Poetry

Kal bhi woh darte the

11 December 2014

A few lines I wrote after Malala’s
Nobel and some of the reactions of Pakistanis on social media

MalalaKailash

(English translit. below)

کل بھی وہ ڈرتے تھے
نہتی لڑکیوں سے
آج بھی نالاں ہیں
وہی مذہب کے بیوپاری
اہک ننھی ملالہ سے!
وہ جھوٹے دعوے کرنے والے
وہ بے ایمانی کے سوداگر
دہشت کے پجاری
کیا تم جانتے نہیں؟
یہ ننھی بچیاں
تم کو ہر بار شکست دیں گی!
یہ بھی سچ ہے کہ
ابھی دور ہے حق کی جیت
اس میں بھی مات تمھاری
تم گولیاں برسا کر بھی
بازی ہار گۓ

ابھی بہت سے موسمِ بارود گزرنے ہيں
ابھی ملالہ کو جلا وطن رہنا ہے
اور کوۓ ملامت کو سنبھلنا ہے
لمبا ، کٹھن سفر ہے باقی
اور کچھ ہو نہ ہو
تمہاری شکست کی آواز
تمھاری بزدلی کے چرچے
سارے جہاں میں عام ہو گۓ
ایک نہتی لڑکی نے
پھر سے ہرا دیا

سب بندوق والوں کو
بندوق دینے والوں کو
بندوقیں ماننے والوں کو

Kal bhi woh darte theMalalaKailash2
Nihati laRkiyoN se
Aaj bhi nalaaN haiN
Aik nanhi Malala se!
Wohi Mazhab ke beopari
Woh Jhoote daawe karne wale
Woh be-aimani ke saudagar
Dashat ke pujari
Kiya tum jante nahiN?
Yeh nanhi bachiaN
Tum ko har baar shikast deiN gi!
Yeh bhi sach hai keh
Abhi door hai haq ki Jeet
Is meiN bhi maat tumhari
Tum goliyaan barsa kar bhi
Baazi haar gaye
Abhe bohot se mausam-e barood guzarne haiN
Abhe Malala ko jilaawatan rehna hai
Aur koo-e malamat ko sanmbhalna hai
Lamba, kathan safar hai baaqi
Aur kuch ho nah ho
Tumhari shikast ki awaz
Tumhari buzdali ke charche
Saare jahaN meiN aam ho gaye
Ik nihati laRki ne
phir se Hara diya
Sab bandooq waloN ko
Bandooq dene waloN ko
Bandoqen manane waloN ko

‘Hum Bhatak bhi Gaye au Kia Hoga’

12 November 2014

After a long time, I attempted to write a poem. Here it is – pretty raw and unpolished. Will translate it later for readers who may not understand the language. It is entitled —
(so what if I went astray..)

Tum apni dunya kay baasi

Hum apni chah kay aseer
Milay jo ik din
Anjani rah per
Dekhna yeh hai keh
Who rah jis peh safar
Dushwar hi nahin
Shayad namumkin ho
Kis moR peh ja niklay
Ya phir
Kaun pehlay rastah badal day
Yeh hua bhi to
Koi ‘Nai’ baat nah hogi
Sun rakha hai
Muhabbat baad mein hogi
Jo mil nah saken
In ki yaad mein hogi
Hum Musafir-e-Dil
Bhtakna Jantay hain
Dil gariftah, Dil Nawaz
Hawadis aashna
Yeh bhi jantay hain
Muhabbat na bhi mile to
Hijr kay phool
Sanbhalna jantay hain

تم اپنی دنیا کے باسی
ہم اپنی چاہ کے اسیر
ملے جو اک دن
انجانی راہ پر
دیکھنا یہ ہے کہ
وہ راہ جس پہ سفر
دشوار ہی نہيں
شاید نا ممکن ہو
کس موڑ پہ جا نکلے
یا پھر
کون پہلے رستہ بدل دے
یہ ہوا بھی تو
کوئی ‘نئی’ بات نہ ہو گی
سن رکھا ہے
محبت بعد ميں ہوگی
جو مل نہ سکیں
ان کی یاد ميں ہوگی
ہم مسافرِِ دل
بھٹکنا جانتے ہیں
دل گرفتہ، دل نواز
حوادث آشنا
یہ بھی جانتے ہيں
محبت نہ بھی ملے تو
ہجر کے پھول
سنبھالنا جانتے ہيں

(A poem in Urdu – written casually – comments & criticism is welcome)

The day I’m killed

22 August 2014

Dr Azra Raza – a fearless and sensitive soul – sent me this poem via email.

Travel Tickets

The day I’m killed,
my killer, rifling through my pockets,
will find travel tickets:
One to peace,
one to the fields and the rain,
and one to the conscience of humankind.

Dear killer of mine, I beg you:
Do not stay and waste them.
Take them, use them.
I beg you to travel.

Palestinian Poet, Samih Al Qasim, Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Mustafa

The image is of slain Mustafa – my colleague & a member of my family- who was killed by terrorists while they attacked me in Lahore.

(more…)

‘You turned out to be just like us’ –

20 August 2014

By Pakistani poet Fahmida Riaz.

The inimitable Fahmida Riaz, who is a favourite of mine, was disappointed during her stay in India (during the 1980s) with the growing trends of exclusion – an anathema to the plurality of India. The poem is also included in my book.

Naya Bharat (New India)

Tum bilkul hum jaisey nikley
Voh moorkhta, voh ghaamarpan
Aakhir pahunchi dwaar tumhaarey

You turned out to be just like us;
Similarly stupid, wallowing in the past,
You’ve reached the same doorstep at last.

Preyt dharma ka naach rahaa hai
Saarey ultey karya karogay
Tum bhee baithey karogey sochaa
Kaun hai Hindu, kaun naheen hai
Ek jaap saa kartey jao
Kitna veer mahaan tha Bharat

Your demon [of] religion dances like a clown,
Whatever you do will be upside down.
You too will sit deep in thought,
Who is Hindu, who is not.
Keep repeating the mantra like a parrot,
Bharat was like the land of the brave

(translated by Khushwant Singh)

Countless walls that divide the hearts – by Majeed Amjad

6 June 2014

I had written about Majeed Amjad, a forgotten but outstanding Urdu poet of twentieth century. Today, a friend tagged me (on facebook) with another of his wistful poems. There is a translation along with the poem. I am posting both for readers here. Majeed Amjad’s style is difficult to render in any other language; however, the effort by Yasmeen Hameed (below) is quite competent. Once again this is a powerful, stark poem leaving you immensely moved. The hallmark of great poetry is that it has a unique impact on the reader/listener. Majeed Amjad leaves the reader standing in the ruins of the heart, he often writes about. I also found an audio archive of Amjad reciting his poems in a deep, soulful voice with a slight Punjabi accent.

Its a shame that Pakistan has not acknowledged this great poet. He died in oblivion and the literary establishment is divided about him. Amjad lived and died as an individual in a society that functions along groups, camps and clans. This is why he is so different from most of Urdu poets of his age.

Here is the poem:

These neighborhood dwellings, these little homes, these casements, these courtyards, even before us were as tranquil, as resplendent. 

Those who left did not deny the homes their love, were not so eager to leave. Who could have held them back, though, the stooping arches had no arms. 

Hordes, bound by the chain of fate, could have taken them along, but for the walls which had no feet. 

Their spirits now wail and sob, one with the echoing, dusty winds. To them belong these dwellings: biers burning on the debris of fallen eras. 

Moulded of a hot mixture of ashy bones and tears, only these bricks can recount the magnitude of our defeat. 

It changed us all: the distress of the fractured bricks; our own suffering we dismissed, entrapped in the mesh of stone and hay; we clashed with each other. 

These neighborhood dwellings, their edged roof-tops, the palatial houses, the tent-homes, but for the countless walls that divide the hearts. 


– Majeed Amjad (translated from Urdu by Yasmeen Hameed)

(more…)

Shehr-i-Qatl ke log (People of this Murderous City) – a poem

27 December 2013

Reposting this 2007 poem:

Alam kay iss jazeeray mein
Jahan sab per ujar gaye
Aur saari musafitan be-nishaan ho gayee
Teri tasveer neechay gulab mehaktay hain
Ham, teray qaatil, teray qasoorwar
Doshee thehray

Aye Rehbar-i-ba-kamaal, tasveeer-i-bemisaal
Tu ne roshnee ko ik naya ma’ani diya tha
Apnay nangay pairon ko ghaseetee
Aur apnay nangay sar ko dhanptay
Kiya kiya dishnam na saha that u ne?
Aur is shehr-i-qatl ke neem murda log
Tujh pe hairaan thay

Yeh qatl meray saray manzaron ka hai
Yeh ant meray tamam khawabon ka hua
Tu manon gulabon talay pataal ki nazr hui
Go ik lehad se mehkay ga yeh alam
Magar ham sharminda, apnay aansoo-on se lartay
Apnay khawabon ka sauda haathon mein uthaiye
Tajrubay, tajziyae aur nohay parhtay rahian ge
Is ghao se ristaay rahain ge sab rastay (more…)

The almost forgotten radical message of Iqbal

9 November 2013

iqbalI am reposting this old blog on Iqbal Day:

God, You created the night, I made the lamp
You created the earth, I made earthen pot out of it
It is me who created the mirror out of stone
It is me who made elixir out of poison

Today Pakistan celebrates Allama Iqbal’s birth anniversary with the usual lip-service. The key messages of Iqbal seem to have been lost in the maze of officialdom. This is further exacerbated by the hijacking of Islam and politics by vested interests, not to mention the recent events that have shook us all. Iqbal opposed exploitation, Mullahism, emphasised the principle of movement in Islamic thought; and highlighted ijtehad (re-interpretation) of Islamic teachings through a modern parliamentary framework. Alas, all of that is nearly forgotten. 

For instance he was clear about the layers of exploitation:

The world does not like tricks and
Of science and wit nor, their contests
This age does not like ancient thoughts,
From core of hearts their show detests.

O wise economist, the books you write
Are quite devoid of useful aim:
They have twisted lines with orders strange
No warmth for labour, though they claim.

The idol houses of the West,
Their schools and churches wide
The ravage caused for, greed of wealth
Their wily wit attempts to hide (more…)

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