tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3635603533960861592024-03-13T08:11:26.511-07:00V!s!On... needed for everything one wishes to write about!Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-36565291344116159872012-01-01T15:35:00.000-08:002012-01-01T17:08:21.099-08:00On thoughts...!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT26vjgLl7gW80yyRBcZEorHSQyW8Px0yJZwDTDIIORZq_wmYlah4pgA_vL-C4oNJivyvKM6i_oitZWuofSg6uni6tnE8BtGjgq6Gi7qSvhZBhXQ1q9JDjI3orZlDw5JPX1rI397MJuAo/s1600/sad-woman-silhouette.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT26vjgLl7gW80yyRBcZEorHSQyW8Px0yJZwDTDIIORZq_wmYlah4pgA_vL-C4oNJivyvKM6i_oitZWuofSg6uni6tnE8BtGjgq6Gi7qSvhZBhXQ1q9JDjI3orZlDw5JPX1rI397MJuAo/s320/sad-woman-silhouette.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692816679051592242" /></a>There' s just so much that goes inside your little brain, especially when you're a complete maniac like me. Sometimes, I just sit thinking what it is that I really want to do in life? Keep chasing men all my life and join the ultimate quest for the pursuit of happiness by doing the same or get settled with the one who isn't really my type, yet expresses his profound love for me?<div>Yes... life has this weird way of banging up on you, when you least expect it! </div><div>And I think some more... do I just want plain appreciation from a couple of anonymous bloggers for posting such intricate views about my life or do I want a warm, strong embrace of this one man who claims to hold me every time I fall? Do I want men who can communicate with me by weaving a delicate web of lies, using their overwhelming verbosity, or do I seek the absolutely unintellectual conversation with this man who says he knows me inside out? This man, who knows that my dreams often trouble me and upon waking up, I shall reach out to him. <div>Sometimes when I'm suddenly quiet, he asks me as to what is wrong and I just shake my head... I see him flinch, I see him want to reach into my mind to find out what it is that bothers me. It is at this point that I long to tell him, that there is no point in trying to conquer all of me, as there are parts of my personality that I dare not tread upon... there's just too much, too much that encompasses of what I truly am. Too much of what I keep hiding from my own self. Too much that I certainly don't wish to encounter. And all of this I shall keep stored, word by word, into the very depths of my soul... will he be able to understand that this is what makes me, what completes me... or will I have to forever lie?</div><div><br />Written on 07.09.2011</div></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-85804476826217047132011-09-16T10:46:00.000-07:002011-09-16T13:18:43.020-07:00Having loved and lost...!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkceL_fnpaQsrS5cEeUTniAa5Fj22L_q2RKIKQgmk3VrSa81tbyUlfFpXSJ4htljyCM17gQrwgYkrK_U4nP1hwTKo8w3Im_62qU_wIc-jX1V2FVVfoN3jhf9kM1TGDuTOHvnCNbaqojA/s1600/redonion-smile.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQkceL_fnpaQsrS5cEeUTniAa5Fj22L_q2RKIKQgmk3VrSa81tbyUlfFpXSJ4htljyCM17gQrwgYkrK_U4nP1hwTKo8w3Im_62qU_wIc-jX1V2FVVfoN3jhf9kM1TGDuTOHvnCNbaqojA/s320/redonion-smile.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653016795348757922" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">We sat at her dining table chatting about the intricacies of love and the excitements it offers in the early phases. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I was explaining the ‘why’ and ‘why not’ to her and it seemed so monotonous, probably because I have been discussing it with the voices inside my head for as long as I can remember. That’s when I started picking at the delicate white fabric spread on the glass table as a cover. And I wasn’t sure if I had heard it right when she said to me “You shall forget him too, like the way you forgot the other one.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It took me a while to comprehend the sheer audacity of what she had just said and I blinked, unable to come up with a suitable answer. And then I told her what I truly felt… about having loved and lost. I asked her if she remembers having studied that the human heart is said to have four chambers. Then I told her that in effect, the number of chambers of the dear heart is quite obscure<span> </span>and that maybe we can take the example of an onion peel to understand it better. You know when you sit down to peel an onion and the convoluted membrane keeps coming off and you begin to think how long is it before you can actually see the inside of it. Ok. Not that any of you will actually do it. But again, I do think it’s analogous to the human heart in terms of the layers that keep the insides of it, hidden from the world. And also the fact that it stings your eyes to do so… </p><p class="MsoNormal">Hence, I believe you can't forget one for the other because no one is replaceable. Yes, the feelings you had and felt so strongly about at one point in your life, become so diluted that you can feel the very 'feeling' fading away. But it's not like you'll ever forget. Everything that you had felt once, shall stay in your heart and you shall remember it, layer by layer, as it lingers in your memory and claws at the inside of your soul and then fades away in its very own labyrinth. </p>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-74580736289909023292011-09-16T09:15:00.000-07:002011-09-16T09:46:00.528-07:00Sometimes...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdw5bGeW13MlLnUr9S-zt4q-Edo4WsS2wgRGm5u04GLYBeoKO2K65XfdmYmDlij146eZH9Zlim3gfONNNrrkOkAuTNeN1pqFn5L6l_eK7OeLT3onG25ivp65EeXSX0AfqpnDKuRUQAPQQ/s1600/random-thoughts.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 140px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdw5bGeW13MlLnUr9S-zt4q-Edo4WsS2wgRGm5u04GLYBeoKO2K65XfdmYmDlij146eZH9Zlim3gfONNNrrkOkAuTNeN1pqFn5L6l_eK7OeLT3onG25ivp65EeXSX0AfqpnDKuRUQAPQQ/s200/random-thoughts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652999625135616786" /></a><p class="MsoNormal">...when you think you know someone too well, they appear to be not at all the one you knew. Like they grow out of their habits and you begin to feel if they’ll grow out of their skin too. Like the way he used to text, and I just knew HOW. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then you begin to observe them all over again. Like I do. Now I know, the way he says that one word. He uses the same word, every time, when he is slightly pissed at something and even as I type this I can recall the very tone he uses for that one word.<span> </span>Typical of him. Or so I thought. Little did I know, people change and so do their thoughts and actions, likewise. </p>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-5299305338694763542011-08-18T18:21:00.000-07:002011-08-18T19:23:57.490-07:00Ever experienced...?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVStQR6Hmbnz4uDtCAliiUG5BzbGf_lPo_FNewhyphenhyphenGhisnRkVyhWwIFzHsMRfrXkMaCZgbzv00rLlw5R9hRnkWgL8wqK0gPxsbMbTvCQWwWvg_ntB1b85wRzWeY5GUcjvaGB_gXyqGE58Y/s1600/emptiness-tracy-bollinger.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVStQR6Hmbnz4uDtCAliiUG5BzbGf_lPo_FNewhyphenhyphenGhisnRkVyhWwIFzHsMRfrXkMaCZgbzv00rLlw5R9hRnkWgL8wqK0gPxsbMbTvCQWwWvg_ntB1b85wRzWeY5GUcjvaGB_gXyqGE58Y/s320/emptiness-tracy-bollinger.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642385884441274258" /></a>Having read something that reminds you of yourself with a special someone and it tugs at your heart strings and you just want to talk to that one person? Now. But you also know that you can not because of what has come in between. And the feeling, leaves you devoid of feeling. Isn't it weird? <div>
<br /></div><div>This sheer emptiness. <div>Yet on the other hand, you seem to find it utterly soothing. Just like this picture on the right. This gut-wrenching solace... This combination of mirth and gloom... And I start to wonder, is life worth all the anguish and glee? The answer is yes. Every single minute of it. The wait and the debate. The memories you want to keep and those that you want to burn, to rip off and most importantly - to forget! Life encompasses all. And you are to live it all.</div></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-60103622970638350802011-08-18T18:14:00.000-07:002011-08-18T18:22:49.703-07:00Ghazal...!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkbEu0D2OkWkchCkjCh-g7gbV_dK_Js2m1mITMjCgRWEjgiJhb3bzRXHddtUZJc9BEEf-8HN4OXnh_sxMUwd5ywsQNGveKAjTZDiXH-SLbtvHg9PhOu_u7hwlHbLtC-hGSWPlAakjVyA/s1600/339001328.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXkbEu0D2OkWkchCkjCh-g7gbV_dK_Js2m1mITMjCgRWEjgiJhb3bzRXHddtUZJc9BEEf-8HN4OXnh_sxMUwd5ywsQNGveKAjTZDiXH-SLbtvHg9PhOu_u7hwlHbLtC-hGSWPlAakjVyA/s320/339001328.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642370946089034674" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(86, 86, 86); font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); ">Muhabat jaan kr meine, ussay apna sanam maa'na,<div>Sanam tarashnaa lekin, hai ussnay gunaa'h jaana...</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Suno dono musaafir hain, safar bhi sath krte hain,</div><div>Safar mein aein mumkin hai, dilon mein waswasay paa'na!</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Tumhara naam lene se, meri rooh tak charaagha'n hai,</div><div>Jo ye ho sakay tumse, issay aa kr bujhaa jaana...</div></span></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-44570538444285708202011-07-05T12:11:00.000-07:002011-07-05T13:13:56.702-07:00There is... Something!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHOKHGoI7o-U9kOL5bU5Nod-AaafIgqEQpckasQUknqBr1eixC7HHW7uv7CBYid0iJRjHrMPgZ7QleAxql-6e6aNTu9ahETxPi3uRQMf-uvsuybM-uSphZvKg1dHq2Kb_6NmAYBAEPWU/s1600/sand-slipping-through-fingers.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 273px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHOKHGoI7o-U9kOL5bU5Nod-AaafIgqEQpckasQUknqBr1eixC7HHW7uv7CBYid0iJRjHrMPgZ7QleAxql-6e6aNTu9ahETxPi3uRQMf-uvsuybM-uSphZvKg1dHq2Kb_6NmAYBAEPWU/s400/sand-slipping-through-fingers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625961905862979410" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span">Yes, I do understand. There is definitely something that attracts me to this one man... perhaps an extraordinary force that engages me in this plethora of emotions or just the plain nothingness about this bond we share. No questions asked, no promises made... fingers entangled, but no hearts entwined. Pleasures shared, but no commitments sought. Yet there's something, something that I just can not lay my finger upon. And yet I want to hold it. And as I try, it slips out of my hand like sand from an hourglass. Little by little. But an hourglass fills at the opposite end, my heart does not. It empties. And this something... makes me yearn for the comfort that his arms around my neck bring and it </span><span class="Apple-style-span">makes me want to touch the small of his back. And to lie with him under the duvet, tracing the contours of his face. And it leaves me thinking, why him of all the people that I have met and chased through this walk of life? Why him, when he can not even promise me togetherness for tomorrow, let alone a lifetime.</span>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-68062196974008726092011-06-01T13:14:00.000-07:002011-06-01T13:56:34.691-07:00A Conversation!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JfNbcf5qYcy46vjyFpVS4spHbxv2oyZI-_HYtBjy3WHtE9v-To1skJQYPy5St-M7oGw9_70Dc7dqWl-Qo3zA7nCcmJGV5fmwKCG81HKgVnocqojJsCtCYKmfmuDHmjF9sBosmlDgjGc/s1600/conversation.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5JfNbcf5qYcy46vjyFpVS4spHbxv2oyZI-_HYtBjy3WHtE9v-To1skJQYPy5St-M7oGw9_70Dc7dqWl-Qo3zA7nCcmJGV5fmwKCG81HKgVnocqojJsCtCYKmfmuDHmjF9sBosmlDgjGc/s200/conversation.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5613354389889122818" /></a>He said : I'll give u a fact - I won't last a month.<div><br /><div>I said: I'll give u another - I believe in miracles.</div><div><br />He said: I had one, as my Mom.</div><div><br /></div><div>I said: U have another one, as life... u just don't know how to take it.</div></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-80626019934537517492011-03-19T11:44:00.000-07:002011-03-19T13:36:56.268-07:00Another Rant !!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSBD0DQ7UfwINNyg62ke4LdnD56rjo_7AmLEJm1SFLkt0F2eSBQi4f8b7clXVqKXgAdftAdI7_-L8LtLMa-xygLBQ5rqEbDt1nBd1vJ8RVG2sR94gilC9Sq9EGYHC8NMoHsCwzftO3xc/s1600/istockphoto_995674-group-of-people-silhouette.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSBD0DQ7UfwINNyg62ke4LdnD56rjo_7AmLEJm1SFLkt0F2eSBQi4f8b7clXVqKXgAdftAdI7_-L8LtLMa-xygLBQ5rqEbDt1nBd1vJ8RVG2sR94gilC9Sq9EGYHC8NMoHsCwzftO3xc/s200/istockphoto_995674-group-of-people-silhouette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585863922845338514" border="0" /></a> We people, can broadly be segmented into two categories. Those who cheat. And those who like to be cheated. Albeit my considerations for not generalizing this post, I very much would like to and hence I extend my apologies in advance.<br /><br />I would like to put us, women, in the latter. However, I have begun to view things a little different lately which is why I have come to believe that it is not a man's fault when he cheats us...<br />You see, the poor man does only what he's so good at! I have a certain notion that a man's brain has a special segment that is dedicated to cheating - it is this part that he uses to devise flagrant ideas and come up with new ways to cheat his partner. And the women, those I like to refer to as 'the demented souls', have a strong liking for this trait in a man. It somehow seems to me that we are easily attracted to those with such faults and hence fall for all the crap that they offer.<br />Hence, it is <span style="font-weight: bold;">OUR</span> fault when we are cheated, <span style="font-weight: bold;">OUR </span>bad for not being able to see through the fake smiles and for being so daft to believe the horse-shit!Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-28783954437323397302011-01-21T20:19:00.001-08:002011-01-21T20:47:26.112-08:00MEN - the sex that leaves me baffled !<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXzuehJMMBzzHiSGXFBa1QJxyc9cYt1_KgYiYZkV1Xz2SWXLH-qCPSVDcNCc1skt7xs-7vwgLLSU4-XN6m_5A4aL4PbNwbUApJ52_bLybft5ttvkzAip6Vib6dXxvAgpoDahyphenhyphenSnz4Ohk/s1600/confused-love.png"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicXzuehJMMBzzHiSGXFBa1QJxyc9cYt1_KgYiYZkV1Xz2SWXLH-qCPSVDcNCc1skt7xs-7vwgLLSU4-XN6m_5A4aL4PbNwbUApJ52_bLybft5ttvkzAip6Vib6dXxvAgpoDahyphenhyphenSnz4Ohk/s200/confused-love.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564863175491286834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Note: This is a sexist post and my heartiest apologies to those who do not see eye-to-eye on the subject. Well blogging is freedom of speech, no? Hence I shall use that freedom to the fullest ! </span><br /><br />I wish I could get to know men better. Understand their point of view, rip them down to plain flesh and see through them, to find out how they can make statements of undying love to one and then utter the very same, with the same conviction and the<br />same gazing intent to another?<br /><br />How can they keep their hearts rekindled with the same passion and desire-like fire as though she's the only they intend to love, touch and hold for the rest of their lives - being fully aware of the fact that it is only a matter of time before the testosterone rush guides them to another who befits the mould of what they believe to be just perfect ! And then forget her too, for another who pleases the eye, tempts the heart, embarks upon and glorifies the horizons of their fantasy...Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-34510473893509511192010-12-29T19:34:00.000-08:002010-12-29T19:36:58.272-08:00His Perception...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">My rebound had the audacity to tell me that I didn’t love my ex-fiancé. That all I looked for is mere togetherness, that I just can’t take being on my own, that I always feel the dire need to give out the love inside my heart to someone, anyone – or so he believed. That’s when my patience gave in. Who was he to judge me? Who was he to decipher my feelings for me and to try and put my personality as he saw it? What did he know of my mirth or gloom? </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> I gave a hollow laugh as I read the text message and decided to give him a piece of my mind. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I told him very clearly that because I don’t casually talk of ‘my undying love’ (as one might dramatically put it) for my ex-fiancé, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t love him.And that my having to call off the wedding was entirely based on my intuition of the future, but not because I failed to feel for him. In fact I very much love him. To this very day. And even as I write. And perhaps in the years to come too... Because when I hold another’s hand, I remember his very instinctively – the artistic fingers, the almond-like nails. Remember them so clearly, that had I been an artist, his fingers I would paint with half-closed eyes! </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And when I look in the other’s eyes, I remember his – the hazel eyes, with a grey halo. So peculiar. So enticing. And so seemingly honest! Hadn’t the faintest idea, the very eyes could lie! But to hate them? I don’t think I shall find such courage within my heart. Not today. Not ever. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And people say I love him not? Surely not, if the grass isn’t green! </p>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-87333204049899496702010-11-27T15:28:00.000-08:002010-11-27T16:20:21.749-08:00Her Question...She sent me a poem. A poem that I took as a sign of her cursing 'fate'. I told her not to do so. I told her that, we, being young and passionate are more than likely to commit mistakes. I told her that I was a living example - having planned and failed.<br /><br />I repeated to her the quote around which my life now revolves: "Man proposes, God disposes".<br /><br />I told her about my wedding dress, that now lies in cupboard, folded neatly in a box. The elegant red and gold box, I love. The one box, I would hate to see tattered and dust-ridden. The box that contains my most prized possession - the pink and grey dress I chose the embroidery for...<br />She thought I was being materialistic and she replied: "I don't want a dress! I just want to be his wife!"<br /><br />That's when I told her of the significance of that dress. To me, that dress meant a wedding. A lawful wedding, that would make him mine for the years to come. The dress that meant I would be his wife, that I would belong to him, that I would wake up next to him, that I would smell and breathe in his scent every night...Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-11003324241376339392010-11-03T15:54:00.000-07:002010-11-03T16:21:14.650-07:00Ik Nazm...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlV7lcYr553urfM5atBL-chMcbI22AiwH42RxLLAN1NprvjhBpkKGazWoAc4aLqSK6U99hIjifFdBCsuBq55XIP_0qtvgf6pmy-h6yJ2FbYYqoJ8S6Oljs30gjoGcVCPjWlz_KLBvpa5c/s1600/2497982-girl-on-the-sky-butterfly-around-her.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlV7lcYr553urfM5atBL-chMcbI22AiwH42RxLLAN1NprvjhBpkKGazWoAc4aLqSK6U99hIjifFdBCsuBq55XIP_0qtvgf6pmy-h6yJ2FbYYqoJ8S6Oljs30gjoGcVCPjWlz_KLBvpa5c/s200/2497982-girl-on-the-sky-butterfly-around-her.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535467360701644482" /></a><div style="text-align: left; ">Garr titliyaa'n ye pyaari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Karein gardishein tumhari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Tou kahen shookhiyan ye saari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Baazi ye dil ki haari...!!</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">Ye aadatein humari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Jo lagen hain tumko pyaari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Bigrri hain tumse saari,</div><div style="text-align: left; ">Phir bhi hai tumse yaari...!!</div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-49728708165845768822010-10-31T17:08:00.000-07:002010-10-31T17:40:36.516-07:00Naaz..!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyXgnT8BlokL560K_FMi2Hl4-YUR2alGsWE3WierWhQdtBe6APwszhgl68ffaSt99JChIqRY2ZRa2_29MPaM5qOc62Ro4H-qWpHi3eZDZjDqP2vMZdmg4nbVSntPFFCeR3LfFe-C2JDI/s1600/71529_160794377287999_100000723125360_340726_5718508_n.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 326px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFyXgnT8BlokL560K_FMi2Hl4-YUR2alGsWE3WierWhQdtBe6APwszhgl68ffaSt99JChIqRY2ZRa2_29MPaM5qOc62Ro4H-qWpHi3eZDZjDqP2vMZdmg4nbVSntPFFCeR3LfFe-C2JDI/s400/71529_160794377287999_100000723125360_340726_5718508_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534373967573560530" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></span></a><div style="text-align: justify;">Mujhe hai naaz lafzon pe,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jo dil k qaid khanon mein,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ubhartay aur paltay hain,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Barasnay ko taraptay hain...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mujhe hai naaz ankhon pe,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jo dil ka saath deti hain,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tumhe awaaz deti hain,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tumharey chaand chehray ki,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bohat ye daad deti hain!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Tumhare reshmi gaisuu,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Inhe betaab kertay hain,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Ru'h shadaab kertay hain,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Teri khushbu ki raa'naii,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bohat hum yaad kertay hain!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-18699736608521589642010-10-26T07:50:00.000-07:002010-10-26T07:59:24.468-07:00<b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Why do eyes dream, knowing that its just wishful thinking?</span></span></b><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">When reality hits, dreams shall change to a blur of nothingness...</span></span></b></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-70291053203867048442010-10-16T00:07:00.000-07:002010-10-18T07:30:34.517-07:00The Last Letter...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWt1aN1Oq5GhbsKsL2IowRIMwFYKJVwdahZMIWugPkT5dFd-KtRRdnqh6jgE8tzsWZhqDa1eq31HikrTatKv9ozPbWzb3YuVqxMkt6kTgWj_7UI0S15jaXHH6k3ma5zIWTKldr4byThU/s1600/Old_love_letters.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWt1aN1Oq5GhbsKsL2IowRIMwFYKJVwdahZMIWugPkT5dFd-KtRRdnqh6jgE8tzsWZhqDa1eq31HikrTatKv9ozPbWzb3YuVqxMkt6kTgWj_7UI0S15jaXHH6k3ma5zIWTKldr4byThU/s320/Old_love_letters.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528551285000513698" /></a>Dear Love,<div>So much, had I thought of a lifetime together... </div><div>That I would wake up next to you, thank my God for such a blessing, plant a kiss on your cheek and go make breakfast for you. Then, I would help you get ready for work with the hope that you shall return to my arms by the end of the day. But as a tear trickles down the contour of my face, I realize, dreams are dreams after all. Not necessarily meant to come true...</div><div><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-84530077886258393602010-09-20T18:39:00.001-07:002010-09-20T18:42:28.430-07:00How...!?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQE0v6vjlLZTjQFU0eTaenMNzpmBW8EvAilwRulHN61magWj8dDXo5fAsw5oVsjwZWR0uybuHGhUE1p5TE0VobG1Yj-u4rYjBC-Vdi8NkR53mflP0EqcwnpQ0M-ZxUyHv6QLuwai16j0/s1600/coffee+love.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQE0v6vjlLZTjQFU0eTaenMNzpmBW8EvAilwRulHN61magWj8dDXo5fAsw5oVsjwZWR0uybuHGhUE1p5TE0VobG1Yj-u4rYjBC-Vdi8NkR53mflP0EqcwnpQ0M-ZxUyHv6QLuwai16j0/s320/coffee+love.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519175553471896066" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left; ">How can a girl forget the enchanting glow of her skin or the blush that spreads upon her cheek when her beloved's name lights up her memory? How can she forget the radiant smile that plays upon her lips as she envisions the contours of his face?</div><div style="text-align: left; ">How can she forget the longing within her heart as he gently kissed her nape? How can she forget the fineness of his fingertips as they stroked her tresses and his eyes that searched the depths of her soul? </div><div><div style="text-align: left; ">How can she forget the first cup of tea that he made for her? Or the pasta that he slightly overcooked?</div><div style="text-align: left; ">If someone has the answers.... I'm the one dying to know.</div></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-63044890603730965342010-09-17T11:52:00.000-07:002010-09-17T12:04:24.406-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><b>In this life, i've learnt ... Even those who say they love u & who probably do, are not they when u need them most. In such times, i hate 'love' most.</b></span></span>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-27128311034587161602010-09-02T10:32:00.000-07:002010-09-02T10:41:58.460-07:00PriOrities in Life!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUR_EqSOXQ-D2emW7eoQp7AXYZIQ9k_Gtga1yWh3pjsy1WzZ1lGBv2_GNBCoRn17KfofPDI9EdIHx5bI67pYwLQ68TKkgkZlC_toJ8vJCG8ejKFOGTs64tPzKU9GFlSGbzEVrkIK37ol4/s1600/priorities.jpg"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUR_EqSOXQ-D2emW7eoQp7AXYZIQ9k_Gtga1yWh3pjsy1WzZ1lGBv2_GNBCoRn17KfofPDI9EdIHx5bI67pYwLQ68TKkgkZlC_toJ8vJCG8ejKFOGTs64tPzKU9GFlSGbzEVrkIK37ol4/s1600/priorities.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUR_EqSOXQ-D2emW7eoQp7AXYZIQ9k_Gtga1yWh3pjsy1WzZ1lGBv2_GNBCoRn17KfofPDI9EdIHx5bI67pYwLQ68TKkgkZlC_toJ8vJCG8ejKFOGTs64tPzKU9GFlSGbzEVrkIK37ol4/s320/priorities.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512371898262504338" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium; line-height: 19px; ">Coming to think of it, what exactly are one's priorities in life? The answer varies from person to person and is in most cases a bit too vague.We as humans, tend to change our priorities based on the difference in situations and time. But some of us like me, unfortunately, can not do so. I really wish I could. Having kept my relationship at the top-most of my priority list, I now understand the drawbacks. The foremost being "concentration." Once you lack concentration, the rest seems a haze, doesn't it?</span>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-39943702804125140072010-06-20T06:54:00.000-07:002010-07-09T05:33:33.095-07:00His Sketchbook..!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcj_KB1zODPXoWFjAyAmAZejJTm4ZLHH7Dl0iy2sPlClOcoizLr8JetFySaH5wZYAiFovj0h_PLKka1aofQgF-_1jmbUnM6MLLRY-o964-RRpbl9oJu6IuDgmU8MWCsgIQ73zWEK8IJQ/s1600/sketchbook_blank.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizcj_KB1zODPXoWFjAyAmAZejJTm4ZLHH7Dl0iy2sPlClOcoizLr8JetFySaH5wZYAiFovj0h_PLKka1aofQgF-_1jmbUnM6MLLRY-o964-RRpbl9oJu6IuDgmU8MWCsgIQ73zWEK8IJQ/s320/sketchbook_blank.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484855226021822674" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">In his sketchbook</div><div style="text-align: left;">I find, so many empty pages</div><div style="text-align: left;">That I wish time would fill</div><div style="text-align: left;">Or perhaps I could</div><div style="text-align: left;">Do it for him</div><div style="text-align: left;">So even when i'm not by his side</div><div style="text-align: left;">He could feel the warmth</div><div style="text-align: left;">Of every letter that I scribble</div><div style="text-align: left;">Across the pages that are left untouched.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I wish to be music to his ears,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The voice of his soul,</div><div style="text-align: left;">The hand that fits the spaces between his fingers.</div><div style="text-align: left;">Take away every element of emptiness,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Loneliness that lies within him-</div><div style="text-align: left;">And fill it all with a love so pure,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Purer than the smile I have,</div><div style="text-align: left;">Purer than the eyes I have...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-20882023954216360142010-06-16T06:05:00.000-07:002010-06-16T06:15:25.305-07:00Nahin Acha... !Muhabat laffz* nahi acha,<br />Chalo tabdeel krte hain...<br />Barra hi dard deta hai,<br />Boht azeeyat bhi hoti hai,<br />Kisi ko dil mein rakhne se,<br />Khalish kuch barrh si jaati hai,<br />Kisi ka hath jo thaama,<br />Vo pal mein chhoot sakta hai<br />Kisi ko apna jo jana,<br />Paraya pal mein hota hai...<br />Muhabat laffz* nahi acha,<br />Chalo tabdeel krte hain,<br />Iss jazbay ko ab se hum,<br />Chalo taqdeer kehte hain!<br /><br />* laffz = wordMaryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-58434083023142883142010-06-13T08:21:00.000-07:002010-06-13T08:43:58.541-07:00The Wedding Ring...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTq7OH60fWPwxaJa1-gYp7jFeKqpNiWxHtpMKMluDetA-HKgIaoPujxBwcR8VGocZ_hF5JKonBJ2SqXTl9U0M87f_sTe0-ZD7aA7boI5Rw6Jr_NP4-aT81XoqpwFRjQeWf0oH2CWdix8/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 216px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTq7OH60fWPwxaJa1-gYp7jFeKqpNiWxHtpMKMluDetA-HKgIaoPujxBwcR8VGocZ_hF5JKonBJ2SqXTl9U0M87f_sTe0-ZD7aA7boI5Rw6Jr_NP4-aT81XoqpwFRjQeWf0oH2CWdix8/s320/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482278816052146306" border="0" /></a>The wedding ring was similar to the one on the right.<br />However, his name was only engraved on one side...<br />He asked her why she was so keen about the placement of the name on just one side?<br />She smiled and told him that she wanted to wear the ring such that, whenever she looked at her palms, she would see his name and that whenever she raised her hand to prayer, she would see his name...<br /><br />But she never knew that time shall turn and she would be left thinking about the name engraved on her wedding ring, as she used her palm to wipe the tears on her face.Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-51267469252303195152010-06-04T10:54:00.000-07:002010-06-04T10:56:41.484-07:00A Random Thought...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: tahoma, verdana, Helvetica, arial; font-size: 12px; color: rgb(77, 77, 77); letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 17px; word-spacing: 2px; ">I'm of the point-of-view that bitter words hurt far less than the sweet ones that were said out of love, but were never acted upon... I feel tears sting my eyes when I read something out of the past, where every letter holds intense emotions that stab at my heart. I then question myself: 'Why does one say things he/she never mean?' But I guess that's how it goes... when you're in love, it feels like you've the world in your hand & everything else seems hazy. At that point, you say things out of passion but as time goes by, the passion seems to fly out of the window. And then you're left with several stupid msgs in your cell phone that remind you of what you once felt.</span>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-57382016936123646092010-05-31T11:26:00.000-07:002010-05-31T12:24:31.419-07:00Ankhon Mein !<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiC23C74bkhtuAEMhpyqMHqH52yGaVms8juhJ4TNYIZZ2Xeg1FNeTaNhKW4sHqm6NV8G0nT_V5RSqjqQI5sda2zGZ1BctEJRvW_1dF_vL1xazu880r6kkjGUUQsdhGy6KK57hUBXzXli4/s1600/Eyes.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 209px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiC23C74bkhtuAEMhpyqMHqH52yGaVms8juhJ4TNYIZZ2Xeg1FNeTaNhKW4sHqm6NV8G0nT_V5RSqjqQI5sda2zGZ1BctEJRvW_1dF_vL1xazu880r6kkjGUUQsdhGy6KK57hUBXzXli4/s320/Eyes.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477516243797160578" /></a>Neend aati kahan hai ankhon mein, <div>Jaagta mera jahan hai ankhon mein..</div><div><br /></div><div>Khushk koozey liye phirtay ho,</div><div>Dekho aab-e-rawaa'n hai hai ankhon mein..</div><div><br /></div><div>Aatish-e-hijr mei jaltey jaltey,</div><div>Boht sa dhuaa'n hai ankhon mein..</div><div><br /></div><div>Ik yehi aas salamat rakhna, </div><div>Vasl ka gumaa'n hai ankhon mein..</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-90509808432718127952010-05-31T11:03:00.000-07:002010-05-31T11:14:47.807-07:00Ghazal !Shab ki ra'naiyaan hen pukaren usko,<div>Sab hi veraniyaan hen pukaren usko...</div><div><br /></div><div>Vo jo zehn-o-dil mei sama sa gaya hai,</div><div>Meri parchaiyaan hen pukaren usko...</div><div><br /></div><div>Sukoon-o-qaraar sab le gaya hai voh,</div><div>Ajab betaabiyaan hen pukaren usko...</div><div><br /></div><div>Ye um'r, aur shaukh-e-tanha safri, </div><div>Ku dil ki galiyaan hen pukaren usko...</div><div><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-363560353396086159.post-11588785691841560132010-05-23T15:15:00.000-07:002010-05-23T15:50:29.727-07:00Dost..!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlM3DEC_Q9kQxf7Z9yKnaW7blrNbFR1CC9eEqe3NOtMgyizAHlb5Z8xZdz8bUq7haCy2851wqAMOgY8KskHJEhs2Ys0xO5Al2ig7B2rXDXcfDQ4ykBk4jdMdysa0VGStW0hI4QrnR59w/s1600/cute.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghlM3DEC_Q9kQxf7Z9yKnaW7blrNbFR1CC9eEqe3NOtMgyizAHlb5Z8xZdz8bUq7haCy2851wqAMOgY8KskHJEhs2Ys0xO5Al2ig7B2rXDXcfDQ4ykBk4jdMdysa0VGStW0hI4QrnR59w/s320/cute.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474601323066557474" /></a><br />Meri zindagi k iss safar mei<div>Ik dost aisa mila mujhe</div><div>Meine jiska haath thaam kr</div><div>Usey apna 'Khuda' maan kr</div><div>Ik naya safar shru kia</div><div>Jal utha chahat ka dia</div><div>Phr wehshato'n ne janam lia</div><div>Mujhe betaha'sha bekal kia</div><div>Meine socha usko keh hi dun</div><div>Jo kashmakash zehn-o-dil mei hai</div><div>Phr khayal ayaa ke</div><div>Yun usay na pareshaa'n karon</div><div>Haal-e-dil bayaa'n karon</div><div>Ya ussay kuch na kahon?</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Maryumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07447474678360226791noreply@blogger.com5