My Cursed Kingdom
This is my kingdom, i am the slave.

Archive for the ‘story’ Category

Dig the durt, if you must.

June 7, 2013

Don’t dig your buried treasures out; you never know what you might find. Unless you’re ready to face what you will see. But if you must, then you must. Pick up the shovel, shove its head into the dirt with all the force in your arms, and then use the strength of your tired legs […]

The Karachi Bedtime Checklist

December 21, 2012

You’re dead beat from a long day and not really looking forward to the next hectic day, not because you hate your boss but more so because your boss hates you. You’re done surfing through all the 87 useless channels your cable T.V operator provides you. You check facebook one last time on your not […]

Hurtful sounds of melodic trumpets

August 17, 2012

A cigarette in your hand. I know it’s been long since you smoked one. Snugged between two fingers like you just took a drag, and then got distracted by something. Or someone. A dry leaf in the other hand; autumn it seems. Although it doesn’t seem like its cold otherwise, I don’t see a jacket. […]

All is violent, All is bright

March 2, 2012

I paint your name on my wall. I watch the paint drip down till the ground. It messes up my wallpaper. I just stand and stare at it. The tiny drops rolling down the wall, racing against each other to reach the floor. I stand there and stare like a fool. I tear the wallpaper […]

Hands of Silk

February 7, 2012

I sat at my desk and wrote. Under my lamp that shone dusty light on my single piece of paper. All I could see was the paper, the pencil racing furiously from one end to the other and a hundred shadows dancing around in the room. I was alone. No one was there to bother […]

April of us

January 31, 2012

The only memory I had left of you were a stream of words. Words that joined together to make sentences. The sentences arranged themselves into paragraphs. The paragraphs aligned themselves into flowing sheets of memories. They moved infront of my eyes. Swaying, singing, teasing. I would read and re-read. I would remember and re-remember. Back […]

il rumore del fiore di carta

September 19, 2011

From the chatter of the kids I hear the bugle playing. A xylophone assists the sadness. It’s almost like they’re soul mates. The nylon strings of a guitar join in. The bugle seems to feel the change. It makes me feel the change. They are all in sync. In rhythm. It’s an equilibrium. The bugle […]

In you I find my Autumn

September 5, 2011

Winters remind me of the time I used to sit on the bench in the park. The cold wind was bothersome enough to make anyone uneasy, but I remember covering myself nicely and comfortably in my leather jacket; a scarf around my neck and a beanie over my head. My feet would still feel cold. […]

Doors

September 5, 2011

After you shut the door, don’t look back. Don’t be startled by the loud bang. Don’t even think about turning the handle to see if the door would still budge. Leave it be. Don’t pay attention to the light creeping through from under the door. Don’t be distracted by the weaning and waving of the […]

Painting on the wall

July 29, 2011

It’s raining outside. I can hear it hitting hard on the pavement. Splatters that echo in the empty street. I can smell the damp in the air. The wind is hitting against my face again and again; it’s making my skin crawl. The room seems very quiet; almost empty. I am looking at a painting […]