Archaeology
Paths
Winding their way
stop short at cave openings.
Words
Written on plaques
Bear witness to the unseen past
Crying themselves hoarse
In deserted towns
Crazy-like strike against the walls.
Far far away
Beyond the rim of lost civilizations
Silence suddenly rebounds
And reverberates.
(1975, Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Climax Of A Long Story
She wrote me
On mud-walls
In colours delible
And then
Prayed for rain!
(1975, Translated By Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Inside Domes
Desires are happy lyrics
Written on walls of sorrowful crying.
Paths are dreams
Of good days to come
But stay detached from destinations.
Lines are imprisoned
In circles.
So, keep walking on
Water is the end-all
Of journey in the desert.
Go, if you must
Following mirages
But carry oceans in your eyes.
Pass, if you must
In the forest of glass-encrusted silence
But keep stones of sound with you.
Live, if you must
Inside domes
But keep a door open!
(Translated by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ultimate Story
When the stony silence
Becomes a shadow
Of internal monologues
And loneliness peeps out
Of door apertures....
Don't write a word!
When evening
Heavy with sorrow
Descends from the roof-tops
Sterile scenes play hide and seek
On paths coming from afar
And eyes placed on cornices
Gather dust of dreams....
Don't write a word!
When letters that spell
Yours name and my name
Get moth-eaten
And words suffocate to death
In closeted books of our lives
A story
You ought to write then
Without a word in it!
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Proscribed Poster
Dreams
Insecticides sprayed
On stinking water in our streets.
Eyes of coming generations
Empty tins in our kitchens
Of dough, ghee and kerosene.
Dancer
Starvation dancing
In our courtyards.
Thirst
Our historical legacy.
Words
Prisoners of curricula
For you who read scripts.
We all
Prisoners of unseen dreams
For you who look for interpretations.
(1977, Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Village Far Far Away
Far, far away is my village!
Where fireflies of my childhood
Still glow in thick folliage
Of Pipal trees.
My lisping words
As they fell from my lips
Are still alive
On old, bent, dying stairs
Of the long-deserted house!
Like rapiers thrust into silence.
Far, far away is my village!
Where darkness
Spreads its wing before it is evening
Tick-tocking sound of the flour mill
Long flights of birds
Going far, far away
Tinkling bells
All become a single tune
To drown into the dark lake
Of night.
Far, far away is my village!
Where I saw
Dreams of happy days to come
While learning my lessons
In the dim light
Of hurricane lamp.
Far, far away is my village!
Where reflections of my first love
Still linger
Where paths are shrouded
In sadness
And loneliness laced with secret longings
Peoples fields, ponds, the school
And trees herded together.
Far, far away is my village!
Where wind still finds
Its way in moonlit nights
Through silent streets
And sleepy courtyards
Calls for me in silence
And turns back, not finding me.
Wind has the same old habit
The same old routine
But life has trampled me
Under direction-less feet
Of crowds in cities.
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Had Ocean Been My Confidant
Had ocean been my confidant
I'd have given it
All of my truths for safekeeping
Tales i would have written
Of seashells picking girls on beaches
Whose golden bodies were
Like isles of dreamland
But whose fates were
Like lines drawn in sand.
Had ocean been my confidant
I'd have given it
All my loneliness
I'd have walked with the wind
Clasping its finger in my fist
On distant paths
From whence no one comes back!
Had ocean been my confidant
I'd have given it all my depths
Stepping into its limitless
Blue bosom
I'd have made earth into my bark
Sky into my sails
I'd have made the woeful moment
Of separation
A connecting link between you and me.
Had ocean been my confidant!
(Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cross On One's Own Shoulder
We had met
On the threshold of a dream
Or in the sprawling hall
Of torturous silence
Of sleepless moments.
Only if chandeliers of memory
Are lighted
Will I ever know where!
All scenes get blurred in darkness.
Words, dots, dashes,
Only if they emerge from the underworld of meaning
Perchance, perhaps then
A forest of meaningfulness
Might grow from the desert womb
Of sterile writings.
Clouds form in azure-blue chalice of the sky.
Indeed, who should I ask about it?
Countless sessions of wasted worship
In the cavernous depths
Of one's own inner self......
who will ever account for it?
Who will decode
The text of moth-eaten pledges?
Did we ever meet each other
Who will know?
(1976, Translated by Dr. satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poem About Expanding Distances
Paths are hot on my trail
And eyes...... as always they do......
Behind, far behind
Are nailed to apertures in the door.
My mom has furrows
Criss-crossed on her time-worn face
And like a dot sans word
Unaware of my own import
I am gaoled in the abdomen
Of starving books.
If one were to look
Into sisters' eyes at the moment of parting
One would know
How deserts are changed into oceans.
Do you remember
You had said at separation
When the dreams of journey
Spring forth from lines of the palm
To become the fate of my feet
Two eyes......as always they do......
Behind, far behind
Will be nailed to the apertures in the door.
And that moment
(you had said)
Will be the last link in our contact.
(1980, Translated By Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
See, If You Can......
See, if you can really see
The wilderness of history
The paths leading to Macedonia are dust-engulfed
' Alexanders of Fate' have vanished
The reverbrating footfalls
Around the nail of Konya
Are now reduced to lifeless echoes of a timeless moment
No dervish has stamina left in his spinning heel
Brightly lit up streaks have dimmed
Serial dances have all been obliterated
Eagles swoop down over Baghdad
The sharp edge of Damascus weapons are now blunt
See, if you can really see
The depths of your dreams
Have growing forests of poison-besmeared eyes
In place of a throbbing heart
Striped snakes of the New World
Now live in the ancient edifices
resting on pillars of Corinth
And the ancient iron boxes of secret treasures
kept in the magic cave
Have no red coins left
Only dollars!
See, if you can.........
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1990.
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Dr. Satyapal Anand.
Copyrights (C) All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
oh yes, Mr. Shaun, the Bible was not written in English
The Gospel of Christ and, in general,
the Holy Bible are written with the inspiration of God.
The Prophets and the Apostles
have recorded in written form
a portion of the oral teaching of the Old Testament
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
in Hebrew and Aramaic as well as the New Testament in Greek.
These are the original languages of the Holy Bible from' which all the translations have been derived. God's inspiration is confined to the original languages and utterances, not the many translations. There are 1,300 languages and dialects into which the Holy Bible, in its entirety or in portions, has been
translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated. translated.
This does not mean that the translations do not convey the meaning of the Bible for spiritual uprightness of the readers in their own language. On the contrary the Bible should be spread and preached to 'all nations'. The missionaries in foreign lands learn the language or the dialect of. the new area into which they bring the Bible and other religious teachings. For example, the missionaries from Constantinople, Saints Cyril and Methodios, sent to Christianize the Slavic peoples in the 9th century, first translated the Bible and the ritual books into the language of the people.
yes, Mr. Shaun, my friend the Bible was not written in English.IT was written in HEBREW, ARAMAIC, and GREEK....
But i like it written in English too, how i wish it were written in such a
language,
with a sense of class
and fashionable disguise,
for without it, how could i ever understand, God,
oh, my, God!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monastery
Up the long flight of stairs
every tread echoes from stone walls
as if to comment on how stillness
tells of sound its silent origin.
In the quiet library, the central table
bears a careful written message:
‘Silence is spoken here’..
and that’s truer than
at first it seems to read;
round the walls, shelves of books
as silent as the monks
standing upright in their stalls
witness words that seek to share;
yet ultimately, wave fare well, turn back;
speak of silence sought and silence found;
yet cannot speak of silence;
in the name of silence, take a book,
well-worn, from off the shelf;
meet it in the silence of the room,
read a few words, and lay it down;
glance at the other readers round the room;
fall still.
Here, silence speaks of stillness;
stillness joys in silence.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lullaby For Lost Generations
All rivers of taste have dried up
Only sands boil in pans
Tyranny of migration has struck the towns
Birds have forsaken their nests.
Judgements descend from heavens
So it is said in books, testaments
Secrets of hearts are culpable offences
It's crime to feed at mother's breast.
''He had gone to buy a feeder
Before curfew time;
Hasn't come back.''
Kids, go to sleep
Stories, written on waters
Are narrated by winds to sails
Of sinking ships, of men in submarines
The oceans in their eyes were dry at parting
Yes, the sands of journey
Had marked all pores of the body
'' Keep Quiet ''.
Whole life-spans pass awake from sleep
A single frozen moment is difficult to pass.
The sun at the roof's height comes and goes
Come, give a call to those
Who had heard Israfael's bugle
And gone to eternal sleep on the battle front.
Their children remain awake.
(Translated from original Urdu by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Purblind
If some one were to flash a light
Would you be able to see
All those things
Which are lost in the deep swarthy
Liquid of darkness
Life's configuration
Death's face
Body of sadness
Lips of sound, dimples of pain
marble-white feet of happiness
Henna-colored fingers of love
Universes of beloved's tresses
Indeed, the divinely musical shadow of God.......
If some one were to flash a light
Would you be able to see
Wrapped up in the primordial fog
Waiting since life's beginning
Some one's eyes!
(Translated by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Charioteer Has Gone To Sleep
The charioteer has gone to sleep
Ovecome by fatigue of wearisome ways
Unaware of where he is
All that's evident
Is his continuous journey
On unmarked, worn-out way
In his wooden wagonette
From the beginning of time
To the end of time
When the wagonette
Creaks even with a small bump
Wrapped up in millions of folds
Of ragged shabbiness
Each living being is startled
The charioteer dreams
He has lost himself in strange worlds
Comfortable climes
Riding a golden chariot
And holding the princess's hand
The charioteer has gone to sleep
(Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Continuity
Winds dance
Black clouds gather
Trace songs of blue rains
On wooden tablets of the golden sun
In azure limitlessness of the sky.
Birds remember the earth
Through signs
Seas come to an end
On shores
Somewhere whole isles
Sink in tear drops.
Hark, O children
For stories get interrupted
If you're inattentive.
(Translated from the original Urdu by Dr.Satyapal Anand and from English to Spanish by Dr. Teresinka Pereira)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The World Is Made For The Cunning
Children innocently ask:
Where do the animals' souls go when they are dead?
Does the fish-soul leave the ocean?
And do the birds
Simply turn into branches of a tree?
Childern do not make concepts
They can't conceptualize
The philosophy of
Evolution and transmigration of souls
They don't know who was what in
previous incarnation
And what would one be in the next one
How would they know that the world
Is full of people
Who sup on innocent souls
Whether of animals or human beings! !
(Translated by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Poem Was Written In Mind And Lost
The poem was written in mind and lost-
Like so many thousands of pages
Like whole archives and whole civilizations
It will be unknown-
Dying happens all the time – naturally-
And staying alive is a limited option only
We cannot save our own holy words for long.
These lines too
Will be buried one day
In the eternal land of silence.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Am I Crazy?
This is a poem that for me elaborates a little about the thought-provoking word ‘crazy’.
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Stop!
They all look at me
With words spelling ‘Crazy’
Stop! Stop! Stop! Am I crazy?
I forever rant my thoughts to my daisy,
She stands in a vase all day playing lazy
Stop! Does this make me crazy?
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
An adult who still sleeps fondly with a doll
Is usually described ‘a screwball’
Stop! So am I crazy?
So what is crazy?
Talking to yourself alone on the day bus
Walking the street naked without a just cause
Sleeping under your bed daily without giving a toss
Speaking to the mirror, stating you are the boss
shitting in public, wondering why they are making such a fuss
Walking and talking like a man, instead of a lady
This poem is crazy
Stop! So am I crazy?
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Ranting away in my new mental home
Doctors have labeled me half-baked
Simply because of a normal mistake
I stopped acting normal
First lost all my pals, labeling me ‘Animal’
When I’m only a meat and fish cannibal
I'm accused of being mentally deranged
Because I shouted in the supermarket
as I was dollar short-changed
They say I’m mentally unstable
Pump me up daily with drugs
While tied to the bed with crazy cables
Now who is the vicious thug?
But my thoughts are still perfectly capable
Of comprehending the new meaning of crazy
What is normal?
What is crazy?
How are we so damn sure, normal is not crazy?
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Blah, Blah, Blah, the Blah!
Stop! Stop! Stop! Am I crazy?
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dream I Have To Write
A dream
I have to write
On the wooden slate
Of a child
Playing traunt from the school.
A moon
I have to write
On the forehead
Of a woman
Swarthier than evetide darkness.
A song
I have to write
On the frozen lips
of the wind
Passing through
A bamboo forest.
A name
I have to write
On an unmarked
Grave stone
In a memorial cemetry.
(Translated from Urdu to English by Dr. Satyapal Anand and from English to Spanish by Dr. Teresinka Pereira)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Baby, Stop Crying
You been down to the bottom with a bad man, babe,
But youre back where you belong.
Go get me my pistol, babe,
Honey, I cant tell right from wrong.
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying cause its tearing up my mind.
Go down to the river, babe,
Honey, I will meet you there.
Go down to the river, babe,
Honey, I will pay your fare.
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying cause its tearing up my mind.
If youre looking for assistance, babe,
Or if you just want some company
Or if you just want a friend you can talk to,
Honey, come and see about me.
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying cause its tearing up my mind.
You been hurt so many times
And I know what youre thinking of.
Well, I dont have to be no doctor, babe,
To see that youre madly in love.
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying, stop crying, stop crying
Baby, please stop crying.
You know, I know, the sun will always shine
So baby, please stop crying cause its tearing up my mind.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!