Book 50 Faces of Separation
When Life Moves and the Heart Stays Behind
There are moments in life that do not announce themselves as losses. They arrive disguised as ordinary scenes a passing train, an empty platform, a quiet evening and only later do we realize that something irreversible has occurred.
50 Faces of Separation was born from such moments
This book does not speak about dramatic departures alone. It listens to the softer, more unsettling truth: that separation often happens without goodbye. That sometimes we are not abandoned we are simply not chosen by time.
A train passing by is not tragedy. It is routine. And yet, in that routine lives a profound ache. Watching something move forward while you remain still teaches a cruel lesson: life does not wait for readiness. It continues, carriage by carriage, moment by moment, indifferent to the heart’s hesitation.
What fascinates me about separation is not distance, but nearness without belonging. The people who come close enough to change us, but not close enough to stay. Like a train slowing just enough for us to see faces, lights, reflections then pulling away. The pain does not come from absence. It comes from almost.
In many poems of 50 Faces of Separation, sound plays a vital role. Silence is never empty. It is interrupted by memory, by longing, by the echo of what once felt possible. Like the roar of a train, memories do not politely arrive. They invade. They demand attention. And when everything becomes quiet again, their presence feels sharper, clearer, unavoidable.
Nature appears often in this book trees, woods, wind not as scenery, but as witnesses. Trees do not pursue what leaves. They remain rooted, carrying seasons within them. In their stillness, memory deepens. Promises once spoken do not return as sentences, but as movement: a branch stirred, a leaf trembling, a shadow shifting slightly out of place.
Perhaps the deepest sorrow of separation is not that something leaves, but that something else does not. The platform remains. The days remain. The world continues its ordinary rhythm, while the one who loved stands motionless, watching life pass as if it belongs to someone else.
This is the quiet heartbreak I wanted to document.
50 Faces of Separation is for those who loved someone meant for another destination. For those who learned, too late, that arrival does not guarantee permanence. That some connections exist only to transform us, not to stay with us.
Some trains pass once.
Some people do the same.
And after they are gone, we are never entirely who we were before.
If you have ever stood still while life moved on this book was written with you in mind.
Thank you for pausing here.
Even a brief pause matters.
50 Faces of Separation: English Translations of Urdu Poems on Separation
There are moments in life that do not announce themselves as losses. They arrive disguised as ordinary scenes a passing train, an empty platform, a quiet evening and only later do we realize that something irreversible has occurred.
50 Faces of Separation was born from such moments
This book does not speak about dramatic departures alone. It listens to the softer, more unsettling truth: that separation often happens without goodbye. That sometimes we are not abandoned we are simply not chosen by time.
A train passing by is not tragedy. It is routine. And yet, in that routine lives a profound ache. Watching something move forward while you remain still teaches a cruel lesson: life does not wait for readiness. It continues, carriage by carriage, moment by moment, indifferent to the heart’s hesitation.
What fascinates me about separation is not distance, but nearness without belonging. The people who come close enough to change us, but not close enough to stay. Like a train slowing just enough for us to see faces, lights, reflections then pulling away. The pain does not come from absence. It comes from almost.
In many poems of 50 Faces of Separation, sound plays a vital role. Silence is never empty. It is interrupted by memory, by longing, by the echo of what once felt possible. Like the roar of a train, memories do not politely arrive. They invade. They demand attention. And when everything becomes quiet again, their presence feels sharper, clearer, unavoidable.
Nature appears often in this book trees, woods, wind not as scenery, but as witnesses. Trees do not pursue what leaves. They remain rooted, carrying seasons within them. In their stillness, memory deepens. Promises once spoken do not return as sentences, but as movement: a branch stirred, a leaf trembling, a shadow shifting slightly out of place.
Perhaps the deepest sorrow of separation is not that something leaves, but that something else does not. The platform remains. The days remain. The world continues its ordinary rhythm, while the one who loved stands motionless, watching life pass as if it belongs to someone else.
This is the quiet heartbreak I wanted to document.
50 Faces of Separation is for those who loved someone meant for another destination. For those who learned, too late, that arrival does not guarantee permanence. That some connections exist only to transform us, not to stay with us.
Some trains pass once.
Some people do the same.
And after they are gone, we are never entirely who we were before.
If you have ever stood still while life moved on this book was written with you in mind.
Thank you for pausing here.
Even a brief pause matters.
50 Faces of Separation: English Translations of Urdu Poems on Separation
No comments have been added yet.
