Why I Cry My hair is silky Yet turning white Eyes hued dark Yet slide to the side Stomach is flat Yet far too wide Tears have built up Too late to subside No idea have I Where to hide My conscience mocks my tears With "Who has died?" A voice in the dark Summons me aside "You must not cry But only abide." Have I any idea Who replied?

The Privilege There are moments when I'm lying back in bed, thinking what it is about #life that makes it a privilege and not a ride. The answer came to me later on in a dream. My dream depicted the story my aunt used to tell be when I was younger. It went like this... a street-vendor roaming the streets of Lahore (my hometown) conceived of an idea he could not shake out of him. In a few years time, that single inkling expanded out of his head to one of Lahore's leading shopping malls. That is when I understood. When I finally had the unsaid axiom that the struggle is what makes #life prerogative. Nothing else. Succession from struggle is the answer to it all.