Remains

There was a finger cut off from a hand, on it was a ring, gold, now old. 
There was a watch on the hand, in it some stories, now mere memories.
There was a bone, on it some flesh, red. Red and dead.
There was a tear, in it some fear, not of death but of life
Life, the melting ice
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
.

Sochoon

I am thinking about how to think when you are given a job to think about thinking and then write about how you started thinking and thought what you thought and how did you not think about matters you are not required to think and concentrated on thinking the things you thought about. Its absurd and useless to think in such a way like it is useless and absurd to think of bread and thinking that thinking of bread will not make you hungry. It is equally or if not equally then almost equally absurd to remember a dream you never saw and forgetting the dream you wish you had not seen. Also to think what an image is thinking when you are standing in front of a mirror is like thinking about thinking. To sit and do nothing except thinking is a job. I used to believe that it was what thinkers do. In the classroom when a  teacher asked what the students want to be when they grow up, nobody said that they want to be thinkers. Lots of doctors, engineers but no thinkers. Sometimes I used to sit like Iqbal in one of his famous pictures, eyes closed, the head resting on the hand, somebody asked me if I was dreaming of another Pakistan. Actually, that picture was taken when Iqbal was taking a rest after a walk, he might not even have been thinking. Why do people find thinking such a despicable thing? It is equated with being a bore. If you are not speaking, and just sitting and thinking, you are a bore. If you are not laughing at painfully unfunny obscene jokes, you are a bore. When you think about anything, it is rare that you keep the thoughts leashed. It is like fire in a jungle, it jumps from tree to tree, from thought to thought and when you have reached deep down into a matter, you trace the thought from which you began, you come back step by step, the fire extinguishes tree by tree. Just before dawn, if you gaze at the sky and unleash your thought, it’ll go far away, greet all sparkling stars, salute all black holes, but it will always come back to you. Like when you think about ‘Lam yalid walam yulad’,  your thought comes back to you and you are stunned as at the beauty and unknowable  secrets of the stars, as at the beginning of life, the human life. 

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.