Can we still be categorised as humans?
Or do we need a new name for the phenomenon we have become?
Can we still be categorised as humans?
Or do we need a new name for the phenomenon we have become?

What is that a shape in the mirror behind the candle? Gah, just candle smoke! I should just snuff the stupid thing so I can get some sleep, but I can’t make myself. The candle is almost at its end anyway.
The ancient bed creaks every time I turn, and I curse the moment I accepted this inheritance–old, long-lost and in the middle of nowhere. Sure, it is pretty during the day with all its carved wooden panels, but at night, it is plain scary. My boring job in the city is better than the night-long agitation; jumping in the dark at every sound this old house makes.
Pipes groan every now and then. Windows I probably missed closing somewhere in the house rattle loudly. Is it windy outside? I can’t it feel it here in my room with the windows closed and curtains on. Floorboards pitter-patter with tiny feet–I need mouse traps by the dozen, it seems.
That smoke in the mirror–is that a face? Is it sneering at me?
My insides quiver with a chill unrelated to the weather. I need sleep. No, I need to get out of this ghost house. I will drive back home tomorrow morning and sell off this place. Who wants to live inside a horror show? No electricity, no company. At this rate, I will go insane in a couple of days.
That sneer in the mirror…that candle smoke…are those canine teeth really growing?
Oh! The candle’s burnt out! I should have lighted a new one while there was still light. Now, where is that torch?
Damn! Where is that bloody cellphone?
Fine, I will just open the curtains.
I stumble in the darkness to the nearest window and pull the curtains open, avoiding looking outside in the wilderness. Silver moonlight filters in to show the smoke gone from the candle.
The sneer with canines still lingers…
I think once Trump did say something that made sense and it was not bullying…
I just can’t recall it. 🤔
…Sorry, must have been a burp!
Why do we always have perfect answers to the questions not directed to us?
Andhero me doobi thi jinki shaame,
Surkh seher ka intezar karte hain;
Samandar ne pyasa chhoda jin maikash ko,
Teri ek nazar ka intezar karte hain.
.
Saaki koste h husn wale ko,
Baadakash ishare pe jaam chhodte hain,
Dilbar, khol de ye darwaze,
Teri dahleez pe sare aam dum todte hain.
.
Teri inayat deewane par ho jaye;
Ek pal deedar mayassar ho jaye;
Mar k hi uthega gar ye naqab,
Hum kehte h muqarrar ho jaye.
Translation
Those who lived in the darkest night
Await dawn’s first light,
Thirst that a sea could not drown
Awaits your eyes to alight.
.
Cup bearers hate your lure;
On your cue, the drunk left his cup behind,
Love, open your door;
Dying at your doorway for the world to deride.
.
A favour he begs, besotted as is he,
To see you just a moment for;
If only death can take off your veil;
Ready to die forever more.
Context:
Hidden behind veil, muslim women have long inspired Urdu Poetry–lover’s first sight being worth more than one’s life.
Overtly, Urdu poets consider Allah as the most beautiful love, hidden behind the veil that will be lifted only after death, making death not an ending but a beginning of forever instead.
Parda hilne ki aahat se jhoomte hain,
Uske wujood se behtar koi nasha nahi.
Translation:
Drunk at the sound of curtains stirring,
No wine tastes better than the hope you exist.
Context: Urdu poetry stems from a culture where shyness is the greatest virtue of a woman. Here stirring curtains stand for a shy beloved hiding just out of sight.
Why does chocolate taste sweeter when received, not bought?
Security was called
at the local mall
to remove a man
for disturbing peace.
He was crying openly
while holding a doll,
which said,
“I love you, Mommy.”
St. Valentine stayed a bachelor.
Passing the buck, are we?
Mere mehboob ki nazaro se bach ke rehna,
Wo janta hai dil kaha chhupa rakha hai.
Uski palko ke uthne aur girne ke beech;
Deewano ne afsana bana rakha hai.
Translation:
Beware of the eyes
of my beloved who
will find your heart
no matter where it hides.
Tales of love are told
mid the moment
she gazes at you
till she drops her eyes.
Context:
Urdu poetry developed in a culture where women did not speak to unrelated men at all. Poets have filled countless pages describing the language of eyes that existed between lovers; how just raising gaze to look at one could incite a love story told and retold around the fire.