The more ‘secular’ and ‘accepting’ this world becomes, the more it becomes an oyster to be exploited by the pervasive minds...
Not reminiscent of last night’s argument to the full lit moon. Every trace of morose thoughts fade away....
Glistening in the pale moonlight like scars from yester years, this requires unadulterated attention. Must attend to it. Must keep it away....
You have to find your own joy without guilt and let the world find their own way in their pursuit of happiness...
Thoughts like these is not how it should’ve been. Things have turned out so differently....
To me Pakistan means the cold wisp of Abbotabad. The roads of PMA. Cadets running in the morning....
Lying in bed in the afternoon sun, with the shadows of spring trees playing hide and seek outside....
The entropy of our existence is constantly guiding us towards our fate. Is our fate death or rebirth? Or none at all....
You find that the only way you can let the roses of winter spring in the harsh cold is if you nurture the fire inside your heart....
The clouds are the pink colour of cotton candy. The air is sweet. And the winter sun softly caresses your skin....
