Winter Scribbles feat. Emily Dickinson


           While I was taking a lecture on IC engine last Friday, I couldn’t get some terms, got distracted and started observing other fellows of mine. I fumbled at my nerve, scanned the  winter through classroom window, and couldn’t find anything except the silence that rolled out like an old ocean, breaking against my ear.

         My hand reached out to grab my iPad and look for something compulsive. Before I got my sight put out, I liked as well to see some lines, my sight struck at. These were the lines of Emily Dickinson. Except the heaven had come so near, it seemed to choose my door.


A deed knocks first at thought

And then it knocks at will

That is the manufacturing spot

And will at home and well

It then goes out an act,

Or is entombed so still

That only to the ear of God

Its doom is audible

I had a strong believe on this thing that my prayers ain’t get heard by Allah. I wanted to study Mechanical Engineering, prayed and what I got was Mechatronics(A modified term used in Pakistan for Diploma in Electronics). God gave a loath to every bird but just a crumb to me. I wished for that girl in her graceful skepticism and what I got was Robin suiting the cherries( I didn’t even get Robin).  Anyways, I tossed and tossed and it spun and spun. Another piece of writing by Emily roared at a distance and it goes as:


Prayer is the little implement

Through which men reach

Where presence is denied them.

They fling their speech

By means of it in God’s ear;

If then He hear,

This sums the apparatus

Comprised in prayer.

So, in the end, a delight when viewed through pain, becomes a pictorial and I found out that soul unto itself is the most agonizing spy an enemy could send!!

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