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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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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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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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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From Behind The Moon
On seeing
From behind the moon,
The lines drawn
On face of the earth,
Are invisible.
Boundaries,
Are the leaching eruptions
On belly of the Earth.
My eyesight goes through
A dismal pain,
On seeing wretched activities
In the world.
I am fortunate
Enough that I am alive,
But astonished how alive I am.
My tomorrow is in my hands,
And there lies,
An obligation of survival
On my shoulders;
I am in a search to find out,
A secure spot
On the surface of the Earth.
(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 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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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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Journey Irritates My Soles
Give me
The wages of my hands,
So that I could dig the earth.
I have dug a canal of milk,
And consumed myself for you;
Keeping nothing reserved for myself.
I accept not
The guidance of my own belly,
I am lavishing my days hurriedly,
The world
Is lying under my heels,
Wheezing, panting for the last breath,
I have sheltered myself in my fist,
I am latent keeping the bundle
Of my dreams beneath my head.
Journey irritates my soles,
Here bellies of the people
Scuttle ahead faster than the feet,
But I have cut asunder
My belly and left it far behind.
In my gardens the birds are reducing,
In the sky of my share a holocaust is inscribed,
The lap of my Earth is going to be desolate soon.
(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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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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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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Science Is Killing Us All
Holding the hem of an old worn out dream,
We have reached a footpath.
In the callous streets
Of the hilarious city
Making the atom bomb
Our covering
Keeping begging bowls in the hands
And arms on the fore-heads
We are dormant all oblivious.
Amid the fodder
And the crop of swaying starvation,
Our tossing children
Sleep every day
On the worn out carpet of patriotism,
Tasting the flowing salt of their eyes
And licking the long-ranged missiles.
Long lurking militant tongues
Are bent to represent the weapon-adorers.
Life
Love
Who is the ambassador of Freedom?
Our skills are consumed,
In always chiseling the weapons,
Yes; Science is killing us all.
(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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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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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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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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Have You Ever Thought
Have you ever thought,
Why the people migrate
Leaving behind their dwellings;
Any prefer to leave for the world unexplored.
Have you ever thought
How hundreds of lamps of tears enkindle
On the quivering edges of the lashes.
By Fakhira Batool 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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The Last Day Of Life On The Earth
The womb
Of the earth is bleeding,
Perhaps
The last day of life on this
Planet has reached;
The same day, when
The air will begin to simmer;
And the space
To quench its thirst will gulp
The seven seas.
War
Is constantly in our chase,
Let us to save our lives
Should flee to the Mars.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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