Agha Shahid Ali's Homage to Faiz

“You are welcome to make your

adaptations of my poems.”

1

You wrote this from Beirut, two years before

the Sabra-Shatila massacres. That

city’s refugee-air was open, torn

by jets and the voices of reporters. As

always you were witness to “rains of stones,”

though you were away from Pakistan, from

the laws of home which said that the hands of

thieves would be surgically amputated.

But the subcontinent always spoke to

you:

Corporate Metaphors That I Hate (AKA A Summary of My Life Since July)

• "[there are different ways to] skin the cat" -- shudder
• anything about moving cheese 
• "Let's take a step back." 
• honorable mention after I've had to hear it 500x a day 
• "sniff test"
• The Kimono Metaphor

This will be a working list.

پرانی یادیں

"Old memories"

My grandmother is/was very ill (getting better) so my siblings and I very quickly put together an album of photos for her. I purchased gold leaf and tried to use it--pretty clumsily, as you can tell--and did this after I got home from work today (so in the past two hours, haha). Unfortunately, the ink on the calligraphy got smudged. The album cover, as you can imagine, isn't the most tactile surface.

Some Poems and a Picture

Shahjahan Masjid in Thatta, July 2017

Nowhere, nowhere at all, is any trace of blood Not on the murderer’s hands, fingernails or sleeve No blood reddens the tongue of the blade nor brighten the tip of the spear No blood marks the soil or stains the rooftop  Nowhere, nowhere at all, is any trace of blood  

This blood wasn’t shed in the services of kings that it could receive recompense Nor was it sacrificed at the altar of religion that it could be rewarded Neither did it spill on in the battlefield that it could be honoured Or memorialized on a battle standard 

It cried out, this helpless, orphaned blood But none had the ability to listen, nor the time, nor the patience No plaintiff stepped forward, no one bore witness and so the account was closed While the blood of the dirt-dwellers seeped silently into the dirt

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

(Very Belated) Ramadan Kareem

I have had a very stressful few months and I've now just returned from a two week vacation. It may be leftover vacation satisfaction, but I've realized that, actually, things are going pretty well right now. I don't want to stay like this permanently, but I have the means to travel, time for myself, time with my parents and siblings, time to read, and time to watch Calikusu. I am very lucky.

I Have a Seat in the Abandoned Theater

by Mahmoud Darwish, trans. Fady Joudah

Can You Spot the Shadow?

Some people didn't find the making of very entertaining and instead preferred to do other things...

(It looks like this is going to turn into a cat blog.)

Anyway, I hope certain government orgs (*cough N... S...) don't hold this against me--I swear, I only drew this for aesthetic purposes!

I've noticed that my reed pens from Turkey are far superior to the bamboo ones I got from Pakistan. Well, everyone says reed>bamboo but I needed to see it for myself--it also helps justify the higher cost for the reed pens.