Posts by Ghazal Khan

Letter to the Virtual Lover

Dear you,   If I sit down and contemplate, I’d find pieces of you, sprinkled all over my days; and nights come with the mosaic that it had already painted for me in the form of your silhouette as I remember every subtle detail of how your arms fold and how the tee bulges out of it.   It’s hard not to think how would it be when our souls

You

In between the crest and trough of your chest, I had found the place to rest my head on. When you had called me Beautiful In your semi-conscious state, I felt all the insecurities absconding eventually. When you had sought me out, In your dreams, calling out my name, I wondered, was it possible to love you More than I already did?   I had acknowledged the irrelevance of the

Unbecoming

Gosh, I used to believe that gulping down three glasses of red wine would make me not to cringe at the things I was starting to feel lately because at the end, I was mere a starter in the realm of alcoholism and in the deserts of solitude.   But things well planned of, never yield results if you’re somewhere dreadful of the other tamed self inside you amongst many

You And I

We were supposed to be dissolved like ink to water but some things just aren’t meant to be together. Your eyes had perceived me as someone much bigger than I could ever afford to be. In fact, it was your eyeballs that were no less than a gleaming pair in the bag of stardust; I really miss them. I still wait for you in the ripples of the lake, hoping

Incision

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> When was it, the last time someone wore your skin And put petals around your curled fingertips, Gulping the desires in you that you wished to be tamed? Exhausted and elated, <script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw_display2 –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”  

Admonitory Note

Hey you, We are not the refreshment drinks that you put up against your lips and then throw the cans somewhere to rot because you think it’s nothing more than filth now. No, we are never so much of what you’ve taken us to be.   We are not the fake smiles you might have had to put on to entice some innocent into your trap. We are also not

Sanely Free

My journey to penance started on a night when I kept aside the feeling that you ever existed And condemned myself those agnostic memories, changed your remembered words into forgotten carols, taking a handful of them in my mouth before I throw myself in the bed, only to pour them out so that they sang lullabies to me till the hours I did not dream of you. It was as

Architectural Perfection

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> Fuelling the fire within, He began conserving each inch of her skin As if he was the one accountable For putting together her anatomic curves, As if every effort was well thought of, And many hours spent with unsharpened pencils Making her sketch.

Rise, Not Fall

<script async src=”//pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/js/adsbygoogle.js“></script> <!– taw-responsive –> <ins class=”adsbygoogle”      style=”display:block”      data-ad-client=”ca-pub-3446446293618986″      data-ad-slot=”1428227755“      data-ad-format=”auto”></ins> <script> (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); </script> My photo might pop up sometimes, When you look up at your phone -Would you think to talk to me? Perhaps you would, But then you’d not be sure that the Person you used to talk to Exists even more, so candidly.  

Mystics of Bleeding Blue

I’m yet to find a word which expresses the insanity one must have, in order to fall in love with his devastation; There are, however, countless words to depict the splendor in which an entity unravels.   I don’t know why the remnants of the bruised hearts I’ve never known, blot my hands like the soot from the flames I’ve never set. Or why, every time I try to clean

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