In a day's time

 In a day's time
(inspired by a similar poem of Pablo Neruda called "What happens in a day")

The world changes in a day's time.

In mere twenty-four hours
People give and receive flowers
The world is turned upside down
The smile, the laugh turns into a frown
A child is born, as another dies
A war starts and decimates many lives
Some laugh out loud, some suffer and cry
In the midst of a calamity
Some give up, others struggle and try.

The world changes in a day's time.

In a span of few hours
Some gain, some lose power
Old lovers part ways
She leaves, he stays
Friends become enemies, enemies friends
Passions grow cold, loyalties descend
All crack and crumble, nothing to share
No love, no warmth and no such thing as care
Feelings, trust, hope and all the beliefs
Fall and fade away like dead autumn leaves.

The world changes in a day's time.

In a day, our dreams come true
Our fears realized, and doubts renewed
Bringing mirth and joy for you and for me
Horror and grief, that's also for you and for me
Yesterday, it was all bright and sunny
But today, it's all grey and gloomy
Oh, the terrible power, the unsettling content
Of an uncertain, unpredictable moment!

So many things change in a day's time.

The old man in his ancient rocking chair
Tracing all with his tired, sunken eyes
Sits in his porch, the sun in his shriveled hair
As if defying time
He sits and he sits, looking firm, looking wise
Then one day, he's gone, no longer there
And you hear the news of his sudden demise.

On a sad November day
Lost in thoughts all the way
You walk home from work
As you turn the familiar corner
In a dull, almost mechanical manner
A sudden void, a colorless emptiness
Hits your eyes, shattering the sameness
Trying to make sense, you freeze and you heave
Gone is the giant tree, the treasure of the town
The storehouse of memories, the king with a crown
Gone! Gone with all its gamboge autumn leaves

The world changes in a day's time.

Life, Oh, life!
It has its own crazy, tragicomic ways
Disrupting plans, condemning and redeeming
Affirming and denying, all the games that it plays
What's it all about you wonder, what's the meaning
Of all the paradoxes, the contradictions
That happen in such a short time, in a day's time
You wonder, but its neither truth nor fiction
Oh, how the world changes in such a short time---in a day's time.

For more, click: The Revolution, The Force of Habit

Pakistan: The Revolution Will Not be Televised, will not be TikToked

 

The "revolution" in Pakistan (2023)

"The revolution will not be televised, brother."   

                                                                         Gil Scott-Heron (1971)
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The revolution will not be televised
It will not be on X or Facebook
Nor on Instagram, YouTube or Tiktok
It will not be brought to you
By the smug hordes of Youthiya, or
The ugly swarms of Patwari Bootiya
Nor by the secular keyboard warriors, or
The farting, jihadi maskharas--Sunni or Shia.

The revolution will not be televised brother
It will not be brought to you
By the depraved, navel-gazing narcissists
Role models of corruption, vile opportunists
The stars, celebrities and the influencers
The fashionistas, Coke Studio and PSL scum
Irredeemably conceited and comfortably numb.

The revolution will not be televised at all.

Listen! Listen you bamboozled clowns!
You can't have your cake and eat it, too
You cannot have your change a la "tsunami"

As you lust after haram naan qeema, dog meat biryani

And no honor, no respect, no dignity and dreams

For the addicted with Internet porn and TikTok memes

The revolution will never be televised brothers

As long as the television remains
The tool of choice of the Shudra khaki oppressors
There will be no pictures of Pindi pigs 

No pictures of them shooting the innocent
Of kidnappings and disappearings

Of torturing and murdering.

And there will be no Sharmeen Obaid docudramas, either
Those despicable spectacles of self-loathing nativists
Exclusively made for the liberal gaze, to soothe

The guilty conscience of the crypto-racists
To comfort and to please

The genocidal Universal White Imperialists.

The revolution will not be televised brother
It will not be televised
It will not be Tiktoked
It won't be Facebooked, nor YouTubed.

 

Short, short: The mighty indomitable force of habit

St. Simeon Stylites (ca. 390-459)

The mighty indomitable force of habit

 “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then is not an act but a habit.”  Aristotle

habit, (n). An established custom. A thing that you do often and almost without thinking, especially something that is hard to stop doing.

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St. Simeon Stylites (ca.390-459), the first of the stylites (or pillar ascetics), was born on the Syrian border of Cilicia. After spending many years in practicing severe mortifications first as a monk at a monastery and then as a hermit on the Mount Teleanissae near Antioch, where the fame of his sanctity began to attract huge crowds, he erected and mounted a pillar to escape them and remained until his death in the greatest austerity on the top of it, which was gradually increased up to a height of sixty feet. Greatly venerated as a holy man, he by preaching and personal intercourse exercised considerable influence upon the world of his time, converted many, and was listened to and consulted by all, from emperors and prelates to commoners, not only from the Middle and Near East but even from far countries in France and Spain.

The Indian traditionalist writer A.K. Saran in one his books (Takamori Lectures: The Crisis of Mankind) mentions him and his piety and then proceeds to add his own commentary in the form of an "episodic fiction" as follows:

Once when a country west far from Antioch was facing a terrible famine, the priest there prayed and got an oracular message to the effect that if St. Simeon comes down from his pillar to their city, it will end the famine. A number of high ranking emissaries were sent to the Saint by the king to persuade him to condescend to come down to the city for saving the country. He, however, went on refusing and remained adamant to their entreaties. The king then was advised to look for and engage the most charming lady in and around the country and ask her to lure the Saint to the city.

The lady with this grave mission approached the Saint and did everything to captivate him. The Saint, having endured this severest trial to the extreme point, at last gave way to the temptation and admitted that he got fascinated by her beauty and fell in love with her. When the lady, exalted and overjoyed at her success, accordingly, requested him to leave the pillar and go away with her, the Saint, however, ruled it out. And on this last point alone she could never induce him to accept. The beautiful charmer returned to the country crestfallen to report to the king the unexpected failure of the mission.

All this time, the Devil was active behind in bringing about the Saint's fall. Just when the Devil triumphantly thought the Saint had fallen, to his utter surprise the "No" of the Saint resounded in his ears. The Devil thus finally himself appeared before the Saint to confess his devilish designs and apologize---the Saint forgave him. The Devil then begged the Saint to answer one question as his last favor: how did he avert the seemingly inevitable fall at the last moment?

"By the mighty indomitable force of habit", came the reply.

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habit, (n.).

h-a-b-i-t. Remove the "h" and you still have "a bit". Remove the "h" and "a" and you are left with "bit" of it. Remove the "h", "a", and "b" and you still have "it".

Man is a creature of habit, but which can take him on either of the paths: one leading to heaven, and the other straight to hell. The choice is always ours.