A poem

by Faiz Ahmed Faiz

That which then was ours, my love,

don’t ask me for that love again.

The world then was gold, burnished with light –

and only because of you. That’s what I had believed.

How could one weep for sorrows other than yours?

How could one have any sorrow but the one you gave?

So what were these protests, these rumours of injustice?

A glimpse of your face was evidence of springtime.

The sky, whenever I looked, was nothing but your eyes.

If you’d fall into my arms, Fate would be helpless.

All this I’d thought, all this I’d believed.

But there were other sorrows, comforts other than love.

The rich had cast their spell on history:

dark centuries had been embroidered on brocades and silks.

Bitter threads began to unravel before me

as I went into alleys and in open markets

saw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood.

I saw them sold and bought, again and again.

This too deserves attention. I can’t help but look back

when I return from those alleys – what should one do?

And you are still so ravishing – what should I do?

There are other sorrows in this world,

comforts other than love.

Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.


Existential Crisis

I am seriously considering the possibility that I am facing an existential crisis recently. Now, some people associate an existential crisis with depression or sadness. Given that the term actually has the word “crisis” in it (how much more melodramatic can it get?), I don’t particularly feel really down. I have just been thinking about how sad life actually is! I mean sure, you get to experience the joys and battles of life, but come to think of it, in the long run, nothing ever really matters. It doesn’t matter if you like someone, it doesn’t matter if you hate someone, and it doesn’t matter whether you slave away trying to make things “better” for yourself and the world. Why give in to material pleasures? And I don’t even say this in a preach-y kind of way. I just really want to know why evolution resulted us in getting a brain and body that just can’t be satisfied. There needs to be more, more, more, better, and we even pursue the best. In this way, I believe that the human brain and our level of consciousness is counter-productive. Maybe we are still evolving, but into what? A species with a higher level of consciousness? For now, I shall just entertain the belief that life is a passing moment, and it doesn’t really mean anything in the long term, which is a pretty sad note to finish on!