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
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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
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My Head Bows Before The Quill
In the dale of death,
I have taken the risk of favouring life,
I have been entrusted an obligation
To contemplate,
Amid those who have apathy against thinking;
It is just like to enkindle fire
With stones in the snow fall.
The leading heads are betrothed
To blemish countenance of the Earth,
And my head
Only bows before the quill.
I resting my feet on a heap of explosives
Have raised my hands for prayers,
The birds,
With hopeful eyes are looking at
The extended nest of my hands.
Written by Dr. Jawaz Jaffri translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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 Elegy Of The Earth
I before my death,
Have composed,
An elegy of the Earth,
Which (after war)
Roodali of the Air will sing,
Weeping and wailing,
Sitting amid the burnt
Decomposed bodies.
The Decree of Death
Has been written,
On the pale forehead of the Earth;
Only time is to be fixed.
We are neither afraid of death,
Nor covetous for life,
We only wish to relish in full,
Our natural life before the final ruin,
And it is our right too.
If war is indispensable,
We shall fight it only for our existence,
For our dreams are not
The fuel for the wars being fought on rent.
‘Roodali’ is a professional woman whom the elite class of the Sikhs hires to lament on the death of someone.
(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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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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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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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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Fondness For Destination
After sipping
Drop after drop,
And surviving
After a fight against Death,
After a long time today
I have peeped into his eyes,
I held his hands,
Propped his arms,
Caressed his lashes.
I am listening to him,
I am collecting his tears,
Today again on being
Brightened of his light,
And being fragrant of his perfume,
Pulsation is dawdling down.
Now I am but devoid of ambitions,
My world is perfect,
Now why I should live
With no objective,
Someone should convey the Death
To approach me by Its own accord.
Written by Saamee Aejaz Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Song On Resurgence Of The Earth
War
Begins with the tears,
And peace with smiles.
Peace
Is an enslaved damsel that the warriors:
The guardians of peace captured
And imprisoned her
Amid the walls by force.
What type of life this is,
That the thought of death
Never releases us even for a moment;
Upon my colonies falls
Depression from the sky,
And in dread,
The breasts of mothers have dried.
In my infertile land
Peace does not grow;
It is a an indoor plant
Of the land of the descending Sun
Which is exported to favourite countries
And so is earned the foreign exchange.
The deprived people,
Like us can not afford peace;
For us life is harder than the war,
But life in the clutches of death,
Is demanding its own right.
Come!
Let us compose a new song,
On resurgence of the Earth.
(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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The Warriors Do Not Have The Hearts
I am in search of a heart,
In which miseries,
Of my people could breath;
And the warriors
Do not have the hearts.
My people are born,
But without peace and liberty;
They remain alive.
And die.
When we wished,
To speak for our rights,
Our voices stuck,
To the vocal-cords.
We are the numbers,
With which rulers play,
The game of plus and minus.
Hearken! The eye of glass,
Is always sans sight,
I have the song,
But not the voice;
You have the voice,
But not the song.
Let us then sing
The song altogether,
For the birds
Have forsaken to sing.
I in the concert when sing
The song of peace,
In appreciation get disgust,
As if
The people
Have conspired with the Death.
(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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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
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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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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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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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A Treasure
Packed in an old trunk,
Beneath the worn-out garments,
And the torn pieces of paper,
Amid the charms and devices of spell,
In a rusty box of metal,
Beneath the fading photograph,
The coloured silky sari that lies
There with a red golden lace,
And glistening stars,
Is dearer than the soul,
For an unfortunate aged woman.
Written by Naina Adil
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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