Year 14 of the 21st century

before we ceased to not-exist, we thought life as we think of the death. we were unsure of what it had and what it held for us. we were frightened as we are of the life which awaits us. when we were little babies in our mothers’ wombs we didn’t know or we don’t remember that there is a life after a life after this life of ours. it is only when our little hearts beat for the very first time that we got an idea of existence from nothing. something from nothing, this is crazy, this can’t be true, angered, grieved, lost, thwarted, we kicked our mothers’ bellies and they felt us and they told our fathers about it, they said inside us are beings as real as we are. our fathers smiled may be with tears in their inner eyes for they are men, they wouldn’t cry.

I mean look at the seas, when seas were little babies inside their mothers’ wombs created out of nothing, they’d not have kicked in their anger about somethingness out of nothingness, they’d have stormed inside their mothers’ bellies. Look at the clouds which look like old men’s beards only moving or you can imagine, if you can, big white beards moving slowly in the sky as old men are with deep weary eyes and quivering hands.

And the sun, the sun, the sun, oh the sun, why so proud? why so angry? why this wrath? when you know that you were formed like us, like everything from that unimaginable, the amazing substance called ‘nothing’? Don’t you know this, oh the sun! And the time, oh the time, why so cruel? why such hurry? when you know that you are going to end, just like us, like everything you or us have imagined in our mutual lives? and the death, you yourself, yes you, why so happy? did somebody tell you that you’re immortal, that you will live, that you with your horror can end my centuries old existence?  and dear rose, our dearest beautiful rose, why such vanity? when you know that the blood which keeps you fresh will lend itself to the earth, the hungry giant, forever? and the brain, my dear, can’t you think of anything else than the boring question of existence? when you know that I’m but a spark visible now, invisible for hundred eternities. one moment of happening and hundred eternities before and after it, does this proportion seem strange to you? answer me, dearest brain!

And Oh God, I request you from my heart , keep me near the truth, please, I beg of you!

A man stepped out of a tree trunk, all dirty and old and shook me, its time Safdar its time, you’ve to go remember, its April the third, you’ve the interview!

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Iqbal To The Night

mein terey chaand ki kheti mein guhr bota hun

chup key insaanon sey maanind-e-sehr rota hun

din ki shoorish mein nikaltey huay ghabraatey hain

uzlat-e-shab mein meray ashk tapak jaatey hain

mujh mein faryaad jo pinhaan hai, sunaaon kis ko

tapish-e-shoq ka nazzara dikaoun kis ko

barq-e-aiman merey seenay pe pari roti hai

daikhnay wali hai jo aankh, kahan soti hai!

sifat-e-shama-lehad murda hai mehfil meri

ah!, aey raat baro door hai manzil meri

ahd-e-haazir ki hawa raaas nahin hai iss ko

apney nuqsaan ka ehsaas nahin hai iss ko

zabt-e-paigham-e-muhabbat sey jo ghabrata hun

terey taabinda sitaron ko suna jata hun

 

 

Iqbal

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Iqbal died on 21st April 1938 at his home in Lahore. He is the national poet of Pakistan. He wrote approximately 12,000 lines of verse of which more than half is in Persian. I wish to thank God of for giving us Iqbal. His works have inspired me more than any other writer.  In one of his books called ‘Baang-e-Daraa’, there is a poem called ‘Khuftgaan-e-Khaak se Istafsaar’ (loosely in English, An Interrogation of  the  Dead) , today or on any other day , I wish to stand beside his grave and read it and weep a little.

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Khayaal

“baithay baithay zehn key kisi anjaan koney sey, jo mera hisa hai mujhe maaloom bhi na tha, ye khayal aata hai ke mein hoon. ke mein nahin hoon nahin balkey mein hoon. key meray dost, meray waalid, meri ami, sub hain, sub nahin hain nahin balkey hain. yeh khayal kitna ajeeb hai,  jaisey aap kabhi 2 bajey khana khaaney baithey aur dekha kay ek ghantey baad bhi 2 hee baj rahe hain. lekin kabhi kisi zamane main aisa tha ke mein ‘honaa-abad’ mein nahin tha balkey ‘nahin-honaa-abad’ mein tha. woh shehr jo dunya key kisi naqshey mein nazar nahin aata. jahan loug barson sey abaad hain lekin koi jaanta hee nahin ek dusrey ko. yeh soch ke zehn dang reh jaata hai. ek paagal shakhs jab kuch dair key liye achanak se hosh mein ataa hai tou kuch lamhon ke liye hairaan rehta hai. aisey khayalaat sey khayaal kaisey rakha jaaye? jis din mera beta paida hua tha, mujhe yaad hai mein hispataal mein theatre ke baahir bechainee se idhar udhar chal raha tha, uss waqt bhi iss khayal ne zehn mein ghar karney ki koshish kee. doctor ne kuch dair baad itilaaa’ dee ke aap ka beta hua hai aur mein muskuraya. ‘nahin-honaa-abad’ se ek naya mehmaan aya hai. Khair, waja jo bhi ho, asar bara ajeeb hai aisey khayalaat ka. Maaf kijiye gaa kahan baaton mein phas gaye, batana yeh maqsood tha ke mein ek nayee kitab likh raha hun, uss ka naam ‘Silsila-e-Roz-o-Shab’ rakhney ka iraada hai. Ab tak jo kuch likh chuka hun iss khat ke saath bheje deta hun, parh ke bataiye ga!”

 

Aap ka apna

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