Sidra Zia

I am. The Satan who is his own hell, the saliva stick to the delicious piece of cake, the old fat uncle not invited to the dance party but drunk-dancing anyway, the human who is the envy of angels, the creep who realizes the Unseen through pain, the thought that was mistaken, the unrequited feeling that was publicized, the boredom on a Saturday night, the hangover caused by soberness, the ground on which Judas dances, the wings upon which reason flies, the philosophy which went infamous, the emotion which went wild, the laughter of childhood games, the burnt down car tire by the end of the road, the child crying in silence, the windscreen of a brand new car broken down in a protest, the mother's lap which makes sons cry, the father's choices that make daughters proudly nostalgic, the puppet show waiting for an audience, the random photograph looking for God, the story of a rebel, the writer looking for words, the ugly cat desperate for a shelter in the winter rain, the relative meanings of justice, the cynic dealing with confusion and arguing with chaos, the forgiveness for your halo, the big-hearted thoughts in the weak-hearted moments, the incomplete paradox laughing in your face, the show down between contradictions debating upon addictions and conquers, the empty space dreaming of a black hole, the random writing imagining to be Divine, the submission that got to fight, the corner of a mis-fit and the center of an extrovert, I am the body that diminishes and the Soul that illuminates combined. I am and I continue to be.