nag at my back remind me of the many occasions on which the ghosts were defeated, and the crust grew thicker over the beauty that I courted.

    Until now. Until my latest skirmishes with their darkness revealed an intensity of light so beautifully complete, that my strongest resolve to abandon it proves futile. A new tug of war has been birthed. This time, between my resolve to block out the ghosts and the beauty that they keep revealing in the silent, taunted moments when the world is asleep, and my unfailing desire to surrender to the ghost before I give up my own.

    The end is not near enough, and peace too far away.

  • Thus, is love lost

    Thus, is love lost

    In affection, we focus on our beauty

    In rejection, we focus on our deficiencies

    Perhaps that’s why the world is so harsh

    Too many are waiting for their deficiencies to be accepted before they share their beauty

    Or need their grievances with one to be compensated before they accept the beauty of another.

    Each time we wait for the past to be redressed before

    we invest in the future

    We are discarding the future in favour of the very past we wish we could leave behind

    Thus is the gift of love discarded

    And bitterness courted.

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  • Dancing with destiny

    Dancing with destiny

    A snippet of a thought from the sequel to my novel, An Incomplete Love Story.

    We’re living in such uncertain times, and the uncertainty seems to be seeping into my thought processes.

    “Whether we were cut from the same cloth before time began, or we were shaped by life to be perfectly matched, it doesn’t matter. Destiny doesn’t always win. Sometimes, we avert destiny because we prefer the familiarity of our fears rather than the uncertainty of hope.”

    This, if ever it is written, will be central to the theme of my next novel, Taqdeer: A dance with destiny.

    Tell me what you think. Should I write the sequel, or should this be one of those love stories that should forever remain incomplete?

    Photo credit : Adobe Stock

  • The ultimate rebellion

    The ultimate rebellion

    Living romantically, despite the horrors of life, is the ultimate protest

    It’s the obstinate rebellion against those who wish to rage, because they have no peace to give

    It is the cry of the lover for his beloved

    The anguished heart searching for peace

    The lonely soul searching for home

    To see beauty when surrounded by pain

    Or to be gentle when born of torture

    To love despite being surrounded by hate

    And to claim dignity when shame is the only language spoken

    That is the ultimate protest

    Because we must strive for what we wish to create

    Rather than rage against what we wish to destroy.

    The world is full of rage

    Perhaps it needs some romance again.

    Join me, beloved

    Join the conquest of this madman.

  • True love is never lost

    True love is never lost

    Fate has a way of giving us what we ask for when we don’t realise we’re asking for it.

    It is the yearnings of the soul that calls out to the heavens, while our mouths utter pleas that are born of the distractions of needs.

    Needs are ephemeral. They pass through us like the passing of fluids through the loins of beasts.

    Denial of such needs leads to anger, and anger betrays the soul.

    The yearnings of the soul prevail beyond such fickle expression.

    It is in the infinity of true love that the soul finds peace.

    Whatever ends, is therefore not true to love or to the soul. It is not what physical bond we may maintain that defines such love.

    Such a love is defined by the pulse of the soul that continues to beat, eternally rhythmically, for the same soul that set it alight and inspired its beautiful rhythm.