Miscellaneous

کب عشق و مے سے آخر باز آئے گی غزل؟ عنوانِ زن کو کب تک دہرائے گی غزل؟ یہ کاروبارِ مرداں بیچے وصال و ہجر کیا اشتہار بن کر رہ جائے گی غزل؟ نازک وہ ہے، حسیں بھی، بے رحم قاتلہ کچھ پیچ حسنِ ظن (زن) کے سلجھائے گی غزل؟ پروینؔ نیک ہے تو کیا […]

  Artwork by Umema Kanwal Hayat   to fear Fate and her Sisters and Mothers and Daughters (to suffer to endure to suffer to endure) to call it love in spite of a creaking body under fluorescent light flickering     flickering               creeping weeping to the Nymphs, a sacrificed lamb to this earth; blood, tears,

Artwork by Umema Kanwal Hayat   My uncle boasts of the dark mark on his forehead – a visible diagnosis of his piety. His wife smiles at the mark and nods. It is impossible to look into his eyes without Fury threatening to overwhelm her. This woman, laughs louder than her husband’s voice. Her children?

Artwork by Nisha Ghani   Her world is black Her world is white Her world is the battle of 2 sides   Its her little world and she controls it She moves forwards or backwards However she feels is worth it   Her moves are sharp Her moves are right Her moves intimidate even the

Artwork by Aneesa Kaleem Oh Pakistan, how you have become so hypocritical every step of the way. You tell me this was a free secular country, but in the end, you have proved to be nothing more than hungry old men in power. Nano and ammi used to keep telling me to ‘be a good

Art by Nisha (@nishaghani) If I were powerful, carefree, and not a 20 year old woman of precisely 5 feet, I would have ground up his frail masculinity in a mortar and add it to my daily protein shake.  He was a big guy two years my senior with a big dick attitude and an

Art by Aziza Ahmed (@wowhotawhat) Every Diwali, I would end up, in a fight with my mother. “Everyone is posting pictures with their parents, AAP TAIYAR HI NAHI HOTI HO” Naturally this Diwali was no different.  I started my day by complaining while munching on the samosas she made. When my throat got parched from all the shouting, I sipped on the sherbat she created from scratch. I then took my whining to the dining room that was crammed with guests and an assortment of dishes that looked like they belonged in a restaurant. Following our usual Diwali customs, I embarked on a Namaste spree and was appalled when I got no comments on my weight. It only meant one thing, the coast was clear of aunties. While the uncles were feasting, the aunties were missing in action. Now a part of me was relieved but the other part was fairly curious. So my sadist self set on a quest to find them. I followed the faint sound of giggling and found myself infront of the kitchen. There I saw 10 women cramped in a small space, decked with makeup and fancy clothes that were now doused in sweat. Leading the pack ofcourse was my mother, looking exactly the way she did everyday.    That’s when truly I understood, what my mother meant by “hamare liye har festival same hai”. The inside of your kitchen

Art by Ayesha Sultan (@meat_eating.orchids) In July 2019, after some health issues, my hemoglobin dropped to 4.4 and I was hospitalized to receive blood transfusions. Incidentally, I was given a bed in an oncology ward; this opened my eyes to a major issue of this world– pediatric cancer. It was partly this, and partly being