Umar Faraz | عمر فراز 🇵🇰

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: Two F.O.B’s walk into after school detention… I’d be lying if I said I’ve never been sentenced to after school detention for talking back with a heaping side of attitude from time to time. But it was never nearly this fun making unlikely allies, plotting the demise of a common bully. Penny… the Nose Pincher They thought detention would “redeem” us. But we are “The Asians” 🖕🏾🤓🖕🏾 Thank you to the @secrettheatreny and the wonderful crew that made it happen! And you! All of you that were able to take the time to come see this wonderfully rebellious writing by @nar0ze

Graveyards in our culture are meant to be a connection to the afterlife. Place of spiritual power, sacred, respected spaces. And every once in a while I come here to pay my respects to…(I’ll keep for myself) And a silent shadow of realization sits with me after a short prayer. Speaking to me of all roads that converge to one place. Here. Nature takes back what it gives. So what will you take with you? The question I arrive at next is “What will I leave behind?” English version @ the bottom ————————————————————— Thaqtiyoon pe likha, Apna anjaam dehk raha hn, Beh.chain aankon ka khoya chai.n dhundra hn, Phir behty huwey gaafil mein jaam dhund raha hn, Intishaar mein tera naam le raha hn, furqat ka sabab… kabhi dhalta nahi hai. Shahid ye qaraar… judahi ka maarz hai ya nahi? Ab kabristaan hain vo bayabaan, Jisme tu ab milta nahi hai ———————- Written across tombstones, I watch my fate unfold, Restless & shimmering, these pearls roll, Searching for lost peace once foretold, Drifting but sitting dazed, seeking wine of a heart in eclipse unfazed, Still in unrelenting agitation, your name leaves my lips in frustration, In wounds it can not reverse, This distance carves scars of verse in declartion, Perhaps this strange stillness… Is the fever of seperation? Now this graveyard turned to a desert — Abandonded and dry, You no longer linger here.. Where you once used to lie

1st NYC Off-Broadway Debut ✔️ Nominated Best Production, Best Actor & Actress out of 80 Productions @newyorktheaterfestival (Swipe till the end to see my version of the Play’s Poster!) When what the heart desires is true the universe conspires. Oh and how it conspired, & continues to in ways I’m left marvelling how did we get here? To the people that made this possible you have proven again creativity works best within constrains. With limited prep time, tons of vigour, mini breakdowns, and my community of talented artists whose craft/ and advice unlocked a new level of zeal and commitment towards my own. Thank you @francesrippy for making the process a collaborative place for everyone @arshcream for entrusting me to play Shubho @boyzwithapple sharp manoeuvring in tight situations @rakadey & @annaporvagreen for being generous in your craft grounding my Shubho with your Mounika & Ammu @eran_zelixon your warmups & thoughtful insights in crafting the characters and circumstances I’m grateful and hope to continue to have the privilege of making you laugh, cry, and yelp out of joy for your entertainment🙏🏾

Umar Faraz is a Pakistani-American interdisciplinary artist and actor. A graduate of The William Esper Studio and a child of Urdu poetry, Umar’s artistry is a mix of his culture and heart. Split between two homelands—and two hungers: one for belonging, the other for service. His craft is a patchwork quilt of rupture and repair—drawn to stories stitched with rebellion, beauty, and contradiction. A longing—for home, truth, connection in every tale. Thank you to my family, friends, and colleagues for your love, understanding, and lending me your strength when needed most. This is for you. Join us for the world premiere of Arshia Iqbal’s new play—If I Stayed on June 3rd, 6th, and 7th at the Hudson Guild Theater. TICKETS IN BIO.

The silence has always been loud & These sleepless nights a silent confidant [English version @ the bottom] FIREFLIES Raat ke Jugnu, Lagte hain taare, Pas hokey b, Duur lagte hain saarey, Raaton ke sa-hey mein, Si-yaahi say likty hain, Be khwaab raaton mein, Teri khamooshi mein jawaab dhundte hai, Aakein khuli khwaab dehky hain, Ab zih-ni sukoon ka nahi, Subha hone ka intazaar karte hain. ——————————————— Fireflies scattered in the night, Like stars so bright, Feeling so close but asunder, In the hush of midnights veil I’ll write, With ink so black dipped in twilight, I search for wordless answers, Through sleepless nights, Lost in dreams, eyes wide open, With no peace of mind in sight, Waiting for dawns light

The Shrine of Mirza & Sahiban If you need proof that love exists. You need not look further than the small miracles around you. It is the ember that sparks a flame. A light that shines so bright Time holds no power over its brilliant radiance. Such is their story. This is a story of love. A love that is ageless, love that withstands the arbitrary rules the world and society in its ego enforces as absolutes laws of Life and The Universe. Rules that Mirza & Sahiban refused to follow. But that didn’t make them immune to their influences like all of us are. No matter how far we separate ourselves from these forced rules of the world we are still influenced subtly. A sign of everything interconnected just in various forms. We hurt another thus hurting ourselves indirectly. Spreading pain in our search for Love. I took to the road, in order to find the most faithful version of their story from the local farmers and the generations that have kept the symbol of their love alive tucked far off in a village between farmland. Met with hospitality that makes you feel like you’re around family. An evening drowned in their special tea and conversation. A silent prayer petitioning with the divine for grace in solitude. There I found a new depth in a story that has inspired countless songs, movies, poetry. Interwoven in our culture yet not unknown. The history of two families, their ostracization and the two lovers banishment from being buried in the village graveyard. A depth that not only showed the resilience, in presence of great opposition from family, society, and self. But a tragic tale that left a warning that still rings true today: How we love but in the boundaries of Fear. Fear that poisons faith in love, corrodes relationships, incites blind violence, provokes greed, isolates us and ultimately disconnects us from ourselves.

Ever experience a deep longing? The kind that gets intense even in the silences. It’s your being knocking at your door. Welcome yourself home. You are not the calamity you perceive yourself to be. Maut mein b sakoon nahi, Rishton ke kabar pe qisi ka theh.ka nahi, Unko humari firaaq ki behchayni.yn se koi farak nahi, Apni mehfil mein b beh.chayn jugnu hn, Har raat chand ke chah-hoon mein, Apney hayaat ke murd-oon ko zinda karta hn, Kaali raaton mein chiraag dhundta rehta hn, Uski mehfil mein usko phir se milna chahata hn, Teri khirke k taroon jesi kismmat nahi, Umar bahr ka saath kabhi manga nahi Judaahi mein shikwa karna aya nahi, Seene see saans ab nikalti nahi, Aansu se saans mangta nahi, Siskiyaa sun.ney koi nahi, Dil ka haal koi puchne ayaa nahi, Tum tak ek be-awaaz, awaaz pohnchana chahn Ruuh ki aah sunn-nana chahn, Pal.oon ki nammi mein e’ti.maad hojaye, Tumhari hijr k shikwein-gilley pighaal jayein, Tere tabassum ki taal pe nachta hn, Taaron bhari Raat.on k meh.fill mein jagta hn, Phir tere kheyal sun-na chah-ta hn, Tere ehsaas mein harr raat doobta hn, Aksar chaand taley saat beh-ta hn toh, Ek sawal bar bar utha ta hn, Kiya mein ab b zinda hn? ———————————— There’s no peace in death, No single keeper in a relationships grave, Yet they have no concern with grief in our separation, I remain a restless moth even in my own company, Every moon lit night, I’ll resurrect the corpses of my soul, Looking for the oil lamp, That’ll let me see the light anew, Thought I’m not as blessed as the stars hanging in your windowsill, I don’t ask for a lifetime, And separation has never taught me to complain, But now I can’t exhale, Yet I don’t ask these tears for a breath, No one came to inquire, Because no one can hear, I want to send you a voice, that is voiceless Can you hear it? My soul calls out, Trust the tenderness of these moments, And the anguish of our parting will melt away, And I will dance at the beat of your smile, Alive with an audience of stars, Listening to all your thoughts, Night after night I‘ll loose myself in the intoxication of your being, I’ll sit with the moon, A question will come up again and again, Am I still alive?

City lights, City nights, Rickshaw rides, Bathed in city lights, Kiyu na mein ja saku ja.han mein jaana chahoon, Andha Andheri gali.yn mein aur koya ja.hn, Sleepless shadows of madness strike at midnight, A myth of my making, Monsters unmaking of it’s maker, Kisse kahy kissey, Kisie ka houn na pa.hon, Khud ko koya jo mitti mein rul-gaya, Inn galli.yon mein phira ma.ra mara, Per kisi ko pathaa na bata.hn, Khamoshi.yan mein koya chalta ja.hn, In these city nights, Bathed in city lights

Aag lavan teriyan majbooriyan nu, Aan jaan de pasoori nu 📸: @fotosbyaml

Who are we when we’re stripped down to our core? Past our raw and vulnerable fleshy self. How’s our Operating System suppose to “operate”? My personal understanding We are creatures that are meant to be born from love, raised with love and complete the cycle: to love back the world and everything in it that made our existence possible. To then through love to bring forward the life within us ushered by the love within us. Nature: The circumstances/ env. we’re born in Nurturer: People/ society that take care of us But life and the trappings of where we’re born. The broken ways we’re loved, how we’re loved, & what’s loved about us from birth decides the way we in turn love and move in this world as an individual and a collective. Only to find out (if we ever do) that our ability to recognize the lens we see love through is slightly cracked or totally warped. Unbeknownst to us we act under some misguided sense of the “Self” and in order to serve our understanding of the Self. Justifying the self-mutilation of our soul. Cutting off pieces of ourselves (big or small) just so we are accepted with a sense of belonging instead of being ostracized in some capacity… Before we know it, we cut out so much of ourselves our joy, our playfulness, empathy and love. Out of fear of judgment and our own personal judgment of those feelings. Causing shame to distance ourselves from what we feel. And on the rare occasions in moments of vulnerability through safety we feel past the cracks in our walls we create. Only to wonder what am I feeling? What a foreign, rare and good a feeling this is. But most of us push it aside. Then further deny ourselves to be worthy of love. We loose ourselves, and our humanity our ability to connect with people. In those moments of isolation is when the universe whispers until it screams deafeningly in our ear. We catch glimpses of the self realising that we’ve become unrecognizable to even ourselves. So I close my eyes and I laugh in the absurdity of it all. Humbled, humoured and amused to be a part of it all. Despite all that, hope is not lost. Find & follow the voice that speaks with innocence, vulnerablity, ernestness to you.

The Muses Call Sometimes you have no choice but to heed the calling of your muse and be her vessel that she travels through. A plead from the Muse to the Artist to be born anew. The yearning to be destroyed & born by the hands that made you. (English translation @ bottom) O’ Rang reza, Inn ranj lakir-on ka bhr.de beech ka faasla, Taky chor-doon takleef.n ka dehkna raasta, Mit.tah de mere naam ki sarhada.n O’ Rang reza, Rang de rooh ko meri, Chahaato.n ko meri, Guftagoo ko meri, Khvaabo.n ko meri, Har ek adaa ko meri, T’am.am aarzuu-on ko meri, Vo har khufiya rung jo rung-de rooh ko meri, Apne kalam ke har lakeer ki trha.n, Bharde viiraan dil ki galiyao.n ko meri, Mit.ta de kasak se pehda huwi khaamoshi-yn ko meri, Teri rang mein rang-jhn iss kayanaat ka hissa banja-hn ——————————— O’ Painter, Fill the distances between the lines of my grief & pain, So I may forget to await the ways my troubles came, Erase the borders of my being, O’ Painter, Come color my soul, Paint my desires, Saturate my conversations, Tint my dreams, And every grace of mine, Shade all my wishes, With every hidden hue that my soul will take, With every brushstroke you’ll make, Fill the hearts desolate streets, Erase these pangs born from the silences, Paint me in your colors, And make my world apart of yours.

MAKTUB | مكتوب “It is Written, Foreordained, Destined” It’s been a solid 2 years. I’m humbled in the face of what is Maktub in my story. You need only ask life where it resides and there you will let yourself witness the extraordinary in the ordinary. Without fail it’s consistently left me in awe, to how many things had to happen the way they did to get me to where I am. Too much for it to be all a coincidence all the time. It humbles me, makes me grateful, & wiser having gone through it. (Even if I didn’t understand it in the moment) Thank you to everyone who’s contributed to the development of my Soul and in turn to my Art. You helped me find out who I am as an artist, my responsibilities as one, & what I owe to my audience, but most important; to myself more than to anyone else… The Truth On to the next chapter… Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!