Avarice To Overcome A Meek Grain
What kind of incident it is,
That the most splendid women,
Of my era are carrying,
On their heads the bundles of pangs,
Of their beloved misplaced;
Stood in front of thorny fence of steel-wire,
Waiting to enter into their own lands;
In their reddish eyes,
Their well furnished houses burn.
My elders entrusted me a better world,
But I am compelled to hand over,
The descending generation a deformed world.
The crops have forgotten
The skills to grow in my farms,
Their lay ambush the dynamites in my soil.
Would that I may take all children
Of the world in my shelter!
On seeing subterranean walk of the death
In my heart creeps a wish to kiss beloved feet.
We in avarice to overcome a meek grain,
Are busy to dig out the graves of one another,
When there exists a splendid immense
Universe restless to listen the sound of strides.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Am Faithful To The Earth
Listen!
There grows a magic,
In the farms of my eyes,
Of curiosity of the alien directions.
There descends,
The food on my ears of unheard sounds,
And my feet have to stamp their prints
On the un-ravished dust
Of some un-reflected planet.
My nose is alive with an urge
To inhale fragrance of some alien soil,
And tongue is fasting with a yearn
To taste the dithering juicy fruit
Of shadowy trees rooted in the fertile soil
Of some unexplored planet.
From the Earth to space, I have to lay
A network of the radiant routes.
I have come to you after dowelling
My defiant horse of brilliance;
And placing my feet in its poppers
To ride on its saddled back is my dream;
I know that often dreams grow
On the tassels of impossibilities.
I have to scatter the seed of life,
In the celestial regions of the universe,
Sitting on the horse of brilliance,
For life is unaided and in the claws of death.
I am faithful to the Earth
O! My beloved speak,
“Would you accompany me? ”
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Dejected Girls Residing On Both Sides Across The Boundary-line
South Asia
Is alert for the rental war,
Craters
Are ready to replace with the courtyards
Hustling bustling with the children.
Seeing death having a sojourn,
Around my larynx life has returned,
In eyes of the weapon dealers.
O! My young soldiers,
I am against slaughtering, sacrificing,
Your healthy innocent bodies,
At the altar of ferocious god of war;
For I love you,
I am struggling for your liberty,
And beaming future.
O! Life imparting women of Asia,
You learn how to express
Abhorrence against war for it is jealous
Of your motherhood
And matrimonial pleasures,
And is bent upon to hand over
Your beloved husbands
To spiteful darkness of the graves.
O! Dejected girls
Residing on both sides across the boundary-line,
Your laughter only can depose the war.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri 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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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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Peace And Love For Me Are Forbidden
Peace and love for me
Are forbidden,
I have been entrusted
The national responsibility,
To show my hatred
To the environment,
Which I am rendering
With utmost sincerity and patriotism.
There dwells fear in my eyes
And my feet are prison bound,
I am being kept away
from light and fresh air.
I am an inhabitant of such a city,
As is destined to be ruined.
In my infertile soil
The plant of freedom
Does not deepen its roots.
I am in a condition like at war,
I was born on the saddle of a steed
And I was first fed
With an edge of a sword,
That made my tongue acidic,
I want to sputter it out.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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My Inner-self Is Dead Since Long
The bargain of peace,
Does not award commission;
All favour death,
But I am compelled to beg,
Donations of life,
From the weapons.
Despite we went through
Half a century of trials,
We could not learn from our environ.
The life is changing its costume,
The destiny has proclaimed
That the cockroaches will govern the earth.
My inner-self is dead since long,
War will dispose my corpse,
I am the song whom my contemporaries
Are scared to compose.
The training areas touch our abodes,
We generation to generation
Are the guardians of white elephants.
Someone should pick,
A chew of love from my heart,
To dropp it into hearts of the rulers.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Smoke Is Rising From The Branch Of Olive
War
Is impending over our heads,
And Alla Din of Death,
Having the lamp in his hands,
Is waiting for a signal.
Smoke is rising
From the branch of olive,
To see the blind,
The useless,
And the heap of broken bodies,
Is the fate of our eyes.
I am seeding the flowers,
Life, freedom, and peace.
“Peace through war” is the game
Of weapon merchants,
The powers at war have brutal relation
With one another.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Thorn In The Feet Of Humanity
28th May blackened
The clean countenance
Of my calendar,
And ruined
The days of future into rubble.
On that day
We turned our back
To our survival.
The sneaking era
Entangled around our feet,
And we could never rise
From that period.
Now
The smoke will spurt up
From our well furnished houses.
A dreadful explosion,
Perforated
The existence our dream.
Now we are alive
But with the dread of Death.
A half burnt corpse
Of a young solider
Haunts me in my sleeps;
It had in its cold hands,
A crumbled picture
Of a damsel who resides
On some remote unknown seaside;
And in her golden eyes
‘To wait’ is inscribed.
We are: a thorn in the feet of humanity,
That is bent upon
To lose harvest of the centuries.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Intercourse Giggles At Me
They have slaughtered my golden day
In front of my eyes,
And my mournful voice was repressed,
In the durum beats of celebration.
I am digging a grave,
In the soil of my heart.
Death
Breaks into my love brimming heart;
My people
Have forgot to feel affection for life,
And they growl at one another
With brutal sounds.
I have a menace
In front which I did not risk,
My nose,
Has died for perfumes;
And a dread
Has squeezed all tastes of my tongue.
Every night one fear lies down
Before my wife reclines beside,
Intercourse standing afar
Giggles at me,
And my bed-room
Chucks me out of the door.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Am Confronting A Tragedy
In my city,
The trade of epitaphs
Is in full swing;
My people have forsaken,
The days, month and years,
Here only anniversaries of explosions
Are celebrated.
My poets
In front of the cakes of anniversaries,
Bend and bow themselves.
When standing afar I curse
On their reciting of panegyrics,
The folk begin to tear
Into rags my dress amid the bazaar;
And I cover my body
With the leaves of my words, and then
The world seems to me naked like a nude.
I am confronting a tragedy,
In front of which
My poetry is helpless, without extremities,
The sycophant poets,
Have got fixed horns with their couplets,
And their hands are encroaching,
The breast of poetry.
I am engrossed in the lost relations,
My hearing goes though the pangs
Of pollutions of creativity.
Ah! I behold darkness descending
Into radiance of the milky day.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The First Anniversary Of Nuclear Explosions
The pitcher of the Earth
Has got emptied
The water-bags of eyes
Of the damsels going to the fountains
Have dried;
Un-kissed kisses of the damsel of Thur
From the yellow branch of lips
Shed one by one.
The farms
Where my ploughmen seeded Life
Now Death is getting its roots deeper.
On the chest of the Earth
The crops of sores wave,
And half dead colonies: villages and towns
Are sitting on the brims of grave,
Hanging the feet down,
Gilding eyes with a hope of last ablutions.
Those who fight on the front thirst
Their weak eyes gaze at the supply of rain;
In the season of migration,
Greenery and the birds,
Have surpassed the human beings.
The bowls of dried fountains
Far and near are lying turned up;
And on the paths leading to the founts,
The jingles of anklets and bangles
Are lying dead, un-graved, without coffins.
The giggles of children
Left away one by one in the chase of water,
And a thirsty-river
On the paper of sand
Is composing an elegy of Water.
On the forehead of the Earth,
Thirst is inscribed for the descending generations,
Ah! The water of our eyes has dried.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Half Century, Three And Half Wars
Half Century,
Three and half wars.
Our past is our future,
We have not denounced plying
With the mistakes of each other.
My body is the fodder of war,
An in front of my eyes wafts
My decomposed burnt corpse.
I am a song of those tongues
Which have been pulled out of the roots.
My hearing is being eroded
Waiting to listen to the arrival of good tidings.
Armed Forces
Pour into porches of my ears
The lead of Epic,
And Peace,
Has been flinging down exertion,
Into my eyes since centuries.
My Dreams
Deepen roots into my own soil,
In my possession,
I do not have any palace
In Europe.
My dear land that is being enslaved
Is my last abode.
I cultivate my own dreams,
Into the eyes of my own kids.
I urge for the life of peace,
And natural death.
How long we shall neglect our
The most fervent wishes?
At last
We shall have to place out
Our feet from the worn out
Torn shoes.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Poem For Atal Bihari Vajpayee
My Enemy!
Have you forsaken reading
The writes on the hems of petals
With the hands of dew?
Doesn’t the smile
On the flowery faces of your children
Knock at the door of your heart?
In my hatred,
Have you discarded Woman and Fragrance?
Have you learnt like me
To prefer Death to Life and Peace?
My Enemy!
We both are the weaponed passengers,
Of the same boat, floating
Into the ocean of boundless spaces.
Our interests are different
But catastrophe is the same;
Our follies are making the dreams infertile,
Of the generations,
Who will step into the world henceforth.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Moon, Peace And The Earth
Those who invented
For me the sullied terms,
Of the Third World
And the South Asia,
Have brought me to the wall.
The wall that does have any door.
I have only one option open to me,
And that leads to the battlefield,
The guardian of peace,
Came out a consultant of my enemy.
It is a season to harvest
The produce of apprehensions,
The army is busy in saddling the steeds.
What kind of fire it is!
Those who feel themselves secure
Are in the clutches death.
Let us borrow a little peace
From the Moon and in exchange
Lend it a little life,
Perchance in such a way,
Some samples of history,
Life and civilization
Might remain preserved on the Moon.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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My Heart Is The Nest Of Dove
The wind,
Coming from the battlefield,
Pours into my ears,
The neighing of the horses.
The collective graves,
Are about o invade my cities;
And the coffin-sellers,
Look to our fresh young bodies
With avaricious eyes.
The Spider of Death is busy,
In weaving cobweb of my casualty.
O! Gravediggers,
Remove scattered hunger
From your courtyards,
For there is hustle and bustle
In the graveyard.
Come!
Let us protest on the roads
Against war;
My Readers be my witness,
I did not tarnish my pen
With the anthems of wars,
My identity,
Are the songs of peace,
My songs are digging the roots of wars,
For my heart is the Nest of Dove.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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In The Clutches Of Death
War
Is a mutiny against life
And civilization.
I am loyal to both
Life and peace,
But forced to live
In the shadow of death.
Those who defeated the armies,
Can not defeat wars.
I am in the clutches death,
And all doors
Of deliverance are slammed.
A few warriors have made hostage
The whole humanity.
“Peace and friendship are incompatible”
Is only war viable?
The army
Is busy is bent upon to slam for us
The door of future.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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My Asia
My Asia!
You have the fever of 105,
That is why its intensity is roasting the world.
I am looking
The War adorns
Your forehead with galaxies,
The archeologists see
Your hustling bustling cities
With ferocious looks,
And there creep into your streets foot-sounds
Of the grave-diggers.
The Harbingers of Peace
(After war)
For the tenders of your renovation
Are growling at one another.
I have to save your children
And your songs
From being trampled beneath the tanks.
My Asia!
I am an inhabitant of the era of War,
And embarrassed on being a human.
Though I am all alone
And empty-handed,
Yet I am an ambassador
Of Life
Beauty and Freedom.
I have come into the world to ward off
The War pounding at your threshold,
But I am continuously ashamed.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Denizen Of An Ill-fated Planet (A War Poem)
From the womb of life,
Smoke is squirting up,
The tempest of war
Is about to extinguish
The flame of life.
I am a denizen of the same ill-fated planet!
Our back again inclines to bend;
And the slithering era,
Again bends upon to dominate us all.
Dread
Hatred
And violence have snatched from us
All compassion: an essence of humanity;
And we have thrown
Dreams of generations
Into the furnace of war.
Now our faces bear only sockets,
Void of eyes.
Ah! We are heading towards a forest!
In search of beautiful dawn,
That will never see the sunrise time,
Death will invade us instantly;
And that day,
After every second,
Will be the World War Third.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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How Will The Earth Look When Lifeless?
We from inward
Have negated violence,
And acknowledged,
From the core of heart,
The glory of creation;
And in a magnificent gathering,
We have pledged,
To render responsibility,
For the survival of life
And the earth;
But to obtain peaceful environment
We have transformed,
Nuclear weapons into home-industry;
For we think that preparations
Of wars only bear peace.
Alla din of Death
Having the magical lamp in hands,
Is fluttering over our heads;
And the earth is listening
To the sound of time creeping in us.
Life has made up her mind
To migrate from the earth.
How will the Earth look when lifeless?
Who will be here to witness after all?
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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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