You have innumerable different faces, I say. Each of them designed to serve every single person you know in our life exclusively. You don't feel the same towards any two people even, do you? Your parents, you might say you love them equally ardently but do you feel the same for each of them when their thoughts intercept the horizon of the endless territory of your farfetched perceptions? So let alone the whole group of them, your friends, family, colleagues, sharing equal intensity of your you-ness. You don't even talk to everyone in the same way when alone with them and if you do, you can't deny the difference in the energy you experience inside.
That and among many other faces of yours there is yet another face that only you meet in hours of complete isolation. The one wearing which renders you absolutely unrecognizable in the eyes of most recognizable of your acquaintances, the more vulnerable but farsighted one, the one with seemingly wiser and tamed reflection with hints of bruises over it, presenting the glaring agony boiling inside your soul. Yet you yearn, long for that face of yours inside layers of eluding veils to seek recognition, seek it but secretly, discovered but kept undiscovered because that face is not for everyone to see, is it? 

There were chunks of expressions lingering all over the walls. Hovered over them the belligerently disquieting shadow of the blackened ticker, my heart. Dead, aloof, just not dead enough, for worse only. The tips of the numb hands stumbled over impressions the expressions had engraved; only to fail in conceiving what they had to tell. There was no resentment because they had never learned to. But there were my feet then, which had only known to escalade and never back down, carrying me to the universe parallel to my world in the cellar, equally, resolutely mine, or perhaps just me, stepping into which or being that myself, brought my senses to a halt and exalted my self above it all like it could make me defeat any adversary effortlessly, it did, it will, it belongs to Him, so do I. I'm a part of Him, too endearing for Him to let down even if I were a terrifically midget and almost an insignificant speck among those exhibiting tremendous grandeur and glare too glary for my eyes to even have a glimpse of.

Why do I believe in God?

Primarily because I was born a theist, a Muslim, for which no matter how much I feel grateful, it would never be enough. I used to make puerile wishes, as a child and saw them being transformed to reality, the ones I used to share with my only, the most trust-worthy and a secret friend whom I could not see or hear but used to talk to every night and who felt to me closer than my very own heart. Who used to daze me not by words but the things He did, the way He did and the frequency with which He did. It couldn't be anything/anyone else other than Him, it has not been, it can not be. Because every time I call His name, I remember Him, a mysterious solace, tranquility takes me in its embrace. Because He always shows me a way, answers most of my questions, calms me down through the guide He has provided. Because I can’t, for even a femto second, assume a world without Him being omniscient, the Ruler, the flawless deity. Because surrendering to Him, getting closer to Him is the most relieving feeling I have ever known. Because every time He shows me He is listening, processing and is there.

Because everything can not come from nothing, spontaneously. Because even a clock, a garden, a human body, a gadget requires maintenance and programming in order to work efficiently. This prodigious world, galaxy, universe can not be a product that came into being on its own, working without any preternatural deity taking care of it. Because none could know the facts science is proving in the contemporary age, 1400 years ago, except the One who is the Master of everything and is All-Knowing and who mentioned them in His holy book. Because all those miracles would not have happened which have been happening and happen even today, the power of His mighty words would not have been validated so many times.

Because my inner voice says that some things are not to be made sense of, they need only to be felt and it is Him. Even a human mind can be too complicated to understand even after gathering the knowledge of the whole world, then who am I to expect myself to resolve His mystery? And no matter how much scientific reasoning you bring, I might give it a thought or a question may pop in my mind but never for a moment I’d doubt His existence.

A piece of paper was found by a pen to write on, 

With the ink of color of invisibility. 

The paper with every color except, 

The colors the pen was painted with. 

The ink, invisible, imprinted on the paper, 

Served nothing but vanity.

To the pen it was a whole new world, 

Which only it could dwell in.

The paper got painted by the world, 

With paints that didn't remotely symbolize it,

The pen still kept on writing on it, 

With the ink invisible it was filled with.

Inside every layer of the foreign colors, 

The paper got painted with,

The pen never let the truth, 

Of the paper slip away from its memory.

A slight wrinkle on the paper fills the pen, 

With an invisible ink of agonizing misery.

The pen would never know what the right ink is, 

To write on the paper with delicacy.

Yet it keeps moving in ways unknown, 

Making symbols cunningly.

No matter how many layers,

The paper gets subtly enclosed in.

The pen would never disremember, 

The colors it found the paper in.

No matter how many creases engulf, 

The paper's glamorous shapeliness,

As an eternal companion, 

A fellow unknowingly forbidden,

The pen would never give up the job, 

Of writing with the ink of color of invisibility.

I envisaged myself drowning, with my fists enclosing the dirt of recollection of me of yesterday in fragments. My mind convulsed while my heart slowly shrank, untangled itself to lose the synchronicity, to liberate itself from the constricting confinements of what is called reality, to float above every disquieting anguish and that was when my hands laid over something I had never felt the touch of before, with the air of connoisseur commenced the ritual of stealing away the quietness of the instrument, like they had always known how to improvise it and let it cry. Cry, cry its soul out aloud till the heavens could effortlessly hear it and bless it with their approval and applause, acceptance and absolution for which my fists had been awaiting as a signal so that they could lose the hold of the dirt and elutriate themselves. I erased and erased and erased myself till myself was vanished, perished and my own self was found.

We were not two for those riveting moments in our lives, sitting across the sea, along the shore. With my head resting on his tender shoulder and his warmth seeping through his skin into the air I inhaled, I felt like a child would feel in its mother's gentle embrace. His cologne, reeking of some divine familiarity and serenity, felt so mesmerizing in that magisterial tranquility. For those moments, I was complete, he was me, I was him but there was no self, only us being one. I reached for his hand, brushed mine against it and started feeling his fingers, holding them with delicacy, I flipped his hand inside out to try to read what the lines were trying to say. That's what I do with people I love the most, I love playing with their hands, pressing them against my cheeks and feeling their presence. He sat there quietly, bracing me, my insanity and the smile I would never stop falling for. He, my sun, star and moon and I were tied together with an everlasting piece of cord we wholeheartedly accepted to hold for the rest of our lives and promised each other to never let it go, a week ago. Ever since I had seen those eyes, I had known that they were the only ones I would ever want to be seen by, to look at and to know the soul they conceal inside. Today, they're mine, telling me that I won without having to fight. The gaze reaching for my soul takes my breath away and he loves doing that, seeing me blush and being nervous. In these eyes and heart dwells huge respect and infinite love I had always kept safe for him only. What are you going to do now? Where are you going to run, you're trapped? Asked my eyes wickedly. Even if you try your best to keep me away, I will keep clinging to you. Even in our wildest nightmare I would not let us grow apart, said the other ones. 

Locked up in a cage once were two chirping little birds. 
Poor dainty creatures had never known what fate might have brought for them.
Together they had to stand the aversion, the malignity. 
Strive for their freedom, right and dignity. 
Agony was eminent, slowly welling up inside. 
Comfort found room, meanwhile, in one innocent, frightened mind. 
The other one had known he had feathers only to fly. 
Neither of them could decipher how to get ravel of the prison so vile. 
One ceased to bother, found it peaceful to live inside. 
The other one was disdainful, never stopped or simmered down. 
Closed their eyes, both of them, at the same time. 
Innocence turned blind to the outside, disdain to the cage it was caught inside.
Stayed that innocent bird inside the cage gradually shrinking, suppressing and taking hold of its senses. 
Freed itself, the other bird in it's mind, of the prison still there yet immaterially nonexistent. 
Ruthlessly was abandoned the innocent bird by the disdainful one. 
Returned it to find the left out one tightly gripped by the prison's abstract walls.
In the frightful embrace was it taken by a grave, the gravestone of which read "regret".
Took the bird a flight away to the land unknown carrying ocean of words unsaid.

I can travel back on the train of time, some 16 years back. I remember me sitting at the back of my bed and praying, with both my hands raised up, to God. Asking Him to bless me with a little soul that could accompany me during the journey in this brutal world. I can rehear the first cry of the love of my life, the cry that used to make me laugh, the funny cry, paradoxical action and reaction. However, I cannot recall me holding him in my arms, playing with him that I would love the most to do now. Probably because I, myself was too young to do that back then. I remember those mice-like teeth, that heart capturing smile, the sight of which is still effective enough to find the lost joy inside the poor soul seized by the agony of the complicated web of thoughts and pensive situations.

I often reflect on how very opposite things may appear and contrary to the appearances how much closely and tightly they might be destined to be bonded. This is how God plays His tricks. He tricks humans to think of things as things the way they appear, this is one of His ways of choosing his beloved, distinguished ones. Those who are blind to what is reflected by light, those who believe in mysteries, the greatest mystery being He himself, so easy to solve but only for those who can see the invisible, they are the ones He keeps choosing as guests to entertain who will live forever in His heaven.

He was born on the very first date, a burning hot day in the hottest month, June 1. I on the very last day of the freezing cold month, January 31. He in the city, I in the village. He was born ugly and I utterly pretty, as mum says. He loves summer things, I winters. All these disparities and he's the only one, not mama, not papa, not anyone else, whom I express my love to, without any hesitation. He's my life, an element that helps me breathe among the other carcinogenic elements seeking my permission, to get inside and poison me. The one I would die a hundred times to gain one life for.

Like the seasons bring changes in the trees that stand tall,
I meet sorrow and gloom whenever I fall,
Like the tree with lush green leaves once, loses them in the fall,
I lose my hopes and dreams whenever I fall,
Like the tree rids itself of rotten leaves till it loses them all,
I keep shedding tears till I'm left with none at all.

Like spring brings happiness back to the tree,
I'm brought to life by an invisible mystery,
Like water is to wilting plant in the nursery,
Faith is my elixir, my remedy,
How shall I send my thanks card to Him,
He lives so far away yet can't be found except within.

 The World

This is the world I'm living in,

Where everyone is cold as ice,

With no pain for others in heart,

Hearts are like oceans of sins,

And people are just drowning in.

This is the world I'm living in.

Where the poor live worse than pets,

Where everyone is bagging wealth,

And have nothing to give for no interest.

This is the world I'm living in.

You know the one, close to your heart?

You think him to be but he is not,

With whom you talk the whole day,

Is just with you for his own sake.

This is the world I'm living in.

Where snatching,grabbing is everything,

And flirting is a common thing,

The faces you wear, like elephant's teeth,

What you show is different from what you feel.

This is the world I'm living in.

I feel like a dainty fish in the sea,

Ready to be eaten by another being,

Or to be crushed by hostile water waves,

Be drowned forever as never had to remain.

This is the world I'm living in,

God am I eligible to live in it?