Too Many

TW: War, Death, Decay, and something akin to loss of a child

It is too big for me to process. I was awake when news broke here in the West. I had gone through three cups of coffee which, whilst decaffeinated, still gave me enough of a buzz - and then did a load of laundry with staggered drying times.

The coffee was for the flavonoids. I am still in a state of deep grieving in the wake of the death of a kitty and am experiencing many symptoms of PTSD as a result.

This was all too much.

So I was awake for that breaking news icon. When was the last time that we lost that many people in one day? One of the attacks in Afghanistan? Nigeria? A day in Yemen under American bombs dropped by Saudi jets? These are people, all of them; and I was awake when their lives were snuffed out.

A type of poem known in then-colonised India as a nazm, by famous poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

Don’t Ask Me for That Love Again, My Beloved
Mujhse pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maang

mein ne samjha tha kay tu hai to darakhshaan hai hayaat
tera gham hai to gham-e-dahar ka jhagdra kya hai
teri surat se hai aalam mein bahaaron ko sabaat
teri aankhon ke sivaa duniya mein rakkha kya hai
tu jo mil jaaye to taqdir niguun ho jaaye
yun na tha mein ne faqat chahaa tha yun ho jaaye

I had thought if I had you, life would shine eternally on me
If I had your sorrows, those of the universe would mean nothing
Your face would bring permanence to every spring
What is there but your eyes to see in the world anyway
If I found you, my fate would bow down to me
This was not how it was, it was merely how I wished it to be

anaginat sadiyon ki taarik bahimanaa talism
resham-o-atalas-o-kamkhvaab mein bunavaaye huye
jaa-ba-jaa bikate huye kuuchaa-o-baazaar mein jism
khaak mein lithade huye khuun mein nahalaaye huye

The dreadful magic of uncountable dark years
Woven in silk, satin and brocade
In every corner are bodies sold in the market
Covered in dust, bathed in blood

jism nikale huye amaraaz ke tannuuron se
piip bahatii hu_ii galate huye naasuuron se
laut jaati hai udhar ko bhi nazar kyaa kije
ab bhi dilkash hai tera husn magar kya kije

Bodies retrieved from the cauldrons of disease
Discharge flowing from their rotten ulcers
Still returns my gaze in that direction, what can be done
Even now your beauty is tantalizing, but what can be done

aur bhii dukh hain zamaane mein mohabbat ke sivaa
raahaten aur bhi vasl ki raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pehli si mohabbat meray mehbub na maang

There are other heartaches in the world than those of love
There is happiness other than the joy of union
Don't ask me for that love again, my beloved.

I've added the words "my beloved" to the translation lovingly produced by Dr Amanullah De Sondy, Senior Lecturer of Contemporary Islam at University College Cork.

If I Wait

If I were to wait until I regain good health before I start to live, I might never live.

Safe from Carcinogenic Windmills

I have been marked safe from windmill cancer. The meme is an image in the style of Facebook's disaster check-ins.

A Tale of Two Spoons

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. A shower in Struggle City, followed by brushing of teeth with Just Barely. Forgetting, then remembering - and finally, at the end of it all, realising just how thirsty one has been.

But it isn't the end. There is still so much more to do. It is just that the spoons ran out with the brushing of the teeth.

There Are Not April Fools Jokes

April Fools Reminder on  multi-colour background in the style of waves. Magenta, blue, yellow, and repeat.

Don't joke about
- mental illness/suicide
- coming out
- pregnancy
- cheating/breaking up
- cancer/terminal illness
- sexual assault

My additions:
- abuse
- exploitation