There he were... running around the field. He were doing well and certainly had improved a lot since last Monday. Two pole-hits, subtle movement. But there is others, and others was good too. Others is always better... despite the meanings of his name.

Maybe she were the reason. Maybe the early morning trip, excessive work, shitty pay, complicated lies.

Everyone else were playing better.
Everyone else who really matter.

...a man making love to his 7 months pregnant wife. She looks radiant and divine. They lay side by side on a narrow bed, and her swollen belly moves in rythm with his tender thrusts from behind. He leans over to kiss her full on the mouth, open and gasping for breath.

Look at the people. These people. The Who's and You's and I's. Familiar with each other, and various colors. All breathe and breed, all hail some-who. All have names, and shades- yet refer to 'em .... as 'them' or 'these'.

Before we part
and you go your that way
while I stay

I ll write --
without borrowing rhymes,
with ease and grace
-- a few lines

A poem worthy of you

(first draft)

The un metalled road takes us down slowly. Its narrow, steep, and bendy. The shiny red 4 wheeler is dancing, jumping, and rocking down the death-track. Sharp cuts and high falls. The back seat ride is not comfortable, seats are at ninety degrees to the direction of our hesitant movement. With my back to the mountains, I can see the depths and falls bending inches away from the rear tires. Holding on with most of my strength, one hand on the seat handle and the other on the

Everyone
owns a digicam
an ipod, a regular mp3 player
mobile phones with video playback and
a large screen display

a myspaceontheinternetdotcom
a blog, a random song
a blue-green story, an orange-white tail
writer wits, artist hands
dancer charms, godly fits

Everyone can tell a lie
write a poem,
with sweet timing and sweeter rhyms
and
scribble on leftover sheets
with a fading blue pen

She came in through the back door. There were only three of us in the room. There was some talk of significance, which did not involve me.

'I am not playing hard to get.'

She roams around, laughs, sings a song.... she whistles out of tune, lightens the room, silently types, and delayes her response. She laughs...

'Yes, I want you to stay. Stay.'

The weak side. I like it that way; straighter, sharper, cleaner.
But you always stand on the right side. Always.
And I want to stand upside down, to make the world flip; to show you the better side. But it's not the same. I have to twist my neck and turn it upwards. I look like a sexed up bafoon. A cross between an african sparrow and the australian Ostrich.

"and now your dream is real".

Hey,
Before you kill me
show me the color bomb
and show me how it
Explodes,
So I get used to it
And grow...

Us.
We get used to them
Grow imune to them
'Summer rains and black curls'
'mud feet and mango smiles'
sily Sally sings, and
he whistles out of tune

I let it get under my skin
write it down and read with re
on and on
We come here often, stopping for tea
and 'Please'
I ask... more
but can't say

As I read and read and read
some of this life and some of that
As we listen with intent, hanging eyes
without forming words
or facing fears

As I sit, and re...
again,
with added colors and twisted frames
I know what you mean
I know it so well...
as i say and write... or just let it breath

(based on a news in todays Paper)
(COMMENTS: abrupt, and aimless.. focus)
Mudassara is a small dark-skinned girl of average looks. She is the quiet kind, and wears the invisibility hat; except, she knows of its curse. On a fine spring morning, she can stand with five other girls and never get noticed.

0001 hrs
OAKDF Office, Abottabad.

For the past one week I have been volunteering/living with OAKDF. This has been and educating, frustrating, unproductive, comforting, tiring, a strange mix of a week.
My desire to do something meaningful for the earthquake releif efforts has remained, in a way, unfulfilled, largely because of my own laziness and inability to contribute in a usefull and productive manner. However, the last few days have taught me a lot. The determination and the

smiles at the unwelcomed joke and then furiously embarrassed by the ease-ness, turns red. It. With hollow hatred and despair, looks at its feet.

My horse ran over the village elder and is currently on the loose. People in the district are advised to excercise extreme caution while taking out the garbage as the new stinkonometer will strike down on those who throw away cold pizza.
The wish is trapped in the cold cave of nirasha. Tears will run, run by the qanat, but the shouts will be clinging to my nose. How I must....