Lakeer
Essay | The Streets Are Not for Me
by Sundus Saqib
I didn’t know where I was going; it wasn’t a planned liberation. After walking aimlessly for a few minutes, I halted in front of a small park. It was midafternoon and the park was completely deserted, as were the roads. The choking summer heat had forced everyone inside...
At thirty-three, when he looked at Shazi’s photo, he didn’t shake his head or spit on it and run away crying, but instead walked into the garden cradling the image in his palms and held it up to the sun, whispering, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day.”
Poetry | Haunt Me Then
by Raniya Hosain
Shivering against my shoulder
at the bus stop
on a dreary Sunday, you remind me
to be kind.
آدم قد شیشہ تمہارے
مانوس عکس کی خواہش میں
کسی پہلی محبت کے ایسے
وہیں برقرار ہے جہاں
وہ محسوس کرتا کہ اس کے کاندھوں کا بوجھ اس بوجھ سے زیادہ ہے جو اس کی روح پر ہے لیکن وہ خود کو یہ کہہ کر تسلی دیتا کہ مرنے والے کو کونسا میں نے مارا ہے۔ صدیق مردوں کو قبر میں اتارتا اور بہت محنت سے قبر کی لپائی کرنے کے بعد اپنی آمدنی کا انتظار کرتا۔
Fiction | Mengal
by Julien Columeau, translated by Haider Shahbaz
For two years, I have been living in the suburbs of a European capital and working blue-collar and service jobs. Every day, early in the morning, I leave my HLM and walk towards the Gare RER. The train is at a distance from the HLM; I have to walk a bit to get there. The sky is always beset with gray clouds, and under the sullen sky, a long and dejected street runs straight like a line through rows of public housing.
Fiction
Open Them
by Saadat Hasan Manto, translated by Asna Nusrat
I Like the Texture of Things
by Uswa Maryam