Fourteen Days That Mattered Not in the World

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A great number of unanswered questions are posed by the dilemma of living. In the saddle, on the back of a madly running stallion, is seated life, like a rider. The animal, thanks to its drink of the nectar of deathlessness, is immortal... It carries everyone through space and time, brings everyone from the stream of forgetfulness; serves all generations without bias, links forefathers to their great grand, great grand... children...—but the animal’s profusely bleeding mouth and insanity have rendered redundant the bridle in the hands of the rider. The control over speed and direction is desperately lost...

What is going to happen? Is the beast going to bleed out its drink of nectar? Is it going to perish, or is it going to stop, and have its madness healed?...

I hope the following pages of my diary are going to be an enjoyable reading in this regard.

                        For the

None of a crime is that what they reproach me about,

Vain yearning, unsuccessful love only it is.

Due obloquy by plaintiff pleased is this heart,

O Love, this condemnation is after all your name!

The heart isn’t despair-ridden, only unsuccessful it is;

Long though is the even of worry, only an even it is.

In the hands of cosmos isn’t the fate’s movement,

Therein lies but the movement of the time.

                                                       Faiz Ahmed Faiz

8/2 /1996

I plan to visit a certain country to meet my Mother, Sister and her children, and others. They are all living there.  The divorce-papers and power of attorney are to be made at the court.  A few books and other items are what I wish to purchase from there, if I can manage to spare some money for that. I wish I were allowed to meet my son, Sagarmatha, and talk to him for a few hours, if they won’t permit that for a day or two! I know my wish will not be granted.  Nothing will be as worse a self-deception as to imagine that ‘they will’ ever grant Sagarmatha’s rejoining me, though his education and development would be far better here, with me, than what he may be receiving from ‘them’.

I have the full awareness that there are too many people who will try their best to put blinkers upon my eyes in order to fulfil their craving to make me run on the scene of society at their level of reason, whims, and commands. I, however, hope, I am not to be confused.  But dreadful is that world for me... Everyone speaks for himself and in his own way; I neither make head nor tail of that. It simply gives me an incurable headache and I tend to run away—‘in self-defence!’ I tell myself.

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