Sheen - The Insomnia Diaries

Peerzada Muzamil The Emptinesss       "This entry was inspired by the works of Ambrose Bierce" And I was asked, ‘’why are you silent?’’  You see, what could be better than retorting that I was not, and it was rather that I was empty – as empty as a wine glass, waiting to be poured in and to be sipped from. But how can a man who has sailed across every vengeful oceans, full of tempests and perils, remain as silent as a rotten corpse? Isn’t my heart as agitated as a tumultuous sea – the sea which is doomed by the darkest of the storms?  Isn’t my fretted heart devoured and drowning? Aren’t the cold and sturdily surging billows splashing against its sallow walls within? No. I am not empty, I am as devoid of the words as the hot odious desert is of water. Shall I see no oases? Why am I deluded, every time by the hopeless mirages? Why is my tongue fettered? Why can’t I utter a word? Why are my lips  forlorn and shriveled, and cracked because the words have dried of

THOUGHTS Peerzada Muzamil " As Bertrand Russell puts it, ‘’If you wish to know what men will do, you must know not only, or principally, their material circumstances, but rather the whole system of their desires with their relative strengths.” Here, in the Indian Administered Kashmir, authorities often desperately try to use the maneuvers of utopian politics, flawed tactics and abhorrent reactions against what is and what has been happening. It gets even worse when they try use the yardsticks of the statistics to put forth the dubious statements wherein they try to claim that they’ve estimated the number of people who perpetrate violence, but when they get a reply, statistically sound and unambiguous – it depicts the picture exactly opposite –that only 7% of the people admire them, ironically, they remain silent and denounce these outright statistical figures mysteriously heretic.  But mere statistics are not enough to understand what the people of Kashmir ex

Short Story Peerzada Muzamil " Although, he can, no longer, see the world, but his dreams, still palpable, are vividly haunting. " They say, ‘wars never end’. They are just draped by illusions of peace. Ever since the Garden of Eden housed Adam and the ensuing The Fall, there have always been wars; sometimes as outrageous as the great war of the twentieth century; sometimes as silent as a sigh of a lovelorn soul. Every time there is some apparent triumph, there, inevitably, has to be a defeat; the entire process submerging mankind in a sheer delusion of victory or even loss while the truth remains that there is no end to the war. People rise again to fight for their nations or their untamed desires, to again portray the end in red; in the bloodstained streets, or the rubble of massacred emotions – the cascading spate of blood and tears, a spiral of insanity and the abyss of sin.  You see, how frail and silentious, yet too grave, the first ever war was – fough