Wordly Empire

Enter the world of enchanting words!

An Overview of world’s biased canvas!

On that morning, that vibrant green morning

Roaming around the lands of Rich

Cruising above the shores of Elite,

That inner, inactive, consciousness of mine exploded up,

That inward, sheepish, eye of mine popped out,

At an overview of world’s biased canvas!

In front of me, a God’s manifestation

A green eyed child, dressed up in rags

With a contended smile, emitting poverty

Was sleeping peacefully in an Earth’s cradle

An Earth that belonged to another God’s manifestation

A red eyed Titan, dressed up in exquisite night suit,

With an angry scowl, exhibiting arrogance

Was kicking poor child frantically,

‘Go away, you scoundrel!

I’m a God of this land

Go away, you bastard!

I’m a master of this heaven

Go away, you….’

That angry, rich voice faded away

Those poor, crying screams diminished away,

But my inner, exploded up consciousness

And my inward, popped out eye

Is still mortified

Is still abashed

Is still flustered

At that overview of world’s biased canvas!

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“Those nine months and two hundred and seventy days,
Floating into that kiss of warmth
Gliding into that bliss of peace
Breathing into that celestial projection
Developing into that womb’s protection,
I was a human, not bound with religion
I was a human, not defined by boundaries,
I was a human, not Shia
I was a human, not Syrian!

Screaming, crying for the first time
I became a part of tumultuous world,

After those nine months and two hundred and seventy days,
Floating into those waves of politics
Gliding into those tides of prejudices
Suffocating into those gushes of indifference
Dying into those drifts of bitterness
I was a religious dispute, not human
I was a border conflict, not human,
I was a Shia, not human
I was a Syrian, not human!”

P.S. Don’t drag it into Shia-Sunni conflict. It’s a minor effort to support HUMANITY.

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When I held pen in my hand

Those itsy, bitsy thoughts

Disfigured and Ruptured

Into boisterous, monstrous thoughts

Rumbling and Jumbling

Into my head

Hard to be confined

Difficult to be tamed

I queried them;

“Why scattered?

When once, so harmonious?”

They lashed back;

“Why shattered?

When once, so confident?”

Pause. Silence. Black out.

They whispered again;

“Let us out!”

Gaining my strength back

Revitalizing my skills

Without wasting any other second

I started writing

Those pinching, tingling thoughts

Transformed and transfigured

Into symphonies and musings

Jingling and Mingling

On a piece of paper

Finally! I was free

Free, Fancy free of those thoughts.

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The Writer’s Block

In a state of utter numbness

In a state of sheer dullness,

Mind, Blacked out

Like Curfew days,

Mind, Darkened out

Like Scary Nights,

Seized to think

Paralyzed to work

Unable to produce poetry,

Shattered thoughts

Confused Ideas

Mingled Feelings

Poor sensitivity,

They say, It’s depression

Others say, It’s cupid’s attack

I say, It’s a writer’s block

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The Sunset

Orange Tinge

Divulging mystery,

Scattered Clouds

Concealing myths,

Floating winds

Spreading muses,

Like a Spirit, it’s descending

Like a Deity, It’s setting

Dumb- struck, she sat

Absorbing aura

Decoding eeriness

Awe-struck, she saw

The nightfall

The sunset

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Beneath those burns

“For all those brave lady heroes with burnt faces but iron hearts”

Beneath those burns, beneath those blazes, beneath those bruises

Enkindles a story of a woman of substance

Germinated as a young bud, sprouted to be cherished

As petite as Tulip, cultivated nicely by her parents

As fair as rose, ripened into a beauteous maid

As ravishing as Orchid, transformed into a exquisite bride

Beneath those burns, beneath those blazes, beneath those bruises

Ignites a fable of an lion-hearted woman

Accepted as a wife, got married to be loved

 Brutally harassed, for being petite as Tulip

 Fiercely beaten, for being fair as rose

 Savagely burnt, for being ravishing as Orchid

Beneath those burns, beneath those blazes, beneath those bruises

Glows a legendary tale of an iron lady

Whose luster increased, beneath those burns

Whose radiance maximized, beneath those blazes

Whose strength amplified, beneath those bruises

Whose voice boomed, with courage she says

Whose hands moved, with heroism she writes

Beneath those burns, can be your mother

Beneath those blazes, can be your sister

Beneath those bruises, can be your daughter

Stop ruining petite Tulips

Stop damaging fair roses

Stop harming orchids

Stop burning women, Stop burning women  

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Post Tenebras Lux

I was jolted inside his heart when his teacher asked him the question that became the cause of my awakening. He asked him a puzzling question, “Are we independent?” Oh yeah, I pounced inside his heart.  It was an easy question to reply because it was a mere philosophy class.  He replied his teacher, “Obviously Sir, we are”. He asked him again. “Is each and every step of yours is independent?” He became silent.  The question proved to be the cause of havoc for him and stirring up of my existence. He couldn’t grasp his teacher’s question back then. He didn’t understand the hidden meaning behind the question. But now his conscience was making him ask this question about the independence of his faith in the midst of night repeatedly.

Yes, I’m his faith.

‘Am I independent’?

Yes, I was born independent in his heart but when I gained my access towards consciousness, I felt my hands, my feet and my whole body constrained into the shackles of his wishes.  I was enjoying my slumber, when he was fulfilling his wishes.  I was dead asleep when he was thriving to get a better life, lavished status, more money and his never-ending wish list. Wishes decayed my existence in his heart.  I was constrained and caged there in his heart for so many ages. Until, the independency mania made him start questioning his creator, questioning about independence, questioning in the same way Satan did to God; his lord, questioning in the same way Frankenstein did to Victor; his creator.  At last, the series of questions led him to question about his existence.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay

To mould me Man, did in solicit thee?

From darkness to promote me

This was it. This was his breaking point and my awakening point. Out of his heart where I was constrained and caged, I was shouting.

Post Tenebras Lux.      Post Tenebras Lux.     Post Tenebras Lux.

After darkness, light.   After darkness, light.   After darkness, light.  

P.S. This is reflective writing. Faith is personified.

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Confessions of a bookaholic Tag

The very phenomenal blogger and inspiring poet, Soumya Mishra, has invited me to participate in the Confessions of a bookaholic tag, Thank you Soumya 🙂

1. Link the person who nominated you.
2. Link the person who created this tag.
3. Answer all the questions.
4. Nominate some other bloggers to answer the same questions.

The Questions:

1) Who is/are your favorite author(s)?
It is always difficult for me to decide about only one author. But I think the best author, in my point of view is Paulo Coelho whose philosophical writings inspires me alot.

2) Book adaptations to movies or tv series?

I think Vampire Dairies as tv series are far better than the books. More Glamorous, I guess :p

3) A hyped series that you just couldn’t get yourself to love?
Divergent Series.

4) A book or series that you regret not reading?
Hunger Games. Sorry Hunger Games Fans :p

5) A character you wish was real?
I wanted Jacob Black from Twilight to be alive always :p .

6) Ebooks or real books?
 Real books are great assets to cherish forever 🙂

7) A book/series you regret reading?
None so far.

8) A classic you love?
Great Expectations.

9) An all time favorite?

10) A book everyone should read?
Da Vinci Code.

No Nominees.

Happy Reading 🙂


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Creeping over the skies

Mysterious darkness

Of black,

Staining over the lives

Mighty duskiness

Of black,

Oh black, Why so mysterious?

Oh black, Why so mighty?

Out of that Mystery,

Cracks Dawn

Out of that might,

Peeps Light.

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Clock ticking by

Time passing by,

Heart melting off

Tears rolling off,

Into the still, static air

Her soul lay there,

Her tongue-tied

Her mouth locked

Her mind benumbed,

Retrieving memories

Reviving moments

Reminding times,

Times, good ones

Times, cherished ones

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Broken Doll- Child Abuse Story

Do read this moving story on child sexual abuse, written by me for a story writing contest. Kindly like and share it as much as you can.

Cheers 🙂

Broken Doll- Child Abuse Story.

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A Princess – Of her own kind!

Like Cindrella, Hardworking

But not Beautiful,

Like Snow white, Courageous

But not good-looking,

Like Rapunzel, Good natured

But not delicate,

Like all of them, a Princess

But of her own kind,

Was Bullied

Of not being beautiful,

Was Under-estimated

Of not being good-looking,

Was Judged

Of not being delicate,

Still, a Princess

Of her own kind.

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Sound of Silence

Far faraway, from the hustle and bustle of this world. She used to live, live in her own booming world. The dazzling world that jingled and buzzed in her mind only. Her world that was full of dreams, silence and peace. Her dreams made her live more everyday gave her strength to survive.The roar of outside world was inaudible and distant to her. The only splattering and smashing sound she remembered was of that thundering blast. After that, she lost the ability to hear any sound from the outside world. The only sounds now, she could interpret and comprehend were those of her interior world. Her dreams whispered and to her everyday. They murmured softly the purpose of her existence and survival. They kept her awake. They urged and forced her to speak up, to write and to tell the people of outside world about the power of the sound of silence.

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Towards Happy Life

Extravagant house, he didn’t hold

Valuable car, he didn’t own

Lavish status, he didn’t possess

Fancy life, he hasn’t


Peace of mind, he held

Beloved people, he owned

Memorable moments, he possess

Happy, Happy life, he has

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In the Pursuit of Perfection

Born she was, as fair as a winter flower, on a very fine snowy day. She was the first-born bird in her mother’s nest. The first bird, destined to be the leader and role-model for the upcoming clan. She has to be the paragon of perfection. Taking her baby steps, the mother bird taught her to be the perfect in flying. The baby bird was doing fine, doing precisely how her mother was teaching her. Impeccable and smooth, she was going. The mother bird, feeling blessed by her baby bird, started expecting too much from the poor, miniature creature. Expecting, her to be the best among all the birds. Assuming exceptional skills from her, so, the rest of the birds in the clan will follow her footsteps.  In the pursuit of becoming invincible, baby bird was, intermittently, being penalized on small mistakes.  She, in pressure and stress picked up a wrong pace and ended up in burning her wings. Too much demand of excellence, ideality and perfection from her resulted in her decline. Her dwarf steps towards success couldn’t become bigger, they actually ceased.

She became static.

She became stagnant.

Perfection does not exist, not for human beings. Human beings crave supremacy and perfection because they themselves are imperfect. They develop expectations in order to be perfect. Expectation, if fulfilled always gives birth to another expectation. Hence, an expectation cycle does not stop. In the pursuit of perfection, one gains nothing and loses everything.

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Colours of Friendship

Sitting in a comfy chair

Observing nature,

Vivacious rainbow

After heavy rain,

Vibrant and colourful

Reminds me of,


Our friendship,

Framed up of

Seven promising colours,

Radiant red

Holds sincerity,

Glistening violet

Shows faithfulness,

Exuberant orange

Depicts warmth,

Sparkling blue

Portrays longevity,

Rejuvenating green

Makes the roots of our companionship firm,


Hue of yellow

Describes aura of inaudible sadness

Felt when this bond breaks,

It becomes

A recurring pain.

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The Charmer

In her glittering gown

Wearing splendid shoes,

Flashing her beautiful, red lips

She entered beaming

Like a charmer,

Conjured a spell on people

But, deep down,

On the other side of her glory

On the other side of her glow

On the other side of her charm,

Lies a darker side of hers,

Her mind, not as glittering as her gown

Her soul, not splendid as her shoes

Her heart, not beautiful as her lips

But still she entered beaming ,

Like a charmer,

Fake, pretentious charmer.

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Humanity Beyond the Boundaries, 2

From India 

Your gentle words had bewitched me for once; I was dumbfounded for a while. As if, I lost my all consciousness and senses. I have been thinking day and night for a suitable and better version of reply to you. But after reading, reading and re-reading of your mail many times. I still think I cannot produce a better reply than you. Maybe, my poetry can do justice with that.

Bound, once, she was

In the shackles of boundaries,

Restricted, she was

In the cage of society,

Confined, she was

In the folds of politics,

Nationalist, she was

Religious, she was

Cultural, she was

Was she a humanist?

A philanthropist?


She always learned,

To hate

To detest

 And To abhor,

Until, she experienced,

To witness

To observe

To perceive,



And Benevolence

From, the one, who was once

A barbarian,

A butcher

And a savage creature,

Her ideas got changed

Her views got refined,

You are an epitome of



And Humanity,

My Dear friend.

P.S. The work is fictional. 


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Humanity beyond the Boundaries, 1

From Pakistan:

Borders were drawn, maps were re-drawn, political milestones were achieved by individuals but on the other side of the hullabaloo lives were lost, memories were shattered, families were destroyed, blood spilled as if it from a helpless little flying miniature creature. People forgot about the once bloomed friendship, once beautiful smiles that glistened on their faces. People never gave a thought about it?? Thought of love, thought of friendship, thought of peace and thought of humanity, all lost between them.

Years later, when the whole world forgot about the blood-shed, the love got lost, there comes the technology front making lives easier, making connectivity smooth, bringing hearts closer, killing the human made divide, making new friends easier.

There met two individuals virtually. Was it destined?? No one knew. The kids started the unknown conversation. Kids by heart they didn’t know and bothered about the political divide. All they knew was about friendship, love, sharing, self-less help. Late night conversation flew like a flyer.

Oh no! It was a dream. How long have I slept? Gosh, these tiring days of work are making me dull and making me see hallucinations and unrealistic dreams. But dreams can never be realistic. They are just dreams, simple and true.

Humans can make a divide.

But they cannot cage free souls.

No laws are there to stop it.

No divide can stop it.

“A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand.”

You are sugar, curiosity and rain My Dear Friend. ​

P.S. The work is fictional.

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Spell of Words

I wish,

I could write wordsAR-709219977

Fine words,

One of its kind

Soothing words,

Never written before

Aesthetic words,

Not heard of

Precise words,

That could describe you 


Your perfectness.

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No need of words

That fascinating love modern-art-salsa-couple-250x250

Shimmers in your eyes,

That enthralling care

Adores your touch,

That reflective concern

Soothes your kisses,

That amazing understanding

Smooths your hugs,

Undoubtedly tells me 

I’m your only one.

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Rain? Yeah Rain.

He said, “Big girls don’t take rain showers. It’s not a mature thing to do.”

But who knows I was born to love rain. With every single drop of rain my heart shoots a beat of joy. A joy of resurgence, revitalization and meditation. A joy that heal my agonies and evoke emotions in me. A joy that makes me lunatic and jolt up my thoughts. A joy that gives me an unusual poetic frenzy. A joy that give an impetus to my poetry. A joy which can never ever be comprehended nor understood.

Ferocious thunder of feelings

Endangered her to breathe quickly,

Furious lightning of spirit

Evoked her to stride diligently,

Fierce winds of passion

Enlightened her to think ardently,

Frenzy rain of words

Enforced her to write deftly,

Write till her hand would get tired

Write till her heart would stop bleeding

Write till her mind would become numb

Write till she would exist

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Father-Daughter Duo

” Last night, she painted my face”. He told her enthusiastically.

“Aw! Your daughter must be very creative.” She replied.

“Yeah! She loves to sing as well.Know what she loves to sing that song, “Let it go” from the Frozen movie. I’m taking her to the Frozen musical where she’ll sing with one thousand, other kids.” His voice booming with passion for his daughter.

“You guys are adorable”. She answered him back in enchantment.

“Yeah! I connected my bicycle with her small tricycle. We go to rides as well.” He eagerly was filling her into more details.

“Haha. Wow. It’s amazing.” She responded back to him.

“I have to go. My princess is up. I have to make her breakfast.” And he ended up the conversation.

Only a father can be that adorable to his daughter!

The story, honestly, moved me to write about this very special and unique kind of association between father and daughter. The bond between daughter and father is well-built from the time a father lays his eyes upon his daughter. A daughter is the most inestimable gift of God for a father. Before becoming a father, a man is, predominantly, unexpressive towards confessions and stiff towards life. But upon the arrival of a beautiful daughter in his hands, an approach towards life suddenly changes. A daughter becomes a huge responsibility for him and also a blessing. She takes her father to a long journey of happiness, sorrow, wonders and challenges. She softens her father’s heart and fill it with the most captivating emotions. She makes her father to express his feelings loud and clear.

And for a daughter, father is the very first inspiring person around her to whom she can look up to. For her, a father is like that Fairy Godmother who can fulfill Cindrella’s each and every wish by just swaying a wand. A father is like King Fergus who teaches his daughter Merida not be meek and mild but to be tough and lion-hearted. A father is like Simba who gives trust to his daughter Kiara to stand firm upon her decision.

There is no doubt that a mother bring the children into the world and her place is valuable. But a father always occupies an exclusive place in a daughter’s life. A father gives her a confidence to shine and gleam. A daughter learns leadership skills from her father. A daughter always counts on her father’s protection. A father gives her the guarantee that no matter how much the things go wrong and situations become worse, he will always support his daughter.

To add a personal note, I love my father and this blog is dedicated to him. He made me believe in father-daughter duo.

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Rise up from the Ashes!

The resonant and thunderous voice of that blast blocked his connection from the surrounding world. His body was alert and he was conscious of happenings around him but he couldn’t perceive and comprehend. He looked here and there, he saw nothing except darkness. His head was benumbed. He shook his head but failed and fell straight on the road.He lost his sense of hearing forever. This was all, the doctors told him. The darkness of those ten minutes shadowed his whole life. His dreams and future were crushed. His heart was broken. His hope was lost.

The story narrated above is, very much, the story of each and every person who is a victim of terrorism. Particularly and sadly, mostly, Pakistanis are suffering from the horrendous effects of terrorism. This wave of terrorism is like a curse made by a wicked witch which is becoming hard to break off from our society.

But should we just sit flatly in our lounges, watch people dying, sip coffee and forget that nothing happened? Or should we just lament and put our Facebook statuses, in order to show our mourning and grief?

No, I don’t think so, we can do better than that. It’s time to come out of our coffins and wake up. The only thing that can be our guardian angel is that light, light of education and light of knowledge which can reduce this curse. Only this light can remove the so-longed prevailing darkness from our society. Only this light can return our dreams and future back. Only this light can mend our hearts again. Only this light can give us hope. Only this light can make us able to RISE UP FROM THE ASHES!

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For the love of fantasies!

According to patriarchal norms, men are supposed to be reasonable, sensible, practical and mature. These patterns and so-called rules makes them, mostly, to run away from passions and emotions. Mostly,men are not expressive. This is considered as against their mannish attitude and masculinity. A few months back, I was reading about feminism and gender issues where I came across the idea of writing this poem. Also I’m hugely fond of poetry so that’s why my very first official blog is dedicated to poetry. Here it goes.

P.S. I’m not a feminist. It’s just a point of view


Fascinated by our fantasies,

Either they




Or either they




Still Afraid,

Of making their own fantasies

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To the Global World!

Hello People. I won’t give a very descriptive and explanatory kind of introduction about me. I believe that my blogs will give a better and appropriate introduction of mine. I’m an ordinary girl with an extra-ordinary perception. My sensitivity allows me to peek into crucial and problematic issues of society which persuades me to write. My writings are produced as an amalgam of real facts and fiction. A bit about me, I’m an unknown girl who loves to read and write. This passion impelled me to enter into the fascinating realm of Literature and currently I’m procuring my degree in English Literature majors. I’m an underground-journal-writer from my childhood days who decided finally to peek into limelight. I’m a person with mingled-fictional thoughts and innovative-poetical ideas. Any kind of criticism, suggestions and views will be considered welcoming. Drop me your mails at

Happy Reading 😉

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