just weight.
Not the kind you cry about the kind that presses on your soul so long you forget it was ever meant to be light.
I hve built a home in this emptiness. Not because i like it but because leaving would require remembering who i was before the dark.
Survival is not peace. Its just pain dressed in routine. And i have been living inside that illusion so long i have forgotten how to want more.
Inside, I carry rooms no ones entered.
Hallways echoing with things i never said.
Every “Iam fine” is wallpaper over cracked walls and i have become an architect of survival that looks like peace.
There are nights inside me that no dawn can reach.Nights that never end just change shape
A grin. A nod. A "iam fine."
You see the mask. I live the weight.
I have been to places where light doesnt live.
Not corners of a map but caverns of the soul where even silence echoes too loud to bear.
You think you know pain?
Pain is easy to name when it screams.
Mine whispers....
Peace is what forms when you stop needing to forget. When your past stops owning your breath and instead walks beside you, quiet and understood. Thats real peace. Not the absence of pain but the presence of you whole and breathing, after everything tried to erase you… and failed.
This is what Peace Is Made Of.
Dont be fooled peace is not soft. Its not silence or stillness or some quiet field untouched by pain. Peace is forged. Its hammered out of the wreckage of every version of you that didnt survive. Its made from the sleepless nights the words you never got to say the grief that wrapped itself around your spine like it wanted to live inside you.
Its built from tears no one saw, and the rage you buried deep because there was never room to fall apart. Peace doesnt arrive when the pain disappears it comes when you have sat with that pain long enough to learn its name. When you have looked at the ruins of everything you thought you were and whispered “I’m still here.”
اللّٰہ کا دیا ہوا درد ایک تدبیر ہے اپنے بندے کیلیئے۔۔۔
Even in my burning eyes a small mirror hides the lies. This curl of hair dark and strange holds a promise twisted sharp and strange. My hands reach for things i should not touch a quiet fire that burns too much. Ego and soul together blind dragging a shadow i cannot leave behind.
I wound you and i bleed myself yet leaving you would be my death. Iam a storm you cannot cage but i return again and again enraged. Every whisper cuts every touch consumes iam addicted to the way this madness blooms. I fall into you like a violent tide hating the hurt loving it inside. Iam chained to you by my own desire a soul set on fire an ego of wire. The world may flee but i cannot go I love you too much and it destroys me so much. A sudden thoughts!
I burned with the fire of a restless seeker loved with the heart that knows no bounds bled from wounds only silence can heal and rose on wings forged in solitude.
Sometimes the best move is simply to stay quiet and clear to float like a calm in the void of chaos.
Not every step needs to shout to pierce the noise some cut deep in the stillness of longing.
nothing sharp nothing loud nothing held only the endless flow that never stops.
The stars do not guide him they remember him. They recall the moment he chose to carry the fire instead of letting it die the moment he stepped beyond redemption not to seek forgiveness but to become the one who remembers what others are too afraid to feel.
And still, still the moon watches not with pity but with reverence. For even she ancient and cold cannot look away from the thing he has become. Not a wound but a reckoning. Not a question but the answer the dark has been whispering to itself since the beginning that some fires are not lit to warm but to reveal what was hidden in the cold.
He does not speak for words are too small to hold what lives inside him. Language would only betray it reduce it to something graspable and there is nothing about him meant to be grasped. He is not a man in the way men are understood but a fracture in the fabric of time stitched together by pain and memory and the weight of a thousand unspoken prayers. The wind moves around him like a priest before an altar afraid to touch yet drawn to worship.
Every scar on his skin tells a story the universe tried to erase. And yet here he stands not as proof of survival but as defiance carved into form.
It pierces him tears through flesh and story to carve out the human from the ashes of the past. This light does not heal it reveals. And revelation is a kind of death for the self that clung to illusion. His eyes canyons of flame speak in a language even demons fear, demons who were born from the screams of dying stars and shaped in the void between worlds, creatures who have never known mercy and yet tremble before the truth burning in his gaze. . The mountain trembles not because of the man but because of the silence within him a silence older than the stars. And still, the moon gives herself to him each ray a sacrifice as if saying I will burn if it awakens the soul you buried beneath your name...
In the middle of the night when everything is quiet and even silence seems to be listening he stands alone. He is a man shaped by darkness and storms standing under the clear full light of the moon. He does not just look at the moon but gives himself to it completely as if the moon is not just something in the sky but a reflection that remembers everything he has tried to forget. His eyes are not just eyes but seem like rivers of fire filled with the sorrow of many lifetimes. Yet behind that fire there is something new trying to be born like a child rising out of sadness. The moonlight touches his skin not softly but with a sharp truth that refuses to stay hidden.
کل کا سایا آج بھی میری روح کے گرد گردش کرتا ہے
جیسے وقت نے کسی سنسان مکان میں میری تصویر ٹانگ دی ہو
جہاں ہر دیوار میری خاموش چیخ بن چکی ہے
اور ہر کھڑکی سے بس گہری خاموشی جھانکتی ہے
میں وہ سفر ہوں جو خودی کی تلاش میں نکلا تھا
مگر منزل کی راہوں میں کہیں اپنا آپ کھو بیٹھا
ہر موڑ پر کوئی سوال ملا
مگر ہر جواب نے ایک اور سوال کی صورت دھار لی
ایک پوشیدہ آواز تھی جو مسکراہٹ کی تہہ سے گونجتی تھی
جیسے کوئی چیخ جو زبان سے نہ نکلے مگر دل پر نقوش چھوڑ جائے
کیا میں اب بھی وہی ہوں جو کل تھا
یا بس گزرے ہوئے لمحوں کا بے رنگ مجموعہ
یا یادوں کے زہر میں ڈوبا ہوا ایک سایہ
جو اپنی روح سے اتنا ہی دور ہے جتنا کوئی ویران کمرہ اپنی کھڑکی سے باہر کی دنیا سے
یا میں وہ دعا ہوں جس کا شجر کبھی نہ پھلا
جو اپنے درد کو الفاظ کا گلاب نہ دے سکا
Every hope hides for a while in a cool shade i feel a distance from myself like a stranger searching for their own destination but the paths are so tangled and the goal so far away that with every step i lose myself. This loneliness walks beside me and silence becomes my truest friend yet within this distance there is a light that teaches me to keep moving a light that reminds me every lonely road leads somewhere...
Dragged Into a Quiet Sadness Today.
Not born from a moment but from something older
a silence i carry beneath every breath. My hands felt like they forgot how to hold warmth and the sky above vast and glittering felt like a cold cathedral of things that will never know me. There was no grief loud enough to name just a still dark ache where even my shadow felt far.
Once Muzan said: Love a pathetic illusion.
It makes humans weak, distracted, desperate. I dont need love. I need control, power, immortality!
سلطانِ دین ہو آپ، رہنماِ راہ ہو آپ
حیدرِ حق ہو آپ، نورِ دل و جہ ہو آپ
پیرِ طریقت ہو آپ، دریاِ ولایت ہو آپ
ہر اندھیرے کا نور ہو، رہبرِ ہدایت ہو آپ
ذکرِ الہیٰ کا نور ہو، بولتا قرآن ہو آپ
بابُ العلم ہو آپ، سرورِ کائنات(ﷺ) کے داماد ہو آپ
فاطمہ زہراء کے سر تاج ہو آپ، نبی(ﷺ)
لاڈلے ابو تراب ہو آپ
مولائے کائنات، امیرُ المؤمنین، حیدرِ کرار
حضرتِ امام علی علیہ السلام ہو آپ
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