Sanawar

@sanawarr

love; from my perspective

58 posts

I’m tired of this constant need to use words to express my emotions. Must i tell you that i love you to the point of death? Do you not see it in my eyes? Why are you so unaware despite my infinite efforts to show it? Some people are just bad at expressing themselves with words. Is it my fault that i’m one of them? Please come to me and see it in my eyes. Hold my hand and let my support and affection reach you. I love you but i don’t know a better way to express it. - sanawar fatima saeed

Removing the veil of numbness

from my bruised heart

to let it breath

to initiate the hurt once again,

this fine June.

The wounds are old

but November is over

the hurt won’t be as intense

and in June, it’ll heal.

- Sanawar Fatima Saeed

The beauty of silence

I was always a talkative person; i had so many stories to tell at all occasions. And i loved talkative people. Quiet people never reversed the pulsing of my heart until it was about you; everything about me changed when it was about you. I only realised the beauty of silence when i met YOU. Sitting quietly in a room with you was superior than telling a thousand tales. I had never yearned for the silence so sincerely before. I never realised how meaningful sharing silence can be. I was used to get lost in poetry but you made me realise how dreamy it is to lose oneself in silence, in YOUR silence. In a room full of noises, the serenity of your silence burned me. You tell a thousand stories with those warm caramel macchiato eyes of yours without saying a single word, in sheer silence. And i, not in my thousand lives, would desire to ruin the rhythm of it. - Sanawar Fatima Saeed

A memory of love

I am here in the dark writing sonnets about you, which you'll never read. The world might realise the intensity of my emotions towards you but does that matter if YOU don't realise it? My world revolves around you. You are the sun to my earth. Which is to say that, You are the brightest star of my Solar System. You're the feeling of warmth i crave on my cold days. Is that too hard to comprehend? Can't you just love me back? I am tired of writing you letters that does not reach you. They might never will. They feel like a mosaic of my own feelings that i have for you. A memory of love. A haunting memory of love.

- Sanawar fatima saeed

I’ve loved you like a sacred religious ritual, like creation of the earth, like something that was bound to happen. I’ve loved you like breathing. I miss you. Your memory pierce through the walls of the house in my heart and lays down in my bed. There’s no space for me to rest. I go to the other room and it is there as well. You’re there as well. The walls are painted with misery and my furniture is made up of melancholy. This is my only house and there is no peace left. I want to continue loving you but once at least, i want to breathe quietly as well. I want to go home and not be sad for once. Will the misery ever end? Will you ever love me back the way i love you? When will the misery end? When will you love me back? This is not my home. It is not where i grew up. This is not my happy place. I want to feel at home while being at home at least once. I want to be given a chance. I want to be given my peace again. I want to protect it this time around. I am tired of taking things for granted when i have them. I am tired of begging for things that i took for granted when i had them. - Sanawar Fatima Saeed

Oh to be loved in a way you understand

In my religion, there's a concept called "DUA" which translates to "prayer" in English. It is said that at specific events or points in time, there are more chances of your Dua to get accepted so naturally, it is empathised to make Dua in those moments. For example, during ramadan, the night of decree, during the last third of night, Friday prayer, etc and all those times are called "Qubuliat ki ghari" or "the hour of acceptance" and in all those moments when people ask for the greatest desire in their heart, I prayed for you. Selfishly. Passionately. Greedily. And wholeheartedly.

-Sanawar Fatima Saeed

I wake up and order a coffee, which makes it my first meal of the day. I'm in the class and it's only 11 am yet and i still didn't have my breakfast but i go get another coffee. The class's over. It's time for the first meal of the day. I eat but a little too less and get another coffee. We are now in the afternoon class, my swollen eyes focused on the teacher and i have a cup of coffee on my table beside the books. I drink it sip by sip and i still don't seem to consume whatever the teacher's teaching. It's 5:00 pm and we are done with the classes for today and i think very little of anything else but coffee. 6:00 pm; and we are heading out for the dinner. My friend sits with her dinner in front of me and i am ordering a coffee on my phone. For the first time in a while, she tells me that i drink too much coffee and i never seem to get energetic even after drinking it. But the thing is, "You don't know me. You just know that i drink too much coffee, you never ask why i am always tired."

- Sanawar Fatima Saeed

I have small eyes and it is a very bright day. I can't help keep my eyes fully open so they're half open.

"You're wearing the lens, right?"

i look up baffled.

Ap ny to kabhi meri ankho'n mein dekha tak nhi hy or me ap ki ankho'n ko ek nazar dekh kr bta skta hu k ye apki ankho'n ka asli rang nhi hy.

Yes, I'm wearing lens. And dark grey isn't the natural colour of my eyes. They are dark brown. Full of spark and light. The day is too bright and i can't look up into your eyes but when do i look into them even during the dull days? You tell me that my eyes are the most beautiful pair of eyes you've ever seen in your life and i think about how lifeless they have became now when you aren't around.

On a random Tuesday, you tell me, apko to meri yad b nhi ati hogi. Acha hi he. Mujy yad mt rkhna. Bhool jana.

How do i tell you?

"tum mujy yad ab nhi aty, tum mujy yad ho gye ho ab"

I used to not look into your eyes. i wish i had continued doing so. But i love picking up the knife at my kitchen table and ripping my belly apart. i love yielding a pain upon myself that no doctor has a cure to.

I only made one mistake in my life. I looked up into those helpless eyes of yours. And ever since, that is the only colour i remember. Everything i look at, the only colour i see is the dark brown of your eyes.

This city, which we think is half yours, half mine, is neither yours nor mine. This city which is your past, my future, has already turned into a dark brown pair of eyes. This city is a love confession i write to you daily. Because yes, I love you too.

To touch something you once put your hands on is the closest i can get to touching you. Because burning still provides warmth; and violence too is love. And when you see yellow leaves falling of the tree, Are you reminded of me? (Autumn is my favourite season) And now when you're leaving a place, do you still look back to bless it with a warmth of your gaze? to say a final goodbye? (Do not look back) One thing about us that i still regret is the timing we crossed paths with each other. But what i never once regretted is meeting you. (Can i keep you forever?) And all my letters and poems are but a begging for you to come back. Even as a stranger. Even as a dream. Even as a might have been. Let the fate repeat itself. Let my eyes meet yours on a random Tuesday and watch my heart melt like a burning candle again.

-Sanawar

بے حِسی

Another Eid has passed without you being here, without me being with the people i've cherished since i took the first breath on this planet. Life is passing through me like water falling out of the hands. I cannot hold it however much i try to. I cannot hold you however much i try to. You are both misl-e-aab (مثلِ آب) in this desperate life of mine. I've loved you too much to let you go but how do you hold on to the water in your tight fists? however tight the grip is, i cannot hold onto you. Even the last droplet will fall out of my hands right in front of my helpless eyes. You were never mine to begin with. Is this love? or is this a desperate longing to forget you? to never be forgotten by you? The number of days i had with you were not much, but i can spend a lifetime reminiscing the memory of it.

-sanawar

on leaving of a friend

At what point of life, does separation become easy? At what point do you see a dear friend leaving and do not have a sinking feeling inside your chest? Why is the hope of dreaming of even the most mundane and ordinary things costs you your happiness? but tell me my dear heart, how do i live without hoping for good things to happen? i cannot kill my heart and deprive it of the pleasure of hoping but why does even the slightest hope brings you pain at the end? as life goes on, you realise more and more that it never were the material things that made life a good place to be instead it were the people you met during your journey. if each bond is meant for separation then which side do i choose? the melancholy and hollowness of never stepping into a bond ever again or the unending grief of getting to see my people part their ways while i stand there helplessly? What i know about this helpless heart of mine is that it has pumped more love than blood, it has seen more pain than happiness, it remembers and remembers and life keeps passing by leaving it in the cruel hands of separation. Nostalgia has no pity on my heart. Memory has no pity on my brain. My heart and brain has no pity on me. - Sanawar Fatima Saeed

Physiology of a distant lover's heart

In our physiology class last semester, i learned the mechanism and functions of the heart. Your memory enters the right atrium of my heart through Vena Cava. Too heavy for it to keep. I open the doors of my heart, but there's no me. The tricuspid valve allows the memory to flow into the right atrium preventing the backflow when the ventricle contracts. I open the doors of my heart, and there's no love. Right ventricle, unable to keep the whole of it (for it is too heavy for a single chamber of the heart to keep), pumps it into the lungs through a pulmonary valve. I open the doors of my heart, and there are no doors. Your memory enters and turns everything red. Your memory enters and leaves no place for me to be. The lungs intensifies your memory. The lungs fill your memory with life. As if it's not just a memory. As if you're present in my life. The memory brought back to life comes to the left atrium and then to left ventricle through mitral valve. I open the doors of my heart, and there's no heart. The memory scatters in the whole of my body through aortic valve. I open the doors of my heart and there's only you. - sanawar fatima saeed

I love hand drawn art. I love writing or constructing a new poem on paper. I love the verses getting cut and re-constucted into a new verse. I love hand writing and building a perception of people based on their hand writing. I love associating things and stuff to people based on how they write. I love reading paper books under a tree in autumn while the atmosphere is filled with the scent of yellow leaves and my coconut latte. I love keeping a journal and filing it with mundane details of my life. I love hand written letters, customised mugs, DIY gifts, and random cups of milk tea. I love entering someone's brain as a thought for once and never leaving it again. Same for the hearts. I love making homes out of people. The world is a dark place, i know. You’ll trust people and they’ll betray you. You'll be sincere with someone and they’ll be strategic towards you. You’ll love someone and they'll break your heart. You'll fix someone and they'll cheat on you. But sill, as sunlight falls through the leaves of a distant tree in the beginning of the summer, i can’t resist the occurence of this thought. Despite all the negativities and evil in the would, my heart still longs to love like no other. It still wants to trust. It still wants to make homes out of people. Because even after the darkest, coldest and most cruelest of winters, summers will arrive again. Because sooner or later, the dark grey clouds will dissipate and my heart will see the sunshine again. And once again, on a random spring afternoon, i'll realise HOW MUCH I LOVED LOVING YOU while a pink flower blossoms by the side of my bench. - Sanawar Fatima Saeed

Loving you comes as naturally as an autumn breeze. Your face is the mirror i look at daily. I’ll forget my own name before i forget you. - Sanawar Fatima Saeed

You’ve been loved

I wake up to the sound of laughters and greetings. In the mornings, i open my half sleepy eyes, and first thing i see is the face of love. Maa standing tall in-front of me trying to wake me up as lovingly as she can. As soon as she sees the hint of wakefulness, she gives me a kiss on my forehead, then each cheek one by one, then chin, nose and lips. In the last third of the night when everyone’s asleep, i hear the sound of love. It is durood sharif or some calling going on in our local masjid for namaz e tahajjud. I usually wake up at it without any alarm, tho the sound is really faint. It’s a big deal you know, to be able to hear the azaan complete and clear in your home without making an effort for it. You don’t get it everywhere. A warm cup of chai made entirely out of love. More love than milk in it. Auntie makes the chai usually, brings it in in a dish, picks up the mug and hand it over to me. I give her a smile and a thank you under my breath. A warm cup of chai, it’s not too much but it is enough to melt the ice you’ve surrounded yourself with, enough to soften the already hardened corners of your heart. You’ve been loved this entire time. This is enough reassurance to let go of the things that are heartache under the veil of love. It doesn’t take much though. A warm cup of chai made by a kind face and handed over to you with love.

-Sanawar Fatima Saeed

This city, which we think is half yours, half mine, is neither yours nor mine. This city which is your past, my future, has already turned into a dark brown pair of eyes. This city is a love confession i write to you daily. Because yes, I love you too. - sanawar

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