Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Re-loving is reliving, revealing and rediscovering many a thing, Like spring blooms coming out of naked winters; Like a diamond's coming of age after years of silence; Like iron coming as a revelation from the skies,  Making possible civilizations and the romance in elevators; Re-loving is your and mine replaying The hums and tunes of love recorded in the past; It's our replying to each other with  Many a song of arrivals and departures. Re-loving is reveling in your presence.

One of the greatest ethical and epistemic responsibilities of each person in the current times is to keep themselves away from fake news and misinformation. Keeping guard against it will help us protect our whole personality and how we behave towards our fellow beings. How we deal with it underpins the projection of our social behaviour. As a source of knowledge, information, misinformation or disinformation, the news which is fed to us through TV sets and web portals is of the testimonial nature. It involves someone or something conveying it by telling, which can take different forms including broadcasting and writing. In this regard, two human instincts play an important role when it comes to dealing with such sources, namely the principle of veracity and the principle of credulity . To put them simply, these two principles say that we humans in normal circumstances often tend to tell truth and we tend to believe what other people tell us; there’s a disposition towards truthfulnes...

Don't ask when I miss her; Ask when I don't. I don't on November the 31st, The only day I thought she would leave. I don't on September the 31st, The only day we didn't talk. Neither do I on June the 31st, The only day she didn't remember my birthday. On May the 31st? Yes, I do, May is the month of might-have-beens, Too many of them. April the 31st is all the more special; It provides me with too many distractions, Like too many spring sproutings. Yes, these are the stories of the days, Like seasons and cycles of joy.

Regret strikes me every moment  Like the three hands of a clock. It does all day and night, From dawn to dusk, midday to midnight. I have started weighing in regret units. It was 2020 regrets the last time I checked, Like some year of misery or a teenage tussle. A desire to right every wrong  Strikes every night just before bed, Searching for the lost moments, Like the dream movements of eyes.

Our relationship had turned into clichéd two-hand sentences; On the one hand it was as brittle as baked clay, On the other hand, as cold as iron sans strength. On the one hand we had made a kingdom of our dreams Like a beautiful statue standing on love shores. On the other hand, ours was a state with heavily taxed subjects. Falling apart, coming down crashing and crumbling, Don't ask what and who were freed. For iron couldn't mix with clay.