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  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 5w

    F E A R
    The seed of fear sprouted in me when I was a kid. I was afraid to go to the stage, afraid of facing people, afraid of taking stands, of showing the love I had for my people. All I had ever been good in is bragging of my courageousness. I never were. But maybe I needed it, so I would speak that out loud, only to hear it myself. My own voice never rang in my head. Inside I was the same old afraid kid, no matter what. With time the branches of fear started spreading in me until I lost my identity to it. I didn't say a word to that guy in the autorickshaw who continuously touched my breast; at first I couldn't even tell for sure if it was really happening, all I could do was shift myself away in that public-packed transport, so he would stop doing that. And all I could do eventually was abuse a word. I didn't say a word when my uncle caressed my thighs saying how long it has grown. I was crying and shouting and throwing things violently, but all in my head.

    S I L E N C E
    Initially it was an uninvited guest in my life, I stopped it from banging my door. But my grasp wasn't strong enough to cease it from slipping into my head and spreading out into me. I hated it, but gradually it became a part of me without me realising. I was frightened of saying my feelings out loud so I started writing in a place where no body I was acquainted with would know of it. I learnt to subjugate my voice, my feelings, my desires, my insecurities, my hopelessness.

    H O P E
    It's hard for me to seperate bleak and hope. To see them as two different words. It is my long lost friend, no longer acquainted to me.

    H A P P I N E S S
    I have been too habitual of feeling sad or perhaps of feeling nothing, when happiness comes to me I distance it, as if it would burn me. Like sadness is inevitable and happiness just a facade.

    F R I E N D S
    I've lost friends more than I can think of. Not because I find joy in leaving people or in isolating myself, but I don't feel it in me, to engage myself into conversations with much people. I hate socialising, and peeking into the world I don't feel I belong. Isolation thus is not a choice, but the outcome.

    H A T E
    I know that it does you more harm than the person you have that for. Just the mere thought of hating someone snatches from you the right to be at peace, but I can't stop myself from hating the way I am. I hate this insecure, this loser me.

    L O V E
    It is subjective. It is the most captivating thorn for the broken one. The most beautiful thing for the one draped in it, a myth for the one tired of the concept of it. For me? It is just a word. With meaning beyond the compilation of any letters. And its thought, distant.

    ©sadiaquadir



    P.s: saw people writing this way, wanted to write in the same way myself.

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  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 15w

    Inspired from 'The book thief'; Death narrated the story there, here narrates Life. Pardon the mistakes.

    'Life' here is portrayed as 'someone' who is capable of feeling.

    #darkalert

    _________________________________________________

    I am getting used to the growing silences between me and her, every day she comes home with a fresh cut mark on her wrist, I get more distant from her. Someday I would lost touch of her completely, someday she would vanish (I hope the day does not comes soon). Everyday she tries to harm herself, she gets fainter....and.....fainter to me...

    She came home from her usual evening walk today, my eyes stood searching a fresh cut mark on her wrist yet again and there it was, deep at the beginning like all her frustrations gathered at one point and shallow as it proceeded, like she was afraid or perhaps because she still wants to live? It's hard to find out for she is hard to read these days, but this time I gathered enough courage to ask her finally, 'Don't you want to live?', 'Doesn't it hurts?', and all I got hold of in return was silence, I waited for what seems like decade and then she answered ever so slowly, 'when the pain inside your head is greater, the cut marks doesn't burn'. Sometimes she seems a destitute to me, trapped in the confinement of her own house with so much but nothing she would find interesting enough to engage herself in. She liked to paint, mostly she would paint things that go unnoticed to people, she would say 'I feel connected to them' and I would smile at her attempt to include things that are left out, what I did not notice is she was the character in her painting, the painting was her..
    I am trying not to get affected by her piercing silence so much, sometimes I succeed but sometimes it kills me. Sometimes my heart gets so heavied by it, I cannot move; sometimes my chest aches like someone stabbed my heart thousand times and left the knife there, leaving me in pain..
    She stood facing the window of her room, her eyes fixated at something distant and I stood there gazing at her ashen face with no hope left in it, like someone dug a straw in her head and sucked it out completely. I parted my lips to speak 'l am cruel I know, but I am beautiful too, I know that you're tired but you're strong to get along with all this and one day knock them out', but my voice died in my throat.
    She ascended to her roof and stood at the railing with her hands spread out, she had done this several times before, but this time the glint in her eyes broke something in me, I knew in those fraction of seconds what is about to unfold and I screamed for her to climb off and that 'we will sort things out', but she jumped with her eyes wide open, staring right into me. I smiled a last goodbye, witnessing her head throb to the cemented floor. With every drop of blood oozing out of her head, I found my existence vanishing and I vanished before she met hands with Death at last....

    _sadiaquadir

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  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 17w

    I kept saying 'beautiful' to every flower I came across and when I finally found the one I could not take my eyes off, I uttered 'beautiful' in astonishment, but it didn't believe despite my several attempts of confessing how true I were; for the word already had lost its meaning!

    ©_sad_ia_quad_ir_

  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 20w

    I had my share of bad, bad days for way too long
    Happiness wrapped itself
    in the blanket of bleak hope...
    For an eternity I kept finding it
    in places people said it belonged,
    And when the whole world slept
    I stood searching it in places it was forbidden
    Sometimes it would show itself, smiling, from a distance
    Disappearing at the touch of me
    As if mocking me
    With each passing day I grew frustrated and
    lost hopes of ever finding it
    And then one day it came knocking at my door
    I slammed it open and stood transfixed
    With tears moistening my barren cheeks
    I clutched it and howled under its soft arms
    Few days passed...
    And when the demon
    Surfaced beneath the face of happiness
    Showed itself
    I thought it is just a part of it
    I kept feeding it with my love nonetheless
    Shivering to my bones
    at the thought of it leaving me again...
    When its appetite didn't fill
    I poured it my soul,
    And the gleam my eyes had,
    My desires
    I kept pouring and pouring
    Until all I had within was void reverberating
    Days passed
    Months passed..
    And when I saw my father crying for the second time
    I didn't cry, I didn't shed a tear
    Few days after
    My brother committed suicide
    and I stood there watching an inexplicable point,
    without feeling a thing
    I didn't stop my brother when he slammed open
    the front door of our house
    and left without saying a thing
    All I could hear were voices
    And I couldn't quite distinguish
    It was the voices within or outside
    I made my way to my bed and coiled under layers of blankets
    Tears didn't come
    Days passed
    I forgot the taste of it
    And when one day
    the voices in my head went deafening
    I shivered at the feel of something liquid,
    Something strange and unfamiliar
    Dampening my barren cheeks
    And I cried
    And cried...

    ©_sad_ia_quad_ir_

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  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 21w

    I am not haunted by the walls anymore, but the gap between my bed and ceiling that no longer comprises of just molecules, but despair and gloom. Every night I lay myself on bed, I feel weighed down, panting I can not fathom what to do and how not to feel that way, so I cry, and reach out for my phone, finding things to engage myself in, with nothing working out, make my way, to the bathroom floor and sit there wondering, the floor's more cold or me within? I don't know if I am tired of me not trying hard enough or things not working out. I feel irritated at things I cry and things I don't cry at. My own smile seems so deceptive at times, I hate it. I hate how my vocal chord fails, everytime I try to confess, to that one guy, I've been madly in love with. And everytime I want to ask him to stay a little longer. I don't find joy in saying I am fine, when actually I am not, but I never could find ways, to define things, as the way they were, I don't even know if I have sufficient words to describe this sinking feeling within or perhaps I ain't good enough. Either way, it sucks. I stay quiet, though I didn't choose it nor would I be willing to. I tell people I am feeling 'odd' and they oblivious of what it comprises, ask me what exactly, I never had answer to it and I say 'just odd'. For in the truth I don't know myself what does odd refers to and how can something be relieved when you cannot actually indicate what it is. My eyes burn with sleepiness and I keep changing sides to get that warmth I didn't have to find erstwhile. My own home does not gives me the comfort anymore, I want to run out of it to nowhere. I don't like things I do, lying on bed with no human to talk to and nothing to look forward to. I hate how I don't possess the strength to utter a word while my insides are burning with hatred, while the voices in my head is so deafening. I hate the way I am losing weight, I hate how my skin looks so pale, with my eyes sunken deep. I hate how I've lost the appetite of exploring a thing. I hate to see my abandoned skates with dust settled on it from ages. I hate it, all of it, for they remind me of how I looked forward to finding joys in things. And lying on bed in daylight was always my last option. Gripped by these facts I stay infuriated all day, victimizing myself with thoughts of self harm. I often wonder if it is the demon in the dark I fear or what lies within.

    ©sadiaquadir

    P.s: Please no word of consolation. Just felt like venting out.

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  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 22w

    I know that it has been long. And I tried but could not complete a thing and it has irked me from so long now. I keep reading yet nothing comes by. I ain't seeking consolations though. Neither did I want to sound so sad (everytime). Writing was/is (?) the only thing I've ever been myself in. I try and I only fail now. I don't know why am I writing this at first place, but still venting where no one knows you is easier I guess. Hope you guys are doing good though. I really do.

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    I don't remember the taste of happiness on my lips. My ears have not savoured joy in decades. Eyes tread on a path I never would have chosen for myself had I been sane. I've been pushing my dead desires deep from eons and they could go no further. However I try to lose hold of them, they keep clinging to my fingers, further ascending to my arms and clutching me to suffocation. I shiver at the touch of them. I don't remember how it was to carry curiosity in my eyes and happiness was not a long lost memory. My story ain't much different, but no one to confide in, despite being surrounded with people selling smiles. I hate how fast I shed my smile these days. I hate how my eyes no longer carries gleam within. I hate the way I keep seeking. I hate the way I find reasons to live. I hate the way I abhor myself. Too little yet too much.

    ©_sad_ia_quad_ir_

  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 26w

    Incapability and I go hand in hand these days. My desire of betterment is subjugated by unfathomable thoughts in my head. Concentration drops my hand and laughs from a distance. All I remember now are the days I was mocked at. Happiness seems a distant memory. Hope is just a faint light. My soul is equipped with rage. Success distances me and failures are etched all over my body. Words fail me. My grip over them has broken into shards. Oblivion surrounds me and I breathe into it. Screams die in my throat. Choked by my own silenced voice I no longer breathe, I suffocate.

    ©_sad_ia_quad_ir_

  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 28w

    @writersnetwork didn't expect this. Thank you!❤️

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    Sometimes while reading a novel you come to a new chapter that titles a name and a part of your brain almost immediately forms a conclusion it is that titled person/name this part of the story is all about. You don't say it out loud for things that are known already is not considered much important or are rarely paid heed to. As you go on reading, you realize, the titled person you thought was the protagonist actually only forms a part of the chapter, while the protagonist is someone else.

    Someone gives you a new nickname mockingly. You hate it and the person enjoys irritating you with that everytime. But with time you either get habitual of it so much the word stops hurting you or you start liking it (words when said very often lose importance, see; or their effectiveness would sound rather more apt perhaps). The person then stops calling you by that name, after quite some time, for his/her intention wasn't to please you with it.

    You invest your time into reading a novel and when you reach the end you skip the part where the author thanks those people who helped him in his journey in whatever ways. This sounds rather rude, so let me make it sound little polite and acceptable to you. You deny reading that part because you don't really consider it a part of the novel, well technically it isn't. Ask the author and he/she would say it is. But for you it isn't. Well I was making it sound less rude, right? So see it this way, you skip that part because you might already be in haste to discuss it with someone, you choose not to invest your time into something that stands out of the storyline. In either way that 'part of the novel' is not of much importance to you.

    Sometimes you start loving a rather awkward or funny nickname, given by someone you hold dear, you start feeling a sense of belongingness to it and to the person calling you by that name, because you feel loved. A part of you also gets possessive about it, and you do not really realize until the same person calls someone else by that name. You feel left out. Detached from something that was yours. But you stop yourself from raising the issue for you don't think it is something you should fight over.

    And very often I cannot help but see myself in all those places that are not considered much important. And it hurts seeing myself that way.

    ©sadiaquadir

  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 29w

    "Death does not wait for anyone. It is inevitable and no one can free him/herself of its clutch", I recall you saying these words to me when I was a kid, your voice no louder than a whisper yet today its deafening. Sometimes I wish some truth shall remain under the veil of oblivion. Why does the inevitable still possess so much power to bind us for what little time we have on this Earth?

    You're gone and it's been years. Dust has settled down on what little memories I had of you. Yet they still possess the power to bring tears in my eyes. Albeit I don't really miss you much now, yet you always stay in some part of my brain, reminding me of all the times I was loved. When my smile was cherished and my happiness need not be forced. "A multiverse is a hypothetical group of multiple universes", the Google says and all I hear is you're still laughing in a different universe.

    "Forever is a lie" I hear you saying and I wish to go back in time and tell you it's not. For forever is nothing but a time not defined. Google defines it as something that is permanent. And I know that it is not true. For nothing in this world is. The things we hold dear, the land in our possession, this planet and hell this whole universe (only that its limit not observable enough). So does it even exist in terms of what Google says 'forever' is? I don't know. All I know is you lived for ever. And your memories still prevails in a time beyond your reach. And that you're still loved and cherished. And I miss you still.


    ©sadiaquadir

  • _sad_ia_quad_ir_ 30w

    /I would rather survive fall than stay clinging to the dead rope of hope./

    I pour venom into its soil just when the seed of hope starts sprouting in me. Killing it before it could even breathe. Pull off its root and slit them into pieces so small they won't dare live in me ever again. And watch the soil go dry. Smiling at the sight of it losing its fertility 'for ever'.

    ©_sad_ia_quad_ir_