MY NAME IS RED
Ai ada aur sunaein bhi kya haal apna, Umr ka lamba safar tay kiya tanha humnay. Arabs used to call inferior non-Arabs as "Red." In your presence and absence, I carry a pang of guilt for not being there with you. But I miss my own self when you disappeared, blabbering at midnight with a lisp in language and blood in my reed. Your unsatisfactory zeal and indiscriminate connecting of the dots resulted in the creation of an image in a broken mirror, a thousand splendid pieces reflecting the glare of yours. My name is Red. I am half-living and half-dead. My emotions are half-frozen and half-boiled. The breeze that touches my face is half warm and half cold. I am half-crying and half-smiling. At midnight, when the moon hangs like a lamp and stars stud poetry, only then does my existence get stripped off. My soul tears the clothes it wears during the day. It is half-naked and half-wrought with tattered clothes, and tears trickle down, like a noose hanging the memories. Then ther...