Just Close Your Eyes

Deceived by my eyes and all I was told I should see
Opinions not mine, the person they taught me to be
One night in the dark, a vision of someone I knew
And in the darkness I saw, a voice say, I’m you.
Inside me a light was turned on
Then I was alive

Qurat-ul-Ain Haider was my introduction to Urdu literature when I was 17ish(and unbashedly a Whitman fangirl). It tweaked and rearranged the way I looked at fiction and writing in Indian languages.
Thank You.
The question still refusing to abandon my about-to-OD-on-cafeine-psyche is how relevant and potentially useful it is to force-feed a bunch of Sub-continent kids huddled in sweat-infested and rickety old rooms,  “The Wasteland” and breeding Lilacs or whatever other kind of flower it was? And why do my cousins have to think that Maya Angelou is Oprah’s “grandmother or something”?

My chutzpah and my ability for apperception etcetra are threatened substantially. Do you hear me? Substantially, I say.

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~ by iconoplastic on August 21, 2007.

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