“O God, you are my state of being” is what this Kafi of Shah Hussain loosely means. It is about the internal and external knowledge of Reality. I have been singing this Kafi for the last few days. Here is a translation (courtesy Shahidain) followed by an audio version and the Punjabi lyrics-

“O God, only You know all my pains.
You are within me and You are outside me( You are everywhere)
In every pore of mine (from top to toe) only you dwell.
You are the warp, You are the woof.
You are every thing for me.
Says Hussain, the Humble Faqir, I am nothing, You are everything”.

Interpretation by Naveed Siraj: Divine Love is ingrained in every fibre of ones self & this Love is overwhelming and ever-present. Like Pathanay Khan wailing charkha bolay sain sain i.e., even the common household chores remind one of the Lord, so one loses the distinction between the begining of this love and its manifestation and its end. [this is why andar, bahar,room room vich toonh captivates ones imagination]

And once again Abida Parveen sings it so beautifully: (more…)

Bulleh Shah discloses that the Lord pervades in everyone. He is not only to be found in Mansur, but also his executioner, as also the spectator.

Here is the Punjabi version followed by a crisp translation – a labour of love by Shahidain..
“Behad Ramzaan dasda nee
Meyndaa Dholann maahee
Meem de Ohley wasdaa nee
Meyndaa Dholann maahee

Auliyaa mansoor kahaawey
Ramz anal-haq aap bataaway
Aapey aap noon soolee charhaaway
Te kol khaloke hasdaa nee
Meyndaa Dholann maahee

Behad Ramzaan dasda nee,
Meyndaa Dholann maahee

Boundless signs He reveals
My Beloved Lover
In [letter] ‘M’ His dwelling conceals*
My Beloved Lover

As a saint Mansur gets Himself hailed
As the metaphor ‘I am Truth’ gets Himself hanged
On the gallows gets Himself impaled
Standing nearby with laughter He peals
My Beloved Lover

Boundless signs He reveals
My Beloved Lover
In ‘m’ His dwelling conceals
My Beloved Lover ( Translation by Prof Muzaffar Ghaffaar)

* The letter meem phonetically M in English is a mystical letter and meant to contain Divine mysteries apparent only to the ones who develop the inner eye through mystical knowledge. Another verse speaks of Meem as the only difference between Ahad (Singularity of God) and Ahmad (another name for Prophet Mohammad- who accordint to some was the foremost mystic/Sufi in Islam)

Another translation follows – (more…)

My friend Jasdeep Singh has shared his translation of a Punjabi poem Naanak by Jaswant Singh Zafar. I like the way poet brings out the essential side of Guru-Saint Naanak and his contemporaries from the Bhakti movement and alludes to the fact that how iconoclastic this was. Alas, all such movements and thoughts become boxed in rituals supervised by power hungry clergies..

Excuse Us
Its quite hard for us
To idolize real image of Naanak
Legs messed up with dust of the tiring paths
Cramped feet
rouged up beard by ..
eyes popping from the facial bone structure
dazzling renegade eyes
eyes
which challenge
the family
the regime
and every ritual

Real Naanak
can prove dangerous to us
Naanak imitated in the paintings of Sobha Singh
is well suited for us
peaceful
spiritual
hand shown like Goddess Lakhsmi
and the generosity withering from the hand
eyes full of delicacy
clean sun silked beard
round fair cheeks
fair and lovely
rosy tipsy lips
soft gemini feet
delicate barbie hands
The walls of our home can only hold
Naanak imitated in the paintings of Sobha Singh
Naanak who challenged the paths traveled by others
That Dangerous Naanak’s real picture
is quite bulky for our walls..

Excuse us..
the homes we created with labour of blood,
we can’t afford ruining them,
kids we got with God’s grace,
we can’t afford losing them,

we can not idolize the real image of Naanak
Excuse us

Punjabi version in roman can be found below: (more…)

Thanks to my friend Fawad, I have been introduced to the fine poetry of , Wislawa Szymborska (b. 1923) also the 1996 Polish Nobel Laureate.

A Few Words on the Soul

We have a soul at times.

No one’s got it non-stop,

for keeps.

Day after day,

year after year

may pass without it.

Sometimes

it will settle for awhile

only in childhood’s fears and raptures

Sometimes only in astonishment

that we are old.

It rarely lends a hand

in uphill tasks,

like moving furniture,

or lifting luggage,

or going miles in shoes that pinch.

It usually steps out

whenever meat needs chopping

or forms have to be filled.

For every thousand conversations

it participates in one,

if even that,

since it prefers silence.

Just when our body goes from ache to pain,

it slips off-duty.

It’s picky,

it doesn’t like seeing us in crowds.

our hustling for a dubious advantage

and creaky machinations make it sick.

Joy and sorrow

aren’t two different feelings for it.

It attends us

only when the two are joined.

We can count on it

when we’re sure of nothing

and curious about everything.

Among the material objects

it favors clocks with pendulums

and mirrors, which keep on working

even when no one is looking.

It won’t say where it comes from

or when it’s taking off again,

though it’s clearly expecting such questions.

We need it

but apparently

it needs us

for some reason too.

(Translated from the Polish by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh)

Bulleh Shah of Kasur in Central Punjab is another towering voice that provided a mystical message beyond caste, institutionalized religion and ideologies of power. Born in 1860 in a Syed family, he found a Murshid (spiritual master) in Shah Inayat who was an Arain (a lower caste). This enraged his family and they almost disowned him. However, intoxicated with the love for his master and driven by ideas of Unity of existence and equality of humans, he rejected such notions and stuck to his humanism.

Bulleh’s poetry reflected his rejection of orthodox hold of mullahs over Islam, the nexus between the clergy and the rulers and all the trappings of formal religion that created a gulf between man and his Creator. A common theme of his poetry is the pursuit of self-knowledge that is essential for the mystical union with the Beloved.

The yearning for anonymity and connecting with the Beloved requires that there are no distractions, no priorities and no illusions of attachment. Bulleh Shah’s verse and its translation say it so directly and passionately -(thanks again to Shahidain for sharing the translations by Muzaffar Ghafar):

Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay
Jithay Saaray Annay
Na Koi Saadee Zaat PichHanay
Tay Na Koi Saanu Mannay
O Bulleh Shah let’s go there
Where everyone is blind
Where no one recognizes our caste (or race, or family name)
And where no one believes in us

Ab to jaag Musaffir pyare
Raeen gayi latke taare
Kar le aj karni da weera
Mod na ho si aawen tera

Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
Do what you have to do, do it today.
You will never be back this way.

Your companions are calling.
Let us go.
Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.

A pearl, a ruby, the touchstone and dice
With all that you thirst by the waterside.
Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone. (more…)

Another translation of Faiz rendered by a Toronto based poet – Anis Zuberi. This is a timeless poem or nazm, aaj bazaar main pa ba jolan chalo has been translated and explained below. I am also posting a video that shows Faiz reciting the poem followed by a beautiful rendition by Nayyara Noor. (more…)

Junaid has sent this classic ghazal by one of the earlier, eclectic poets of Urdu language, Siraj Aurangabadi. The best part of his email is the translation by his relative – a Toronto based poet – Anis Zuberi. The translation is amazing as it delves into the deeper meanings of this great ghazal.

Anis Zuberi writes:

It is hard to translate classical poets. This ghazal of Siraj is like a flower, full of beauty and fragrance that one should smell and enjoy and not dissect. …Siraj Aurangabadi was one of the earlier poets of Urdu who came after Wali Dukkani. According to his biography for years, he was in a state of trance and used to remain naked. Khabar e-tahayyur-e-ishq is one of the his most famous Ghazals.

Khabar-e-tahayyur-e-ishq sunn, na junoon raha na pari rahi
Na toh tu raha na toh mein raha, jo rahi so be-khabari rahi

Learn oh absorbing love that neither the obsession (for the beloved) is left nor and the object (pari) of love survived. The only thing that is left is a state of self-unconsciousness: where neither you exist nor I exist. (more…)

This moving poem by Faiz was written forty years ago and still sounds so fresh and relevant…

Du’aa (Prayer) — A nazm for Pakistan’s Independence Day, 1967

Come, let us join our hands in prayer.
We, who can not remember the exact ritual
We, who, except the passion and fire of Love,
do not recall any god, remember no idol.

Let us beseech, that may the Divine Sketcher
mix a sweet future in the present’s poison
For those who can’t bear the burden of time,
the rolling of days on their souls, may He lighten

Those, whose eyes don’t have in their fate, the rosy cheek of dawn
may He set for them some flame alight.
For those, whose steps know no path
may He show their eyes some way in the night.

May those whose faith is following falsehood and pomp
have the courage to deny, the boldness to discover.
May those whose heads wait for the oppressors sword
have the ability to push off the hand of the executioner.

This secret of Love, which has put the soul on fire,
may we express it today and the burning be gone.
This word of Truth that pricks in the core of the heart,
may we say it today and the itching be gone.

(Faiz translated by Agha Shahid Ali)

Here’s the Urdu version -

aayeh hath uthein hum bhi
hum jinhein rusm-e du’aa yaad nahin
hum jinhein soz-e muhabat ke siwa
koi buth, koi khuda yaad nahin

aayeh urz guzarein keh nigar-e hustee
zehar-e imroz mein shirenya furda bhar de
wo jinhein taab-e garaan bary-a iyaam nahin
un ki pulkoon peh shaub-e roz ko hulka ker de

jin ki aankhoon ko roz-e subh ka yaara bhi nahin
un ki raatoon mein koi shuma munawar ker de
jin ke kadumoon ko kisi reh ka sahara bhi nahin
un nazroon peh koi raah ujagar ker de

jin ka deeN pariw-e kizb-o riya hai un ko
himet-e kufr mile, jurat-e tehqiq mile
jin ke sir muntazar-e tegh-e jafa hein un ko
dust-e qatil ko jatuk deenay ki taufiq mile

ishq ka sir-e nihaaN jaan tapaaN hai jis se
aaj iqrar karein aur tapish mit jaa’e
hurf-e haq dil mein khatakta hai jo kante ki turhaaN
aaj izhar karein aur khalish mit jaa’e

Another favourite of mine is Ustad Daman’s immortal poem in Punjabi about the sorrows of partition that we often forget while celebrating this day. Millions had to leave their homes, were killed or hurt – and this bloodline still continues to haunt us…

Last month, in the freezing climes of Islamabad, we talked about Parveen Shakir, Pakistan’s popular poet who died at a young age.

One of Parveen’s poems invokes the legend and metaphor of Dr Faustus:

‘The name ‘Faust’ has become deeply rooted in European mythology as the name of a man who sold his soul to the devil in return for eartly power and riches. The Faust legend has been embellished and retold in many formats …’

Source here

I found this skillful translation of her poem – We Are All Dr Faustus – by another noteworthy poet Alamgir Hashmi on this site.

We Are All Dr Faustus

In a way we are all
Dr Faustus.
One from his craze
and another helpless from blackmail
barters away his soul.
One mortgages his eyes
to trade in dreams
and another offers
his mind as collateral.
All that one may need sense
is the currency of the day.
So a survey of life’s Wall Street says
that among those with the buying power these days
self-respect is very popular.

The Urdu version was found with the translation

This is an appropriate commentary on what constitutes self-respect and the all-pervasiveness of Wall Street culture in our contemporary existence.