Fading Graves – A Photo Essay

I decided to go to the graveyard in December. The last time I came here, it was summer, and I was in higher spirits. I was happier and with more possibilities in front of my ignorant eyes. This time I am cold, evasive with all the possibilities in the world and the sun shining brightly down on me.

It’s an old graveyard. Old enough that some of the older graves that no one comes to visit are being replaced by the dead for who there are people willing to cry. People who want the best land for them to be buried in, and who will come back to visit them. The place is old, and for the older ones buried is a waiting place until they are finally forgotten and no one comes to see them.

We try hard to deny the reality of death, and we try hard to keep the dead alive, and if not alive we try to honour their memory, as much as we can. It’s just not easy.

Outside my university, is a memorial that I came across that day. It was for a girl who died in an accident. It said that twenty-four trees were planted in her memory for the twenty four years she lived on this earth. Have we not forgotten this girl who I will not name? There are no trees at that place anymore, and the memorial is vandalized. On that lovely stone that is left and forgotten with her reminder is unjust fully spray painted with an advertisement. Is this not disrespect?

Must we disrespect the dead? And if we must, what is there for us to do to offend them with? How are they supposed to respond to us? And when everything is done how are we supposed to ask them to forgive us?

Were so suspicious about death, and we are afraid of it. Rightfully so, even if it is as natural as birth and life. Our existence is always in question, life feels so timeless, stretched out and often in the time of sleep unreal. Death is only thing that lets us know we are alive, and that one day we will cease to be.

And perhaps that is the center and the finish line to all our fears.

They say girls aren’t supposed to visit the graveyard. I go any way. I’m not trying to offend anyone and I’m not trying to prove anything.

But there is nothing to be afraid of. Of all the harm the living inflict on you and all the danger that follows people around, why be suspicious of something that isn’t there.

There’s nothing there. Nothing but the fading memories of the dead.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Maybe a sign or a reminder.

Why does everything I love have to become a target for you?

It’s ironic. When I was at the graveyard, my father was at a funeral. He came there to pick me up, and in his voice was a nervous laughter. Yesterday was the day all those kids were killed.

And we are driving away and lighting candles for them.

That funeral was for a boy. He was 26. Died of a heroin overdose. He was only son. Went to a good school. Had the world and everything ahead of him. He’s gone now.

When is it the right time to let go?

I keep thinking of Ramiz from time to time. Since what happened a few weeks ago, I had to change things about what I said.

It means more than it should to me.

I had a fight again last night. I said things I should never have. Don’t know why I did.

I hope God doesn’t take it seriously, I didn’t mean any of it.

I still need to apologize for everything.

I can go to any grave.

Except the one where my family members are.

Emily Dickinson’s relationship with Death

Hi everyone

This is my essay for my American poetry class. I got good reviews on it, and I think I did a good job, but I really want to improve my writing and analytical skills. So if you have any expertise, suggestions or remarks, be generous.

 

Emily-Dickinson-1

 

 

Emily Dickinson had a rather interesting relationship with death itself, and she acknowledged this throughout her life, that she was haunted by the ‘menace of death’.Her poetry has several accounts of her experiencing funerals and death takes on different forms and faces to communicate with her. This alludes to the establishment of a bond of finding solace and companionship with death.

One might suggest that it was the aversion she felt towards the futile existence of real life, that led her to crave death. For, she did make a constant effort to not experience a full life, or lead an existence like the others around her. She spent her life rarely leaving her room, communicating through closed doors, and she didn’t even her own fathers funeral down stairs. She never married, and only wore white. She lived not living a life of the common woman of that time.

She was indeed a prolific writer who expressed herself unlike anyone else in poetry, but even  her poems were a well-kept secret, discovered after her death by her sister. It is also important knowing that her room had a clear vision of a graveyard – and that her family had taken work as caretakers for funerals.

By this outline, one can easily see why the interest in death would develop, as it was all around her.

But death is not ugly,sad, terrifying or distasteful for her. in her narrations and poems, Dickinson is someone who is not a stranger to the face of death and death is often personified as someone she interacts with. She also experiences in full vision her own funeral without a peep of fear, regret or unease and even her descriptions of death are not filled with typical colors of black, purple , green or images of grit but all images come with easy emotions.

One may analyse that because her life was absent of catalysts that engaged her interest. She found activity  and stimulation in these thoughts of dying.

“Because I could not stop for death

He kindly stopped for me “

Death with its many faces is sometimes a friendly companion, a devil-like fly and also a lover. This could be an indication to the repressed feelings within her, as she could not physically digest the reality of those commitments in real life, she decided to have them in her imagination.

It is interesting for death to be her lover, because according to the psychoanalytical theory the desire not to die and to reproduce are what form a persons basic moving factors in all humans, but there is obviously an inversion of this concept  here. She is attached to the desire of dying and in it finds the place to create life. Maybe her poems are one of those creations of her love for death.

There is obviously no denial of death in her poems, as she bluntly mentions it. What one might suggest is that the constant occurrence of death might be an act of ‘sublimation’. Sublimation is a defense mechanism in which bad memories and feelings are  made uplifting and beautiful in order to ease the pain of those memories.  So her ordeal with death in her poetry is a way of dealing with the death of loved ones – a kind of therapy to ride her heart and mind of trauma.

“I could not see to see”

Compared with writers on the same topic, the death of women, or death in general her poems are very sensual, active and through the vivid and watching eyes of the dying soul.

Edgar Allen Poe would often write about the death of his wife, and in his poems, would mention her death body, which in a way objectified her. And the tragedy in his poems does not follow the death of his wife, but follows his loss and depression of the loss of her to him, and everything that he felt and saw.

“For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
   Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
   Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
   In her sepulchre there by the sea—
   In her tomb by the sounding sea.”

And if one sees that through the waiting days of John Keats, one finds a sad man, waiting like a caged animal to meet death as something that he knows is coming, and there is no hope for him. So for Keats there is often that denial or exclusion of the body of death, and a focus on the beauty of what is felt, and an obsession of wanting to freeze time and be immortal through poetry and art.

“Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:

No god, no demon of severe response,

Deigns to reply from heaven or from hell.

Then to my human heart I turn at once-

Heart! thou and I are here sad and alone;

Say, wherefore did I laugh? O mortal pain!”

 

All of which is not there in Emily Dickinson’s words, who is comfortable and at ease with the grim reaper. Her ‘voyeurism’ transcends the simple plot of dying, that one might say that because she an intellectual ahead of her time, she knew her thoughts would not be accepted in her polite, puritanical society.  She therefore exiled herself for her own safety.

And this becomes apparent in her poems ‘ I heard a fly buzz’, in which she is aware of the eyes watching her and how a small fly has blocked her vision. The fly is a symbol for the devil, because the people around her would believe she belonged to  hell. The devil is often called the lord of the flies and this fly denies her clear vision.

Vision, was something of great importance to her. The eyes  were a mirroring symbol for people, death is never watching her, death is becoming to her. In death she found her muse, lover,friend, foe and a canvas to express herself and everything inside her mind.

 

Further reading.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/emily-dickinson

https://www.learner.org/catalog/extras/vvspot/Dickinson.html

 

Nature’s lost End

You see them everywhere

all is one

Under the grand shining circle

It moves without question

And thinks without reason

Dances without music

Lives to live

And nothing more else

But to fulfill the lost and remaining halo that captures every breath

That we are to die

And that we must not fall

Behind

Is there anything beyond not dying

Even if that is what we are to be buried or burned and both ways forgotten

Is the right to be

buried

All that we have to fight for

And do we have nothing

To live for

“Ashes”, from the ‘Nothing Happened’ collection

grunge-aesthetic-tumblr-photography-Favim.com-3935102

 

 

The air is sweeter and lighter almost, by the end of the river. It is also clean of smells, the water is a safe place to be, and it is a safe place to hide from everyone in a village. You could avoid studying, avoid all the relatives, not be bothered by the missing chickens, and if nothing else you could drift along the tide and feel safe falling asleep on the water.

Adnan, as young as he was, had the responsibility of taking the buffaloes to the river. It was one job he enjoyed, since the buffaloes wouldn’t run off, and just clean themselves up, while he and the other boys swam in the heat and sunshine. He was thin boy, but healthy with small features, nothing extraordinary about him, so no one really said anything about him. Maybe there are boys who make people feel like they can change the course of history, maybe it is people who make those boys feel that way.

But Adnan never felt that way, and he was only fourteen, so there was no world outside of being a shepherd, or swimming and collecting marbles. The world stood small with a clear path to the future, that is not thought about or discussed until your parents want you to. His mother loved him, the youngest son, and his father just the same, and so did the rest of the family, and maybe love is enough a shell to avoid worrying about being nothing to anyone else.

One time, a baby buffalo went lose into the village, and Adnan had to find it the sunflower fields, and instead of going back home, he stayed there and played his bansari till the sun went down.

“I’m home”, he announced locking the wooden door behind him.

” You should have come later” the father taunted him, ” It’s not like there is any work in the house”

” Sorry”, the boy took his pugg off, and sat down to eat with everyone.

” Eat quickly” his handed him a glass, ” I want you to go into town, and give some things to your khala there”

” Why not send the older boys?” came the father’s response

” They have two young daughters. It would be indecent to send the older boys there”

” They are brothers and sisters just the same”

” But they are older now, we cannot treat them like children anymore. Besides her daughter is sick, she might feel better seeing Adnan”

“I’ll go Ammi” he got up, ready for instructions.


He had to take many things with him into the city. Sun flower oil, brown sugar, flowers, silver plates, ghee, lassi, and some vegetables his Ammi had made earlier. He was going to his khala’s house, and he was lucky enough to fing a tanga, just outside the village. The horses had stopped outside their house, deep within Gujrat.

“Thank you” he payed the man, and lightly knocked the wooden door.

He stood outside for a few minutes struggling to hold his things, until someone finally opened the door.

” Come in Son”, his Khala welcomed him right in and kissed him on the forehead.

” Didn’t your mother come?” she asked walking up the stairs, with him behind her, now without the load.

“No” he said politely, ” She had guests over”

As they got up he could see in the room upstairs alone was his older cousin, Izzat. Still as a rock in her bed, covered with two blankets, her long black curls spread all over her pillow. Her pale skin seemed yellow, like she was sick, and from her face you’d think she was unable to sleep .

“Izzat” her mother whispered in her ear” look who came to see you?”

She opened her eyes slowly, and when saw the boy she smiled, ” What a surprise”

“Salaam Bajee” Adnan nodded in respect.

” He brought your sunflower oil with him. I’ll massage it in your hair in the morning when you feel better” her mother gently helped her sit up on the bed.

” Jee Ammi” she sighed .

Adnan and Izzat were alone after that, and she asked him about everything under the sun. She asked him about his trip, the village, the people there, the sunflower fields, the buffaloes, the festivals, the kite flying, the crazy lady by the river and finally the river.  She stopped at the river, as if the earth stopped with a magnificent halt  there.

” I wish I lived in the Village. I could breathe in fresh air, and go swimming in the river and just float there…in peace” she sighed stretching her arms wide open, closing her eyes to imagine it better.

“Why don’t you come visit us then” he asked innocently with all the good intentions in the world.

A light laugh escaped her mouth as she turned her head away from him. It left the boy confused, and he didn’t know how to respond.

“Haven’t you noticed Adnan” she looked at the ceiling ” I’m dying”.

A long pause held the silence in the room, until it finally slipped from his mouth.

” I don’t understand”

She didn’t laugh this time only smiled. ” I’m sick…very sick. I might not be alive for long. I should not expect to understand, you’re just a child” she sighed loudly.

” How is everyone doing? ” his Khala came in the room with drinks for the two of them. She brought an unwanted cheerfulness with her in the air, and it began to suffocate him, he wanted to leave, and quick.

“I have to leave” Adnan loudly left the room and house.

” What happened?” the mother asked with laugh .

“Nothing happened” Izzat smiled sadly and closed her eyes.


Adnan was uneasy for the following few days, and he did not visit his cousin during that time, but his mother went almost everyday to help at the house. She was going there a lot more, ever since Izzat got sick.

He spent his time near the river trying not to think about her, but it was hard since his mother always talked about her, and it only reminded him about the sad sight he had to see that night, and what she said to him. It was such a odd and frightful thing to say, even if she was sick, how could she know she was going to die. Nobody knows that.

But at some point with his feet in the cool water, his back against the sun, Adnan felt like he should visit her, just to let her know that.

And so he did. He got his donkey this time, and rode into the city and got there a few hours before the sun was supposed to set.

” Izzat?” Adnan pulled the curtain aside and walked into her room, to find her reading some papers.

” You’re back” she shifted in a startled manner, and put the pages away behind her pillow.

” Yes I wanted to give you company”

” Oh” she smiled ” And what would you like to do?”

” We could talk like we did last time”

“Alright” she sighed ” About what?”

“Anything”

“If you say so. Tell me about the river, what’s it like?”

“Chenab is fine as always, but Baba says that he thinks its getting smaller, it seems alright to me. I went for a swim today, while Bhai took over the buffaloes. The water was nice, but I couldn’t get any fish.”

“Sounds like great fun. I went there once, when my father was alive. He and I went there alone, and I went swimming to, but only close to the shore. It was such a good. We came to your house afterwards, you were  a baby back then”.

Adnan smiled sensing a change in her ” How is your health now?”

Her face fell immediately and she looked up at the wall again, ” It hasn’t changed much”

“You should think happy thoughts” Adnan chripped.

” I do, but I don’t feel happy thoughts” she shook her head , ” What do you have planned for your future?”

” I’ll do the same thing as my Baba I guess. I’ll be a farmer”

“Do you go to school?”

“Yes. But I don’t like it much” he rubbed his head, ” I know you like to read and study. My Ammi told that you’re really educated”

” Not as much as anyone else. I do enjoy reading novels and stories”

” Maybe that’s why you’re always sad”

Izzat looked at the boy up and down ” Are you saying reading makes people sad?”

” Yes” he nodded innocently.

“Who told you that?”

” I just heard it somewhere”

” Well its not true. Reading gives me an idea about the world, and it allows me to escape and see things in ways I never thought I would”

” Yes.., but you’re still sad. You’re the saddest girl I know”

Izzat smiled reaching out for the boys hand, ” Maybe you should look around harder, you might someone just like me. And if you do tell me”

” I promise” Adnan saluted.

” Good” she bent her head into her pillow.


Adnan spent more and more time at his aunts house since that they. He felt proud that Izzat looked less sick and sad since then, and he felt some how in his childish heart that he could save her from dying. But who can keep death away from the dying?

” Izzat, I’m here” Adnan walked into the room with some food.

She had those papers in her hands again, but this time she was writing and not reading. She put the pages behind her pillow again, just like last time. But this time Adnan felt frank enough to ask her.

“Why do you keep hiding those pages?”

” It’s a secret” she whispered, ” Don’t tell anyone”

” I won’t”

“Like I was saying last time, Adnan, you really should start thinking about your future. If you study well, you could get out of this place, make a name for yourself. I don’t know, maybe even see the world. You just have to work hard and not let anyone tell you otherwise”

” Okay. I you say so”

” I mean it, I don’t want to have to think you wasted your life away, or that I wasn’t able to teach you anything before I-”

The room fell silent again, until Izzat began to whisper to the boy, making sure no one else could hear.

“I wasn’t always this weak and useless. I had the whole house moving steady and I thought if I could just study a bit more I could become a teacher and bring money and food home. But ever since I got sick, I’ve been nothing but a burden. My younger brothers and sisters have to do everything, while all I can do watch while I waste away”

A few tears swelled up in Adnan’s eyes, but he refused to make a sound. He said nothing.

“I wonder why…why…why would Allah do such a thing” she heaved loudly,” Weren’t we hurt and defenseless enough?”

“You shouldn’t say things like that” Adnan’s voice broke as he lowered his head to the floor, letting a few drops fall.

“I can’t help but feel these things…Or imagine these thoughts” her voice was calm, with no strain or sadness, just hollow.

“What do get from them?” Adnan shot with a sudden rage

” I get what I have,” she replied with the same indifference,” I get and have nothing”

Adnan took a deep breath and looked up at her smiling face, ” I’m sorry” he cried.

” It’s fine to cry little one” she held his hand, ” I did the same, when I was away at the hospital in Lahore. My tears have all dried away and I’ve accepted things as they are. I won’t have much of a life, I’ll never get married…no one will marry me. I won’t go to school again, I won’t be able to see my brother and sister grow old, I can only pray for them…and that I do”

“And me?” Adnan asked trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes for you to” she smiled, ” You’ve filled my time up with your stories and given me lots of ideas”

” Ideas for what?”

” That’s not important” she bit her lip.

“Yes it is” Adnan insisted,” What are you hiding?”

“Alright I’ll tell you” Izzat shifted her position and from a cupboard behind her pillow she took a small box. She opened to reveal lots of fine yellow papers, with neat skilled handwriting. It was Urdu like Arabic calligraphy.

” It’s beautiful” Adnan felt happy that she trusted him with this secret.

” I wrote stories and one novel in Urdu. In Punjabi I have a few dream recollections and thoughts. I even have some poems in English” Izzat’s face glowed as she flipped the pages for him.

” What did you write about?” Adnan moved closer as she put the box away, and hid it under some clothes.

“Lets see, the novel is about a girl from Gujrat. She has grand dreams, and likes to think that in her passed life, she was a princess, living in a large white palace. She eventually leaves the city in search of something like that fantasy, and she gets married to a nice man, and thinks about changing her name…and I’m still thinking about her ending. The poems are about a soldier fighting for the freedom of his land” she smiled widely.

” Wow! I would love to read about that” Adnan got excited and was amazed at how she suddenly came to life.

“Everything else are my thoughts since I got sick” realization hit her eyes again and stole the light from them.

He didn’t notice this time, “Have you thought about giving these to the news paper or have them turned into a book?”

“I might If I live long enough” she nodded to herself, ” I just don’t feel like I’ve expressed myself fully yet. Once I do, I’ll waste no time in it”

“I’ll be there to watch, and I’ll tell everyone in the village and city” he clapped thinking about the future

“Adnan” Izzat held on to him again, ” If not me, then you have to get the message across. You have to get me across to the people. You have to hold on to me until I can cross over. You have to help me pass”

The boy felt afraid all of a sudden, he knew how difficult if would be, all his lust for life went away for that moment and he could only see great forces preventing him and her.

“You shouldn’t leave your will on me. I’m more likely to fail you , and everyone knows this”


With the passing weaks, Izzat only grew worse and Adnan was not allowed to be there anymore. The elders  thought it would be best for the girl to be alone and peaceful until she got better.

The boy spent his time by the river, hoping and praying for her to live. He would play his flute to the river until sun down and then pray. He was full of hope, but perhaps he only prayed with such vigilance because he was afraid.

Till one day he was out with the calf, his brother came over to see him. And just by the manner of him approaching he realized that something was wrong.

“She died this morning Adnan. Just before the sunrise” he held the boy close as he said nothing.

He did not go to the funeral or to the house for the coming days. He said nothing and made no mention of anything, and it made everyone indifferent to his emotionless trance. His breakfast and dinner was lunch for the dogs, and more than once he forgot to bring the cows back home.

He was staring at himself in the river one day when he remembered that Izzat had written some things she wanted the world to see, and he had promised to take care of them. It was the least he could do, and he had to do it.

He walked towards her house, and walked knowing that everyone was probably still shaken. He made his way upstairs, but just had he did, he saw his aunt with the box that Izzat hid her things in, and at her feet was a fire burning, and in that fire were the yellow papers with blood and tears in them, turning into ashes.

Adnan gasped and in the shock of it all started to cry. The whole house heard him, even his mother.

When Legends Die


What does it matter 

When legends die 

Why is the world is shock ? 

Did they expect them to live forever ?

Is it out of love or grief 

Or maybe respect 

But I should not be asking 

I know how it is 

When you hope someone will be there 

Right by your side 

When it rains to when it hurricanes 

I never expected you to die 

Even if death looked close 

And all we ever talked about dieing 

Between baths and homeopathic medical tests 

When your hair fell when you brushed it in the back of the house 

You knew you were late for work 

And then your soft than a cloud white hair grew  back 

And you loved it 

I never dreamt of you dieing 

But when you did 

I knew before they told me 

And the day you did leave

I saw you when I slept 

And you were younger  

And happy

Wide that familiar smile 

And I woke up smelling out the dirt 

If I fall …

image

If death is the way to life
Let me die
If fires are the way there
Let me burn
In all simple terms
Let the skin rubb of while meat clings to the bone
And if I was meant to fail
To fall from heaven
To destroy everyone I touched
To turn them to stone
Then by God
Let me try
Feed me the apple and fill congealed blood with venomous offers
Bring them innocent so I may laugh
And bring them young
So it may be a tragedy
But let me breath
Why must gory move us
Influence our eyes
I may save the child dying
I may defeat the demon
I could transform overnight into who I really am
Who I am not
Who I was
Who I will
But only
Only If I breathe loud

image

Side lines

Why does everything and everyone have to feel so far away 

It was the last day of the year , with the face of winter and no sunshine ,

The cold would melt underground and dissolve , with the rest of last night ,

I knew something , not like a lesson or a song , or as some lovers may do ,

I knew with a slight chill and a trance of a silver chime ,

That somewhere , in or out , of my home , that it was time ,

The sky in a dress of gold would fall right down into the sea , while we would stand aligned in woe ,

In awe , will I witness the service to our crimes , with pale hearts frozen together stiff,

We knew this would happen, didn’t we ,

years before we were born and centuries after we buried bones in bare graves of mud ,

There was the Rub ,

We knew all along — everyday we knew it more and more — as if waiting made time grow longer

Yet when it happened , it killed us anyway ,

It killed us , in our humble sleep , the comfort of our unease , in the prime of our youth and the day we were finally in love ,

A sad  day indeed

We knew , oh so well , with dreams and stories , dancing in our thoughts , knives above our heads ,

And yet , we hoped by some strange mistake in space , by some wasted wind , by some unimagined fate we were ignorant of ,

that we could be  free of the destiny that sold us pulp

 

 

Prozac

image

Coco

Something about ruin
A penny for your force
A warning would be nice
They say it will pass
They say that
About death
About the end of the world
Like they did
During the war at home
The prozac epidemic
A new illness strangely makes its way
Suffering and pain
Neglected
Loss and love
Rejected
Multitudes of Innocence
Dehuman
The humans
Among all the rock and reckness rumble that takes the skies
Someone will sleep
Without noticing any of it