Maat kar mujeh dosti

Maat kar mujeh dosti
Maat pooch mujhe iss nakli hassi ki saach
Hasteh hasteh aab meri hassi bhi mujpeh hasta hain
Wafa toh koi nahi, meri ansoon bhi bewafa nikla
Itna usko bahaya meneh, keh woh bhi mujko chorkeh chala gaya
Jis larki ka dil makmal ka tha, iss dunya walo neh usko jala diya

Maat kar mujeh dosti
Kahi tu bhi iss aag meh na jaal jayeh
Maat kar mujeh dosti
Is dosti ka kimaat mein na chukaneh pawanga

Maat kar mujhe dosti

*I do not speak, read or write hindi. However, from watching bollywood movies I have picked it up a little. So if my hindi comes across as broken, it’s because it is. Please feel free to correct me (nicely 🙂 )*


Don’t be my friend
Don’t ask the truth behind my fake smile
I’ve laughed so much that now my laughter laughs at me
No one is loyal, even my tears have betrayed me
I cried them out so much, that even they have left me
The girl whose heart was of velvet, the people of this world set on fire

Don’t be my friend
What if you get burnt in this same fire
Don’t be my friend
I won’t be able to pay the price of this friendship

Don’t be my friend

Sounds better in hindi to be honest; the feelings get lost in translation.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali



There are those who always come first;
and then there’s me.
There are those whose tears are off value;
and then there’s me.
What wretched thing must I have done;
to be born as me.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali

Back where I was

My back aches remembering the love I gave you;
almost as if it was my blood donated blindly.
Now I am left anemic, and you rejuvenalised;
with the spring in your life, my winter frustrates you.

You say I am no longer who you thought I was;
to that I wonder, who did you think I was?
One who would be independent and lead their own life;
not be attached or reliant on anyone else?

When you sucked on my blood, did that not matter?
You took all I had, then claim I have nothing.
You built me up only to one day watch me fall;
you did all this with the innocent face of adulthood.

You’ve left me where I was before you came;
bewildered by the idea of love for me.
Perhaps now I can regain all that you took, my loss;
though forever I will believe there is no one for me.

– truly, back where I was.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali

Their Last Time


His eyes follow her every movement
As she dances with the other man
Licking his lips as her taste still lingers
I’m leaving a part of myself with you
Her last words to him after he ripped
Apart her heart by throwing her out
She was a distraction he couldn’t afford
That is exactly what he had told her
Her eyes had looked painfully hollow
Pleading to him silently to take her back
But unmoved he had closed the doors
He grimaces trying to clear his head
Wanting to ignore the voices in his head
‘You will never find another one like her’
His eyes flash in anger as the man pulls
Her closer and she twirls around with ease
The man leans closer to her and whispers
Her laughter reminds him of wind chimes
He curses under his breathe unable to
Stand the sight of her in arms of someone

View original post 60 more words

Perplexed Reality; unanswered questions.

Dear Ex,

Without any thought about how it would affect me, you call me to tell me your nani is very ill; despite saying good riddance to you, you know I still care for both you and your family. You asked me to pray for her; that I have been. For the first day or so, you messaged me updates on how she’s doing.

The next day when I asked how she was doing – nothing; no reply. So I get annoyed at myself for even caring, but the truth is – I do care, I really care. To such an extent, I spend the whole day feeling restless wondering how she is. Is she okay? Is she still in hospital? What’s going on? I decide to remember the saying, “you should stop crossing oceans for people who won’t cross puddle for you” and felt some form of comfort. I told myself, even if I knew how she was doing, my knowing wouldn’t affect her health; it wouldn’t make her better or worse. So all I could do was pray for her, so I am still praying for her and all of you.

Then, I came across an Islamic Page that took the same oceans and puddles quote and argued that no, you should cross oceans for those people; that’s what being a good Muslim and good person is about. Loving people without an agenda is what makes them heal; though this is the exact kind of love I needed, still need, it is one you could not give to me – nevertheless, I could try. Without placing myself back into the relationship, I messaged you; I told you, putting all previous pains and crap aside, as the friend I was once, I am here for you – genuinely here. And again I urged you to tell me how she was as I was feeling severely oshanti (restless). Again, no reply.

It had been days, almost a week and no reply.

So today, i gave in to the my tears and worries and called you, but you didn’t pick up.

What does all this mean? If I was to be dead to you, why did you call me to inform me of your woes? You know my weakness is that I want to help people, be there for them whether they are my lovers or foes. Why are you doing this to me? Has my love hurt you so much that this is how you repay me? Why are you torturing me just like them? Why did you let me believe I could be loved only to take it away slowly and painfully?

I had always believed no one would love me and so there was no need to open my heart up; you came along, and I broke my rules. Now you’ve broken me.

I wish this feeling would go away, but it consumes me.

I hope one day you wake up and realize what has happened, what you have done and what we could have been. Though I’m not a fool to think that day will ever come.

Oh Allah, if love is a sin, then I have sinned. Help me heal, help me. Help the little girl inside me, crying to be taken out of the darkness. Help her if not me. Give her relief, give her life – even if that means I must be punished with death.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali

Student distracted by knowledge

I should be working on my essay on whether a nuclear Iran would stabilize or de-stabilize the region; however, my heart is here.


It is a beautiful day today, where I am; however, like most students I am locked away with deadlines.


To get away from the realities of what I am studying, instead of ordering course related books, I spent my money ordering poems that talk about love, grief, loss and how to heal.


I find myself these days looking not for answers per say, but words that can explain how I feel. In that, there are many things I experience; one is that when someone has already put in words something I cannot explain, I feel relieved. As if this is a confirmation that I am not crazy. I also feel relieved that I am not alone; sometimes, in the darkness of pain you lose perspective and feel you are the only one who is being given this pain. Though religion dictates to me that Allah does not give anyone anything more than what they can bear, when the pain is upon me I disagree; i disagree to such an extent I think very long and hard on how to end this life and join the embrace of God. However, when i read those words, and they sing to me, i feel at one with all those is pain and still here. I feel obliged to stay so that I do not betray them.

Not only English poems though, I’ve managed to rumble through the internet and get myself hooked to old hindi poems and songs from my grandparent’s eras. Again, finding the perfect words written decades before I was born brings me the solace of knowing that this ugly world has always been ugly. It did not turn this way specifically for me. In this falling in love, I discovered how beautiful the lyrics to the songs, the meaning behind each word is.

Now listening to hindi songs from 1940 is beginning to annoy even my dad. I guess they wish I would be a little more modern, and find my old soul to much to bear. Having said that, they love me precisely for my wisdom and random crazy moments. I do feel I have aged far quicker than the average person. For my 22nd birthday, my best friend told me – it feels as if we are 30, and soon we will surpass our parents age. My back aches with pain, and the knowledge that though I have the ability to take revenge, I shall always chose not to. Though I have the ability to inflict a similar level of pain to those who almost killed me, I spend my time thinking of how to protect them,

My brother, on the other hand, feels reading these quotes and poems only hinders my progress. To him, he feels reading these only cement my pain further. He gets very annoyed if I try to recite anything I find very meaningful. I have realized however, that I cannot force him to understand. In fact, we cannot force anyone to understand if their perception is so strong that they’re not willing to look at any other view. This argument is used by the family to explain why they do not bother speaking to me – because I am to stubborn to understand anything but the truth that I have declared.

In some things, being stubborn is required; standing up for your childhood self against your pedo uncle is right. That is not something that you need to change your perception on; I shall write an entry specifically on this matter later, but for now I must return to my Iran essay. Wish me well.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali

To the one I loved more than I should have ..

Dear Ex,

Today I found out your sister just married a man she met a few months ago. You told me that her father-in-law has now passed away as he was terminally ill; the marriage was hurried so that he could see them unite which he did. May his soul now rest in peace.

However, all this has had me in a pool of tears for many reasons; your sister was a sister to me, and I was happy and hurt. Happy for her, hoping for a bright future for her. Hurt, as though she claimed I was her sister, I found out about the marriage via an instagram photo. Hurt, that I have no right now to comfort her. Hurt, I deleted her number so that I am never tempted to message her because I don’t know if she would like that. Hurt, that though she stopped talking to me even while we were together, I still loved her. Just hurt.

And I still cry, thinking how unloved I have been by all of you. Your sister, was “in love” with some other guy who treated her crap; she was still in contact with him early on this year when this alliance was on the table. However, she felt so much respect for this man she’s known for a few months and his dad, that for their sake she married him in such a hurry. That is something greater than love; it is deep humanity.

You, my love, on the other hand deserted me. You have known me now for over 4 years; loved me for almost 3 and to you I am now nothing. Yes, it is I who ended the relationship, but only because I felt you didn’t have the courage to do it yourself. You didn’t have the courage to admit that you no longer loved the new far more damaged me. You were stubborn in that you would always be with me, and for that sake you continued to break my heart on a daily basis. You were fine in your own world because I wasn’t in it anyway; in fact, somedays you’d forget to virtually let me know you were alive and ask if I was too. When my parents asked you to marry me, you hid behind your parents rejection. You fought with “I’ll fight for her when the time is right”; as the old cliche says, there is no such thing as the right time – this time is right.

Your neglect for my love, for my tears and feeling dehumanized me; I cried in silent screeches in my room on my own so I would not have to admit to the ones who really love me, that this is what the one I love does to me. All throughout, you are unaware – or aware and don’t care. I try to tell you, but you have no time. I cry. You see me cry. I cry as if my soul has died from the pain I have gone through; you held at me one point and I thought you understood – but clearly not.

When I felt my world had shattered, when even my own dad was faltering with his support for me – you said, “you do what you need to do, and i’ll be with you”. Right then and there, I mistook those words for sincerity. At a time when my pillars had shaken, in your words I had found solace. How wrong I was though. They say you should never rely on people, well whoever “they” are are most probably speaking from experience.

You don’t think I look presentable without lipstick on; you know I’ve had issues with my skin and my appearance since I was little. How I was never comfortable but you gave me the confidence to feel beautiful. In just that one line however, you stripped so much from me. You prefer my long hair, despite you knowing why I had chopped it off; to liberate myself and grown a new me. You feel I am not ambitious enough as my goals are not oriented around what you had originally thought about me; my goal right now is to survive, do well and do good. For you, that’s not enough. You can’t fight for me now; you say I need to be “economically independent” before you do. The truth that you struggle to tell me is that I am not good enough yet for you or your family. My dad’s occupation is of a great issue to you and your family; you need me to become something greater to compensate. You know I am extremely proud of my dad and what he does; how with nothing he has raised us is more commendable then the history of your own father.

And you know, you’re not perfect either. You have many faults, but because I loved you I never pointed them out. I always tried to deflect your faults as quirky personality traits that I loved you for anyway. I love your sisters like my own. I watched videos of your baby sister as she grew and cried when i saw her take her first steps. I loved your mum like mine and more because of the admiration you had for her. I was excited to be a part of those parties at your grandparents and aunts; i wanted to sing to all the little cousins and be a part of your family. And that is why I had to let myself hurt in letting you go. Because, as long as I am with you, I will never be a part of anyone’s family – not even my own.

The fact that despite all this I still hung on to you proves that I loved you more than you could ever love me, and more than I should have ever loved anyone.

Now I don’t know if i’ll ever have the courage to love again – courage to love like that again.

I wish you and your family all the best, and though I hope you have a happy life – I hope one day you realize what I could have been for you.

With my [confusing eternal] love for you,

your RSA

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali

Malignant Minxes

*For those who once called themselves my sisters*

In their prettiest aesthetic vials

They sat and tĂȘte-Ă -tĂȘte’d.

Deriving pleasure from lost trials

Of others whose wounds they spread.

With their backs arched

And covered heads held high,

Knowing they’re beautifully cultured

Their purebred senses spy.

Aching to hear the next cry,

So they can lend their pretend hand

And aid with their perplexed “why”

For their entertainment, not to understand

Shrieking when it’s painfully comical,

Preaching silence when it’s morally topical,

Yet impersonating embodiment of the noble.

LIES! LIES! LIES! Scream – I shall!

If beauty is in this

In the face of humanity I hiss,

Far away from those “Perfect little Miss”

In my ugliness I am bliss’d.

You are more than welcome to share or republish this material, but please give credit to “”.

© Copyright of ConfessionsOfABengali