Ambitions
O! What has happened to you?
What are you doing?
Pay heed to my urge,
I have to do yet a lot of work,
I have to wed my daughters yet,
I have to see my sons as bride-grooms,
I have to send my mother on Haj,
I have to get built my house yet,
Why is there too hurriedness?
O! Friends,
Make them understand, for I crave,
Lift up sills from my grave.
Written by
Sheraz Akhtar Mughal
Translated by
Mhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Punishment of Hurriedness
I have been deployed
To attend upon the three of life,
In the prolific branches
Of which are perching
Avaricious crows.
I fastening stones of inaccessibility,
On the belly am living on the breaths
Of my own share.
My body,
Is an impediment on the path of my life,
On the slates of my eyes there reveal
Such songs as readers of which are waiting
For the moment of their own creation.
I am gathering harvest of punishment
Against hurriedness of my birth,
My genuine life will commence
After my death.
Written by Dr. Jawaz Jaffri translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After You Had Gone
Only a little happened
At last
After you had gone,
Love, fondness, faith and trust,
Erased themselves
From the pages of dictionary
Of my life, in such a way
As they never had been there.
Written by Saamee Aejaz Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An Epitaph Of A Collective Grave
Human race,
On soggy lath of its fate,
Writes suicide.
The window of my eye,
Opens to the future.
For the lap of my Earth,
An epitaph of a collective grave
Is being written;
On the head-side of which
A dried lamp is looking to the way
For mustard of its own share.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Wall of Sand
If it falls,
Let it fall hundreds of times,
It is useless
To make him understand,
For he shall make the wall of sand.
Sand- made is my home,
The rain is obstinate too,
It seems as if,
This will work a wonder at last.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Am A Bride-groom Of War Procession (A War Poem)
Youth
Is the natural right
Of my innocent children.
War
Claims a part of my age;
My back is destined not to become a bow,
Death has built a nest in my chest;
And dread
Travels though my bones,
These my young and warm hands,
Which had been kissed more than often,
By my beloved women
Now are marked by death.
I wish that before my death,
I could take my aged mother in my lap;
Ah! No one is there to shed tears
On the death of Happiness.
I am a Bride-groom of war procession,
Radiation will apply Surma to my eyes,
At the very moment,
Life on my cheeks will die down,
My shoes will sleep in mud prostrate,
And the rags of my shirt,
Will cover nudity of any half-burnt tree.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
Surma: A black stone ground into powder which is applied to blacken the eyes.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Sons And Daughters
There's a place in the city they call the Archway
Where we rented three rooms for a dollar a day
and I worked semi-skilled at the capstans for years
And my wife was a good woman but the love disappeared
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I found me a band, I went out on tour
So the kids wouldn't know I was with them no more
When they said, "Where's me dad?" She'd say, "He's a star!"
Oh if only stars knew what fools they all are.
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage goes down they're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage I've done
I got a new contract, I got a new life
No more capstans for me and I've got a new wife
Sometimes she gets angry, says she wants a family
Then that nightmare returns like a ghost haunting me
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
When a marriage breaks up you're the loneliest ones
Sons and Daughters, Daughters and Sons
How I hope you all cope with the damage we done
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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oh yes, Mr. Shaun, the Bible was not written in English
The Gospel of Christ and, in general,
the Holy Bible are written with the inspiration of God.
The Prophets and the Apostles
have recorded in written form
a portion of the oral teaching of the Old Testament
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
These are the original languages of the Holy Bible from' which all the translations have been derived. God's inspiration is confined to the original languages and utterances, not the many translations. There are 1,300 languages and dialects into which the Holy Bible, in its entirety or in portions, has been
translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.
This does not mean that the translations do not convey the meaning of the Bible for spiritual uprightness of the readers in their own language. On the contrary the Bible should be spread and preached to 'all nations'. The missionaries in foreign lands learn the language or the dialect of. the new area into which they bring the Bible and other religious teachings. For example, the missionaries from Constantinople, Saints Cyril and Methodios, sent to Christianize the Slavic peoples in the 9th century, first translated the Bible and the ritual books into the language of the people.
yes, Mr. Shaun, my friend the Bible was not written in English.IT was written in HEBREW, ARAMAIC, and GREEK....
But i like it written in English too, how i wish it were written in such a
language,
with a sense of class
and fashionable disguise,
for without it, how could i ever understand, God,
oh, my, God!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sons & Daughters
(ian hunter)
Theres a place in the city they call the archway
Where we rented three rooms for a dollar a day
And I worked semi-skilled at the capstans for years
And my wife was a good woman but the love disappeared
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage goes down theyre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage Ive done
I found me a band, I went out on tour
So the kids wouldnt know I was with them no more
When they said, wheres me dad? shed say, hes a star!
Oh if only stars knew what fools they all are.
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage goes down theyre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope they can cope with the damage Ive done
I got a new contract, I got a new life
No more capstans for me and Ive got a new wife
Sometimes she gets angry, says she wants a family
Then that nightmare returns like a ghost haunting me
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
When a marriage breaks up youre the loneliest ones
Sons and daughters, daughters and sons
How I hope you all cope with the damage we done
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dark Belongs to the Feral Ones
A lone assistant, an all-night stand
Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons
Flash of a blade behind a door
The dark belongs to the feral ones
Mayhem & menace, muggings & fear
Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons
Drugs and litter and fights, and beer
The dark belongs to the feral ones
Boots that stamp on a victim's face
Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons
Is it the fault of blood, or place?
The dark belongs to the feral ones
Gym-slip bride in her council flat
Somebody's daughters and somebody 's sons
She's the local hoodies' welcome mat
The dark belongs to the feral ones
Speed and jellies and hash and smack
Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons
Dealers in playgrounds pushing crack
The dark belongs to the feral ones
Gangs, graffiti and poxed-up sex
Somebody's daughters and somebody's sons
Smash society..clear its decks
The dark belongs to the feral ones
poem by Sheena Blackhall
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Cuscuta
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
Some unknown pangs
Gripped, caught my giant like existence,
All gloom of the world has contracted
In my inner-self; but it all happened
In such a way that all springs of your love,
And showers of your fondness,
Altogether
Can not remove my pangs at all,
Can not recover me from pain at all,
But you must know there waits yet behind,
Remedy of your spitefulness.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Behind The Worn-out Grave Of Time
From behind the worn-out grave of Time,
Death,
Sends me a message;
I am a thick shady tree of creation,
The poems chirrup in my tassels,
But Death
On my stem brimming with life,
Inscribes the song of inaccessibility.
Written by Dr. Jawaz Jaffri translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Are You?
I have driven back my car to the porch,
But the hands resting on the steering
Would not switch off the machine.
I have returned,
But where should I go ahead in the house;
Tight are laces of my shoes,
And these gloves are dank.
Look behind awhile!
The collar of my shirt never had been
So dull, as it is now,
The knot of my tie gives off inertia of ages,
The dust of loneliness wraps me from all around,
Where are you my love? Where are you my love?
Written By Qayyum Tahir
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Difference Between God and Man
The world,
God created
In full six days,
Man is competent
To destroy it
In six minutes.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Season
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
Since you have altered you looks,
It is strange they have changed
The season of my inner-self.
The stars of my eyes,
The spell of my words,
Fragrance of my breath,
They have been taken away
From me, my all assets.
Now you do not come in springs,
And in autumns you make me eager,
I don’t know why it happens
In the patio of my inner-self,
There is a static season of autumn,
Sometimes it comes from this way,
And sometimes encroaches from that side.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The End
The affair advanced,
In such a way,
He sent me a rose,
I opened the book,
Placed amid the leaves,
And kept it hidden
From all spying eyes.
At last it happened
There remained behind,
Nothing else except,
Some dried petals, and a little
Perceptible fragrance.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Reaction
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
He who regards me a half being,
He must know at least,
How much complete he is.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Spectacle Of The New World
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
I urge for the rainy season,
And joining of the hearts,
The wet soggy nights;
And whispering in silence.
The moon be in the sky,
And I in your company wishing
For the beams being rained
From all sides around,
Breaths be packed with perfume,
And all colours enter into
The threshold of eyes.
There would be honeyed tones,
And broken all walls of hatred amid
The steady secured spectacles,
And all around be worshipped
The Deity of Love,
And life be a fruitful endeavour,
Hopes reside in the eyes,
And words of good wishes on the lips.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something Happened
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad
Something happened, you don't hear about
Oh, please that never did before
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad, oh
I never saw this on TV
I never read it in no book
ahh
Something happened
I just don't understand
hey, baby, something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
Something happened
I just don't understand
Something happened
It's making me feel mad
I thought I knew a lot of things
but I don't know a thing, oh, oh, oh
Something happened
I just don't understand
The things I hear and see
don't seem the same
The things I touch and feel
are forever changed
I've never felt this way before
and I hope I never do again
Something happened
I don't know why or when
oh, something happened
I just don't understand
something happened
I just don't understand
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
something happened
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
something happened
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
something happened
Doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo-doo-doo
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Dream Of Some Other Soil
The sky of my own share
Has wreathed Himself
With the cover of monotony;
And my eyes,
In the azure page of the sky
Has written boredom
In the eye-sight.
Now these eyes,
Dream of some other soil,
Some other season,
Somewhere here around
In the neighbourhood of my Earth,
There lays some hidden route
That I seek for,
And waits for inaugural gathering,
For some unseen world.
Written by Dr. Jawaz Jaffri translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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An Effort
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
The moon your face,
The night your locks,
Your eyes the ocean,
Your voice the spell
Your breath the fragrance,
I have regarded.
Lo! What a kind of wonder
I have performed.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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