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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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
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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
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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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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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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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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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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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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 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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My untainted Love
my tears cried in your pupil eyes, that would heal the inner
passion of your heart, it is the zeal that makes the wound
dried up in my life a moment to take the true essence of
what is to love you so dearly
a womb of love that woven in the pinnacle of joy, has
reveal the truth that life we share is just a love that it takes
the wisdom of death as the beginning of an endless life
with the one you really love
no other love you can give, but the love you live it now, is the
only love you have to share, in order to live life to the fullness
of joy, the end is just beginning to sprout, that behind that line
of pain happiness is waiting
to give is to die and to die is to live, with the passion of living
the one you love, illuminate who you are to me, life changes
as it goes, and along the way the genuine life is sheltered in
the timeless beats of an endless yes
as every moment knock, and every wings flock, our hearts pack
that life we live and share is only the end of the beginning of
our infinitum of search of who we are in this life.... a journey
that what ever it takes... your always with me
poem by Antonio Liao
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No Longer With Me
There is no more,
A deep layer on the eyes,
I live no more in the fantasies,
So there is no more agony of love.
I live no more on taking and giving,
And in outline of life,
The moment that slipped away,
From the lashes of my eyes,
And from the palms of your hands,
Had been a dream since ages,
But it no longer exists.
On seeing me your bewilderment,
Is a question,
It is true I am the same and you are too,
But my heart that was fond of you,
Is no longer with me.
By Fakhira Batool 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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