show's over, goodbye.

"to be a woman is to perform" and some more propaganda we've bought

the hour of confession has arrived.

so let me narrate a tale, my dear audience.

you might need to hold on, a little tight.

here’s exactly how this story flows.

and well, goes on—but now, without a fight.

hopefully.

---

tonight, there’s a girl on the pedestal again.

She’s been spinning without pause—its been a couple of hours now.

this current performance is the last one for the night, and then she’ll go home and try to get some aaraam.

(rest)*

Tum Kahan Jao Gay Socho Mohsin?

Log Thakk Haar Kay Ghar Jatey Hein.

Where will you go? think, O Mohsin!

People, when exhausted, go back to their “home”.

---

But then comes this moment,

when she sinks to the floor, mid-performance.

And the breath of the audience suddenly comes to a halt.

Ho parh parh ilm te faazil hoya

Te kaday apnay aap nu parhya na

You read and read and became a scholar,

But never once did you read yourself.

Ho bhaj bhaj warna ay mandir maseeti

Te kaday mann apnay wich wareya naa

You ran to every temple and mosque,

But never once did you enter your own soul.

---

the spotlight flickers.

the claps fade.

she takes a bow—not asking for applause,

But only because, the show’s over now.

Huay sabb safar hi aaj tamaam meray,

phir ek musafir ka iss duniya par aur kya hi kaam bachay?

All my journeys ended today,

So what purpose is left for a traveler in this world anymore?

---

don’t ask why the show is over. It just is. Its gone now, done and dusted.

and this time around, shes making sure of that.

oh, how she wishes to just stick around.

اب کے ہم بچھڑے تو شاید کبھی خوابوں میں ملیں

جس طرح سوکھے ہوئے پھول کتابوں میں ملیں

this time around when separation comes,

a field of dreams is the only place where we’ll ever meet.

like dried flowers in a forgotten notebook,

that is my beloved, how we will meet.

---

eyes lined with kajal, eyes that enrapture every passerby’s heart tonight.

Spinning in such heels,that leave her taller than every other person she shrinks herself for at times.

Lips smeared red,

some say it is her own blood.

And some just regard her as besharam aurat and move forward.

(shameless woman)*

Tere ishq main jo bhi doob gaya

Usay duniya ki lehron se darna kya?

Whoever drowns in your love, oh beloved,

what good are this worlds hardships? they cant maim that soul again.

---

okay sorry, i keep getting carried away.

so yes— performance done. time to walk out.

no one stands at the door this time.

and maybe she’s okay with that tonight,

for the very first time in her entire life.

Gehrayi main jitna bhi jaoon

Tujhko paas main utna hi paoon

The lower I go within the depths,

The closer I find you, o lover of mine!

---

Maybe tomorrow she’ll wake up and write something tragic. Turn this into art as well.

maybe she’ll paint a picture on the walls— a rather disturbing one perhaps— but a picture nonetheless.

And then, more spectators will arrive.

Some will have a residence there; short-term,

And soon it’ll be itself again— the abandoned home.

They’ll leave her with another reason to make art.

But this time maybe, the art will be the wings she aims to grow.

maybe it’ll be the ground that swallows her— body and soul.

Jisse dariya ka paani jeevan dey

Ussay duniya ki lehron se darna kya?

One who is sustained by the grand river’s water,

Why would they fear the waves of this world?

---

and maybe the cycle will stop here.

no more vulnerability.

that’ll be the lesson the younger generation learns.

but who are we kidding?

did we learn?

did our parents?

did their parents?

no.

آئے کچھ ابر، کچھ شراب آئے

اس کے بعد آئے جو عذاب آئے

Should the heavens relent,

should some wine be on call.

I wouldn't care, if every calamity

rained down upon me now!

---

So you see, point is—

they say its healthy to turn your pain into art.

But what they really want is for you—

to bleed for their own gallery’s wall.

The mess of you becomes nothing, but a facade.

Some semblance of a showcased art.

And for a while, you go along.

But then you remember,

this duniya is nothing short of a circus that we’re all a part of.

Saanu ghayal karke murh khabar na laaiyaa

Tere ishq nachaiya kar thaiyaa thaiyaa thaiyaa

Leaving me hurt, my beloved does not return my affections

His love spins me around, like i’m a madman myself.

---

the dunya? its filled with spectators, and in urdu we call them: “تماشائی”,those who watch your misery and applaud.

and all they do, is just that.

because that’s all that they can do for you.

And that’s all we do too, when the tables turn.

---

alright enough, let me get this over with now.

tell me, oh beloved muse—are you watching me right now, this one time?

Tell me, does my pain look like an alluring piece of art—to you, tonight?

اب کے ہم بچھڑے تو شاید لفظوں میں ملیں

جنہیں کوئی اور اپنی نظم سمجھے اور ہم سمجھنے بھی دیں

If we part this time, maybe we’ll meet in words—

claimed by someone else as their poem—and we won’t even correct them again.

---

the thing is—

tonight, i step off of the stage.

اب کے ہم بچھڑے تو شاید آنکھیں کسی آئینے میں ملیں

دھندلے عکس میں , دنیا کی نظروں سے پرے

If we part this time, maybe our eyes will meet in a mirror next

with a fogged-up reflection, far beyond the reach of everyone else.

---

“To be a woman is to perform” But i think its about time we stop.

اب کے ہم بچھڑے تو شاید خواب بھی نہ رہیں

بس اک تھکن ہو اور تُو یاد بھی نہ آئے

if we part this time, maybe even dreams won’t remain—

may exhaustion prevail and all your memories derail.

---

thankyou for your time.

show’s over now.

please get out.

Bas kareen ho yaar

Ilm-oun bas kareen ho yaar

Ik Alif teray darkaar,

Alif teray darkaar,

haqq.

Let it end, my friend.

all you ever needed was just one of the two Alif’s

and that is the truth of divine.

---

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the woman on the cover is Kubra Khan in “alif” as husn e jahan. i absolutely adore her character.