It has been a huge gap to have it without you. The distress surely as creation of my own thoughts, the thinking of which you occupy just a small part and the life itself, surrounded with hurdles more or less important than you; and of course I have other problems besides you. But I couldn’t avoid you for longer. I had a lot of questions and then removed. I had a lot of inspirations, but suppressed and I had a lot of objections which I couldn’t dare to collect. You are not supposed to inquire me, my friend.
You are dangerously being objective. Your mood seems to be off today, but I endorse it, of whatever assumptions you anticipate, for it means nothing to me. You love me, you detest me, it is all the same. You are just trying to be a better friend of your own and it is a good thing. But I wonder, what has pushed you to write me back this time! That is a legal question if I am not wrong, though I am not a good fan of law and I guess I should think of my hobbies in the same way.
It is a wonderful way of expression my friend. You express your objections quite interestingly. But you cannot drag me to your case this time and I do not mean offence. The purpose for writing you today varies from my prior motive, you better seek it.
But still let me remind you, there has been no progress in your case. We have arranged several protests for seeking justice for you, and so for we are disappointed. The whole scenario persuaded us either; not to be a fan of law better than you. But for your hobies_ for God sake do not say that.
I surrender against your kindness, but you know what, you can not save people, said Anais Nin, you can only love them. I will never discover your aim for writing me back unless you do it yourself. I had a discourse with you and I wish to have it again and again. You made an apology to me, but I never wish to make you feel sorry of yourself twice.
You are free to love me as much as you can, but you cannot save me. That would be a treasure for you if I am kind enough to allow you to save me. But I am a miser in that case. I want to embrace death again and you cannot stop me. I have every right to say that.
We are all humiliated, I must force myself to admit that and whatever of your apprehension. But trust me, you still have every reason to live. And that was exactly the aim which made me to write you back. And why should love be conditional if you think it is! Nay, I love you. I have been waiting for so long to say that. I have been captured, imprisoned, humiliated and brutally persecuted. Ah me! I am still suffering. I am unable to embrace you, I cannot kiss you and therefore I want to take a breath of which I cannot assure you for how long it lasts. So atleast you shouldn’t be disappointed.
You pretend to be growing rapidly and your hastiness puts me in trouble. You are a good motivator but a bad actor. We are all guilty of being what we are not and guess what; not being what we actually are. Do you really think that you are giving me a favore to love me, or just trying to console my torments? You are guilty in either way.
I will not talk about your righteousness again and again because I know you are mature. But one thing I must say, you could do everything better than you are doing now. With dull passions, you are smart and innocent too. You have no idea how things turn to be dramatic, that is because you smoke a lot.
You have few illusions like Napoleon Bonaparte. I know he was a good warrior but so far he admitted his faultful lines which he never realized himself. I really did love her, he said, but had no respect for her. I pretend I was not his lover and it is too good of me.
We must love each other, but not to console the pains we acquire beyond love. It is love itself that makes us the victim. We are led astray in both ways, whether we attempt to love or avoid it. By avoiding it life becomes shallow and tasteless, as Rumi says, “Without love, all worship is a burden, all dancing is a chore, all music is mere noise.” But by acquiring love we start bearing the sufferings exerted by it. We are insecure in both conditions, but by acquiring it at least we make sense of why we exist.
So, I repeatedly say, love saves us at least from life. One’s honesty or you say dishonesty doesn’t make sense while love itself turns to be a deception. And of course one may call it the most beautiful deceptions of all.
You are old-fashioned, my friend. You think of love in metaphysical order. We have evolved. Together with the arts I have produced, love has become materialized. It exists just like the brush I used to make arts. Ask me someday why have I reduced love to a painting brush. Today is not the appropriate time. I may not be just with it.
So let me continue; love isn’t the imagination which prevails in your mind in solitude. The imagination comes first for sure, and the art appears later. But it isn’t determined by what comes first and what later. What matters is how come it appeared. Without the help of the brush I could never produce an art. Imagination itself isn’t an art my friend. It is a capability everyone possess. Therefore, love is a medium to make an art out of life and not the art itself.
So, life is an art, you are trying to provoke me with that incentive! Truely, it was the thought of the affection that pushed me to a discourse with you. It was the thought of love that made me to make an apology to you. But then how brutal is that, the thought of love never reminded me express my love with you. And see you deserve to be loved for many reasons.
You were an artist, I always emphasized. You were a writer I rarely mentioned. You were an actor, you were a poet, you were an editor of a magazine, I didn’t even discussed about these. I really feel guilty of not acting as I was supposed to act. Should I then kill myself or have a little nap? Or just keep it aside for I have a quality to forget anything.
Life is not an art if you want me to be real. Life is a struggle to understand the colours through which you produce an art. I could teach you many things about art if you would have convinced me about your aptitudes regarding the colours. To be an artist, the first thing is to be alive. And I must say, it isn’t strange to exist without love while people manage to exist without life.
So just living is not enough. One needs to approach the verge of death too. If you survive you are fortunate. If you survive you become an artist or else you become the art itself. So to tell you one thing; life isn’t an art, but death could reasonably turn into an art if one knows the art of dying. You are supposed to know the meanings of the colours. Death is the road to awe, but you must not fear that.
Last time you said that you didn’t know what black means. Black means slavery my friend. And it means much more things; I will reveal unto you in the proper time. And red, which is the colour of your blood too, means war, revolution and struggle.
You pretend to be a lover, but could you tell me what colour is love? To be a lover you need to be a warrior first. You need to be revolutionary. Or else you will start believing that love comprises no colours; love is blind. I am amazed at your instance. How could you afford love!
We have to generate many excuses to prove, at least to ourselves, to make sense of life. I cannot understand anything. Am I supposed to understand or should I wish to? I am unable to understand that either. At the meantime when I am writing to you, I have heard a news. A sad news or I don’t know what state of mind should it carry.
“A brother has attempted a murder of his own sister for honour. What is or what should be the parameter to measure honour? I won’t ask you that question. It exceeds your grieves. Another incident follows this. A tractor accident killed a child. How identical is this case to the prior one? Can I call it a honour case too; I am so tired. Do not mind. All these events put me in existential crisis. It is too much; of love I cannot device myself anymore. Should I declare war? And against whom? Or have a cup of tea and let go!
You are consistently confusing yourself. To be a lover you need to be a warrior, I have already told you. And to be a good warrior you need to be a lover. Now you start calculating the contradictions. This is totally a different subject my friend. This does not even relate to the prior one. This is not my style of preaching. I won’t reveal facts at once, just for your ease. You will get mixing the things.
Hate and love can be relative and distinct, depending upon the situation. I can only suggest you that do not rely on primitive concepts of good and bad. Things can be right at times and turn exactly opposite in times to come and vice versa. And I mean it. So we cannot talk about legitimacy. We just need to be smart to grasp that what is probable according to the time. You should not focus on the right action, but the right time. So being smart is more prestigious than being righteous, my righteous friend. Virtue is cheaper than intellect.
It is a great time to show your kindness to me. Come and hold my hand, take me to darkness and leave me on the mercy of confusions. Here is when we are aroused with the struggle of enlightenment. Without confusion I am not sure what will be the moto of seeking. We need to be alive at all cost; to seek for reasons to live or for seeking a reasonable death. Were we then dead before we were born? I can’t say anything about that. We are dying because we don’t have medium. Dancing is a good medium, a great friend of mine said. I don’t know what she meant, but I can assure you that she was right. Dancing is an art too.
I could merely wish to hold your hand, close our eyes and assume that there is nothing beyond you and me and then two flowers start flourishing and blossoming as soon as the winter takes us into its fold and both of the flowers would be your gift. Honestly, I was about to die unless this assumption, which is only part of an assumption which itself is not based on reality, blew into my mind.
This is how we feel alive and then create metaphors and poetries, and then sing those poetries with music and hold our hands again and dance together. Dear Shaheena, one of your poetries tremendously effected my mind. A friend of mine has sung it the way it deserved to be sung.
دلءَ را آس مان داریت زمانگ
منءَ با پوشتءَ ڈوباریت زمانگ
منءَ جنت تژن ءُ بہتاماں مدامی
شگاناں آس مان داریت زمانگ
اشاں پا لانک بستگ گاریءَ مئے
چے رنگے باریں پیش داریت زمانگ
چتو چماں وتیگاں بند کناں من
بچار شاھین ترا چاریت زمانگ
Translation:
They fuel the agony of my heart
Disgrace, they do, behind my back
Ascribed I am with accusations and blames
They keep inflaming their allegations
They have prepared to diminish me
I only await and see what colour they exhibit
How am I enabled to close my eyes
Look shaheen! They glance at you
Do you remember I told you that you have already predicted your death by someone from us? And someday I was trying to make you a God and then you wished a God of your own, sitting beside you, giving you reasons to stay sane. I can recall every moment. I can recall every word of yours. I still want you to create more beauty, so that I may stay committed to my thoughts which I have not revealed unto you yet. I want to progress. I want to nurture.
We cannot create something which is already created, rather destroy it. It is a very sensitive matter my friend and I will not justify my claim. I should tell you that creating anything is not divine. Divinity is a state of mind, same like our creations.
We will all die of necessity, only our creations remain. And the sweetest thing after death is to be blasphemous. So I cannot tell you wheather God created us or we have created God. In both ways God remains alive. We can suppose that God is the greatest invention of making. God is loving, God is kind and God is the most benevolent as long you have a beautiful mind. As long you are an artist. And as long you are a creater.
So I cannot say wheather I Love art or it is love that made me an artist. You should not worry about anything. I can discover other reasons to love you. I can stay with you for several other reasons. I can hold you. I can meet you. And even if people leave, a part of them remain with us.
And you know what! People end up with chaos. The more you approach more you loose your integrity. And I want to respect you forever. So I must give you a favour my friend. We should meet, and yet a space should be visible. Have I ever told you that people admire their existence more than their creations; and that it is possible that they finish them for their own sake?
There are words, more beautiful than silence, no doubt. But there is silnce too, more reasonable than a thousand words. Last time a sudden silence prevailed between our discussion you remember! And I liked it. Today, it is my turn to take this instance. And you will not utter a word and without any objection. But you may never cease to object. Your friend.
