Big Deal!

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Washing dresses,
and cooking some meals.
I should be all homely.

but I wasn’t. Big deal!

I was out somewhere
Having the time of my life.
Supposedly.

but I wasn’t. Big deal!

I and this guy
started off as friends
we remained friends.

Until I was not. Big deal!

Always there for me.
He proposed, we married.
He was happy.

but I was not. Big deal!

He left me alone
except for our child,
Baby Anxiety!

I cried a lot. Big deal!

It followed me around
kept me up,
nightly!

Its lies I bought. Big deal!

And one day he returned,
the father of my son.
Finally!

Depression was his ID. Big deal!

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The Politically Correct Coward

A story I wrote sometime ago…

Icklings

The dead screen of my old Nokia phone sprang to life as my rather annoying ring tone pierced the silence of the empty auditorium. I ignored it.

Ba Dum TSS

Another beep. My 6-year-old niece had set this tone when she was visiting me with her Mama. I kept the tune because it reminded me of her and made me smile. I am a sentimental fool. I often wonder if my students have any idea how ordinary a person I am. They idolize me for my radical philosophies. Little do they know, I only play a part, since impressing them is my job. The other day, I heard one of the boys comparing me to Iron Man. I have no such delusions. At the most, I am Groot — the little one!

The phone stopped buzzing. Safe to handle, I thought. A few missed calls and two messages from the same number!…

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Toothaches > Heartaches

Psychotic rambling

Icklings

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Tobacco, tomato, timber, and toothache.

Smoke it, hot, don’t burn, in pain.

Please don’t bother for my sake

Because I am pretty insane.

Human, you humane. Heartache!

Didn’t I tell you to refrain?

Nothing to offer, I have, I’m afraid,

Yet my blood, you continue to drain.

When the last few drops fade,

You come and feast on my brain.

My brain, my brain, my brain!

Is empty but frowns in disdain.

Chew your tobacco.

Clone a tomato.

Use the timber, build a canoe.

Sail and drown, deep in blue!

Heartaches, you may sustain

But curing toothaches? In vain!

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Deathbed Confessions of Unrequited Love

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A thousand wounds I bore,
All different; similar gore.
The pus and blood that oozed,
Was the same of every noose.

Each cut on my frail body,
had a separate source.
Yet, it had always been yours,
the pain for which I stay woke.

The noise from my cracking bones
was your voice calling me a whore.

When I bled, they sent my blood,
to the best of labs for an autopsy.
What pathogen had gripped me so
The wanna know, they wanna know.

Your name on the report
Shook them to their core.
Poison kills poison, they thought.
And gave me then, your vaccine dose.

The discovery of the century?
My illness had no cure!

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Warnings!

#poetry #icklings #warnings #falsealarms

Icklings

They had warned me about it.

So, I was not expecting much.

When I made the decision,

their warnings, I remembered.

“Love is overrated”, someone had said.

“It will be hard work”, another had warned.

“Enter without expectations”, a once-a-romantic friend advised.

and then the others joined.

It was same thing twice and thrice.

“Love is not fancy words,

butterflies in the stomach.

Two days pass

and everyone cries.”

I obliged.

However,

Now that I am here with you,

I have finally realised.

“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Just how much they all were wrong.”

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The Very Uncomfortable Comfort Zone

Icklings

Lately, my comfort zone has become  rather uncomfortable. It is like that guy whose car broke down in the middle of the road. He knows very well that it is only a manifestation of his own negligence. However, the strangers pushing his car—assisting him in restarting it, do not have the slightest clue. They are genuinely concerned, unaware of the fact that he does that on a regular basis.

For him, it is a comfort that there is not much chance of their meeting him again. Thus, he qould continue to recieve the sympathetic assistance. Even if they did meet, he can always pretend to not recall them. That would be pretty easy.

What if the helpers found each other some day?
The comfort zone is growing pretty uncomfortable.
Told you, didn’t I?

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Tell me a Story…

Here is how our ‘Tell me a Story’ venture started!

Icklings

Hello peeps!

Now as my ‘about section’ will tell you, I am crazy for stories. I read them, write them, adore them, inhale them, exhale them… you get the idea! For me life was going this way until kismet decided to do me a favor, which given my history doesn’t happen too often, and I met this awesome woman, Midu Hadi, who shared my passion for stories.

Long story  short (see what I did there =P), we became friends. One thing led to another and now we are here to further our dreams that every story-enthusiast will share with us.

How?

The aim is to tell a story! This is as simple and as complicated as that. However, there are no rules. It can be prose, poem, art work, or anything. As long as it tells a story, it floats our boats. This makes it that easy and that hard. Okay, I…

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Simulacrum

Awesomesauce! Please check out this amazing short story by Hijabi Mentat.

Muslim Futurism

The Ottoman railway line built in 1760 during the reign of Sultan Mustafa III was not only a symbol of Ottoman ingenuity and progress. It also facilitated the flow of people and commerce throughout the Ottoman territories and the surrounding Muslim regions. There were plans of establishing connecting branch lines into Arabia, Africa, and the Mughal Empire. This was to become a titanic undertaking requiring funds, manpower, and the involvement of the best engineers in the Muslim world. In its present state however, it connected Sarajevo to Kars, an Ottoman city bordering the Caucasus. This region over the years had become the theatre of an ongoing bitter struggle between the Ottoman Porte and the Russian Empire.

Every city traversed by the railway built massive stations in a bid to stimulate their local economies. Izmir’s train station was always crowded. It was constantly animated with a continuous stream of human activity and filled…

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My Entangled Thoughts

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I can’t speak for other people because their minds are not on the list of places I had checked into but my own thoughts, I have visited often. Thus, I know the questions that arrive in this desolate place I call my brain. They used to be simpler and consulting a parent, a friend or a teacher sufficed. Yet, they grew complex. I can’t say on which exact date the change happened. All I know is that now, I have queries with no answers.

The people I used to look up to are as much confused as I am. When they had no replies to my wandering abstractions, they silently accepted me as their own.

“Congratulations! You have crossed the threshold of black and white. Welcome to the Grey zone where everything is muddled up,” they informed me.

I cannot turn to them with my pleas no more.

I have learned to ignore my mind, my conscious, and its ramblings but it continues to gnaw and nag me. When the tossing and turning of these contemplations chew away a chunk of my brain, I go to Google. If natural intelligence is failing me, I try artificial intelligence. If nothing else, it kills time. Afterward, I am left with a hundred new types of hopelessness.

The familiar wave of despondency engulfs me. I smile. The exhaustion takes over my senses and I sleep. My brain, however, stays awake bringing me fresh thoughts from the realm of horror to ponder over in my dreams. Sometimes, the audacious bastard brings forth pleasant fantasies of a time to come or a few cherished moments from the times gone past. There is nothing wrong with the latter as long as you are asleep but the moment, the first surge of consciousness hits me, all the niceness melts into a sharp tinge of longing that slowly settles into my mounting melancholy.

The hustle of the day conquers my being and the cycle repeats.

Knitted cross-stitches,

Ah! Painful itches.

A spider’s web hanging,

Intricately from ceiling.

Intertwined earphones,

Decaying set of bones!

Inosculated boughs of a tree distraught.

How nasty are my entangled thoughts!

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