grief
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یہ رات اُس درد کا شجر ہے There are some poems that do not arrive all at once. They unfold slowly, almost reluctantly, revealing themselves differently each time they are read. This poem by Faiz Ahmed Faiz has remained like that for me. It does not demand attention. It stays, and over time, it deepens.…
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A resident described the family as misdirected anger. It was a phrase that let everyone move on quickly. But standing at that bedside, watching a family ask the same question for the fourth time, I kept thinking about the word misdirected. As if there were a more appropriate place to point their anguish.