(Yasir Farooq, Karachi)
Under the study lamplight, Raqim was in agony with the unwanted break at a crucial stage of the story. Was that the case of writer’s block or a dried up pen, nothing was clear.“You non-sense!!!”, he threw the pen away. “Owww!!!” An unfamiliar voice echoed. He looked all around to find out who he was. “I am your friend, don’t you recognize me?” He finally knew it was his own pen’s voice. Startled, he replied, " I know you very well, my fair-weather friend!” “Don’t take me wrong. I always feel comfortable being spinned by your fingers on papers.”, the pen defended himself. “ So why do you often leave me whenever I need you the most?”, he bursted out. “ Just because of you.”, the pen stood confident. “Don’t fool me.” His eyes were stirical ones. “ No, No, my friend! You have misunderstood me. I stop working only when you write lies, when you turn deceptive while crafting a story. Dishonesty and pretence become your companions. Ah! You can’t feel my pain. I want to flourish only in the hand of a truthful writer.”Shocked and ashamed, Raqim bowed down and picked up the pen gently.