The lions leap through rings. Bullets bought and news is warped,. They dance on puppet strings. The cogs are oiled, the wheel turns,. The greasy hand glides on. Until their manes are shorn. De-maned and maimed the lions squirm,. Their roars are whispered now. Prison zoo bars soar from the ground. The cats forget how to prowl. Meanwhile the ringmaster glows and gleams and gloats,. In a grotesque, stylish lion coat.

Sorting through 40 years of memories, rebuilding myself one day at a time and learning to let life happen. Is this thing on? November 6, 2015. I need to come back after a lengthy hiatus. I need to quiet the demons who interrupt my attempt at rational thought; to shoo away the dust that seems to cloud my view of sanity. Things will be different this time. I have a different focus. Perhaps a more scattered view, but my soul craves the outlet, the virtual companionship.

My heart always has a story. And I feel it should be told. This Is From Shifa Naseer To Madeeha Majid. This room, empty of you, is full of emptiness. The chandelier swings as my heart yearns to fly away to you. I say, wherever you are, is a valley with gushing streams. I say, when you smile, even bleakly, myriad flowers bloom in shy meadows. Tulips line up at your feet; blushing at you. Mountains move just to look at you.