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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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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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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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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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
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There Exists Someone Around
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
There is someone around,
As hard as a rock,
But invisible as wind;
I can neither see Him nor hold,
Nor He has any shadow.
Sometime He seems like a dark cloud,
That often surrounds my entity,
And supports my hand
By not letting them down,
Someone props when I uplift
Them for a prayer.
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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The Bare Truth
Written By Sughra Sadaf
Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
Wilderness of your eyes,
Desertedness of your countenance,
From your physic, your structure
And repentance of my heart,
All are confessing altogether,
That it is a bare truth, we are faithless,
I tormented you, I made you weep,
And in response you remained loyal,
Ah! But I disregarded you.
My conscience: the voice of my hart,
Whispers that all rulers,
All despots, small and giant
Yes all made you weep,
They all will come back to you again,
They all who gamed with you,
Made you toy, now played then broke,
Now plundered then sold,
I see now the patches of your garden,
Dull and drab, and body week and frail.
O! My country how I should see you
In miserable plight.
O! Motherland you have a tale of love;
There had been times when scarifies
Were the ornaments of your forehead
But now strange are the reversions,
We have forsaken you by diverting our face,
In the love of rivals, and we all are the witness,
That it is a truth, a bare truth, “We are faithless.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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You Forgot Me at Last
In the despised season,
In the dripping drops of blood,
Only awakens sadness.
I read somewhere
Or heard someone,
It happens that this sadness
Being indifferent and heedless
Nips all of sudden,
Delicate buds of memories.
Hearken!
My heart goes through a fear
Lest you should forget me,
Lest it should happen in such a season.
O! My love,
This was that I said to you,
But happened the same
You forgot me at last.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Iceland That Is Named Love
If you will have to go,
To the Iceland that is named Love
Take my memory along.
It is heard
That once there live a couple of swans,
They both governed each other’s heart,
Picked dreams descending into the eyes,
Wove the fabric of faithfulness with silky dialogues,
And renovated it on each day;
But what happened as the season changed,
They both flew on diverse directions,
It is heard
Since then they were not seen together.
The Iceland that is named Love,
If you will have to go there,
Please do visit the lonely tree,
Upon whose costume of the branches,
On every side the names of lovers are carved.
It is heard
That the inscribers never get a chance to rewrite,
They stamp their fingers with blood,
They lose their fortune, they accepted their defeat.
The Iceland that is named Love
If you will have to go there,
Take my memory along.
My memory is a shade in sweltering temperature
And it is a season of some village of the past.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Separation Weeps
Those who break up relations,
Perhaps forget,
They meet by embracing,
Each season all alone,
But they weep not alone.
On becoming restless,
Saddened and impatient,
Separation itself,
Accompanies them in wailing.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Season Of Separation
He inquired,
“Were all dreams shattered? ”
I responded,
“No there left some behind.”
He inquire again,
“Since when have you been conversing to yourself? ”
I responded,
“It is a gift bestowed by aloofness.”
He said,
“What have you done with bright eyes,
Rosy cheeks and golden facade? ”
I answered,
“There rests in my inner-self the season of separation.”
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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You Are Fallen In Love
When the clouds move swaying to the desert,
The roses scent the air lacerating the rocks,
The grains of sand become a galaxy,
The moon becomes envious on seeing the earth,
The waterfalls engender melodies,
Wires of the heart throb on naming someone,
All dreams awake in the dormant eyes,
Autumn begins to converse with spring,
Dusk of the evening perches on the lashes,
Silence on the lips becomes a message,
The season of intimacies begins to linger,
Then you think you are fallen in love.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
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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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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What Is Love
Love exits since beginning!
Beyond the string of words,
But is a reality.
Love in the firmament of thoughts,
In the guise of clouds,
Always flutters, soars high,
Sometimes contracted into the drops of rain,
Impinges, scatters on the land of heart.
Taking delicacies from the breeze,
And fragrance from the roses,
Colours from the rainbow,
Light from the stars,
Weave a beautiful Anchal,
And from the same Anchal adorns,
Mud-made houses.
Love throws into trials,
Sometimes becoming poetry,
Enhances deference of the words,
Sometimes becoming a tune,
Hums gradually,
It becomes an incarnated eye,
After getting the beloved one,
A strange touch it becomes,
In the alley of the most adored.
Who knows what kind
Of magical utterances it utters,
And hurriedly descends into the close eyes
Of someone with out a knock,
And makes a residence.
Love smiles,
It is a fragrance,
Always abodes in the breath of blossoms,
Such a light it is,
As it turns into moon the dark nights,
And permanent pang it contains,
That has Indescribable tang,
The definition of Love is that it is Love.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
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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If Love Gets Annoyed
Faithfulness,
When gets over the shawl
Of compromise,
And assumes,
The shape of Winter,
It descends in the patio of heat.
It smiles like a bow of stars
Hanging on the lashes,
And sometimes it gives
An unsmelt perfume,
Of the untouchable figures
Of dreams.
When the chains
Of countless moments spent
Along someone endeared,
Begin to jingle in the mind,
Silence at once cries
On the cable of breath;
It seems as if gusts of winds,
Come to whisper.
O! My Friend,
Now you might have realize,
The true nature of love;
Whatever wounds it imparts,
It never allows to stitch
And if love gets annoyed
It dose not allow to be alive.
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Azra
(A heartiest tribute of Sarwar Sultan to his deceased wife who a year after also passed away; the poem has been translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
It was December, she and I,
December has come again,
Who knows how many December
Will come and depart,
She can not come back
And I can not die yet.
It was December when I took her
On the fog-wrapped rocks,
It was December when I took her
On the bank of a blue lake,
It was December when I took her
On the high mountains
Amid the tall palm trees,
And it was December when I took her
On the bank of a rushing river.
Whatever the season is,
She always accompanies me,
I know not where to fragrance
Of her soared,
All of sudden on one day,
She went to where she had hailed from,
She can not come back,
And I can not die yet,
Now December becomes a wound
And spring imparts to it a tormenting pain.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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An Incentive
Alas! Some strange dream,
In their colourless lives,
Should raise such a tempest,
As your love,
Fused into my blood,
And keeps me in fervour,
Enkindles my heart,
Places my entire self in commotion,
Provides me with the cause to live,
And titivates my face like a moon.
Written by Sabina Riffat
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Why Do You Sojourn In My Dreams?
Why do you sojourn in my dreams?
Sometime
In the form of intoxicated breeze,
Sometimes
With fondness of the flower-flies,
Sometimes
In the wild look of a hermit,
Sometimes
With fragrance of flowers,
Sometimes
In the form of an innocent hope,
Sometimes
In the shape of a moon-ring,
Sometimes
In the type of a string of stars,
Sometimes
In the texture of a woolen shawl,
Sometimes
As a butterfly,
Sometimes
As a glow-worm,
Sometimes
In the style of fragrance.
Why do you sojourn in my dreams?
By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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