ASK
ME
ANYTHING

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"Because this song doesn't make any sense."

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— % &Not every moon hides in the crack,
some moons lend themselves
to other half moons.
Like a blood clot
through which pus seeps out
which we hide beneath our veils:
What we mistake as an injury
is actually the 'something'
that heals us,
that makes us alive again.
Look at my hand, the deep palmlines
don't bleed anymore,
the blood has condensed,
the moon is out of the void now,
looking for itself in the other half moon.
— % &

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And at the end, no matter how many people I love, how many people I lose, how many people I stay away from, my heart remains mine. My love would always make someone cry.

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Chaand mujh mai uljha raha, mai chand mai. Phir ek surkh shab aayi, chaand ki ragoñ se lahu baha.
Ek shamaa ki roshni mujhe apne saath baha le gayi. Mai maum bann chuki hu aaj.

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Jinki raat hoti thi humare naqoosh tarashte tarashte
Wo aankhien aaj humai pehchan'ne mai dokha kha gayi

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I want to spill the colours of my heart in front of someone but I'm afraid, I'm too afraid that my pink will look like purple and my orange like red. And that's what happens too, I end up calling them blind.
Every night when I put myself to sleep, I think of the one who recognises my magenta and tangerine even when I don't know about those shades of mine. But maybe God has destined some things the other way, He snatches away the people who can precisely see the colours of your heart so that you can see them yourself. My eyes are blind, my eyes are blind. I runaway from people because they can't determine the difference between those colours. The reality is I don't want them to see my colours.

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If I bought you flowers,
would you count the thorns in it
the way you count them in me?— % &You pluck my petals
to decide your luck.
Yes. No. Yes. No.
And it ends up as,
"Oh I forgot!
Did I pluck the last petal
on yes or no?"
You grab the thorns tightly
and complain that I
made your skin bleed.
You look away from me,
eyes full of rage,
the last petal that had shed
crumbles beneath your feet.


©Amaara— % &

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مجھ سے محبت نہیں کی جا سکتی

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Of broken mirrors and lost shadows

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