Last Night
Last night your faded memory came to me
As in the wilderness spring comes quietly,
As, slowly, in the desert moves thew breeze,
As to a sick man, without cause, comes peace
[Original: Urdu, Translated by: Faiz Ahmed Faiz]
poem by Vikram Seth
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Wasteland of Solitude
In the wasteland of solitude, my love, quiver
shadows of your voice, illusions of your lips.
In the wasteland of solitude, from the dusts of parting
Sprout jasmines and roses of your presence
From somewhere close by, rises the warmth of your breath
and in its own aroma smolders, slowly, bit by bit.
Far-off, across the horizon, dropp by glistening drop
Falls the dew of your beguiling glance.
With such overwhelming love, O my love,
your memory has placed its hand on my heart's cheek,
that it looks as if (though it's still the dawn of the adieu)
the sun of parting has set; the night of union has come.
Translated by Zafar Iqbal Syed
poem by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
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Do not ask, my love.....
Do not ask, my love, for the love we had before:
You existed, I told myself, so all existence shone,
Grief for me was you; the world’s grief was far.
Spring was ever renewed in your face:
Beyond your eyes, what could the world hold?
Had I won you, Fate’s head would hang, defeated.
Yet all this was not so, I merely wished it so.
The world knows sorrows other than those of love,
Pleasures beyond those of romance:
The dread dark spell of countless centuries
Woven with silk and satin and gold braocade,
Bodies sold everywhere, in streets and markets,
Besmeared with dirt, bathed in blood,
Crawling from infested ovens,
My gaze returns to these: what can I do?
Your beauty still haunts me: what can I do?
The world is burdened by sorrows beyond love,
By pleasures beyond romance,
Do not demand that love which can be no more.
poem by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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A Dream Fallen Out Of Sleep
Outside the abode of our sleep
Somewhere a dream burns
Somewhere tears sparkle
Somewhere a moon smoulders
Outside the abode of our sleep
Somewhere the sun rises
Somewhere the black beauty - night
Street walks
Somewhere an earthen lamp
Hides behind a facade
Outside the abode or our sleep
Somewhere bright birds flutter
Somewhere beasts of prey prowl
Somewhere there's a memory - forest
A desert there is - and a watershed
Somewhere a snowscape burns
Outside the abode of our sleep
Somewhere there's a cloud-burst
Eyes stare in longing
Somewhere in the ocean of the heart
Someone burns to a dry death
Outside the abode of our sleep
Somewhere two flowers bloom
Somewhere we see each other every day
Somewhere the wounds are sutured
Outside the abode of our sleep
Somewhere a roof is lit up
A door is afire
Somewhere hidden
Somewhere revealed
Outside the abode of our sleep
A dream burns.
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1979.
Translated from Urdu into English by Dr. Satyapal Anand
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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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.
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Song Of The Dark
When it rains darkness
we beg refuge in an iridescent dream, and
we don't know that
after having a plunge into the colours of the painter
how does the night change into blue?
The night flees hearing the soft footsteps of light;
rushes into the nooks and corners -
spreads to the hollow spaces;
a few holes pierce the souls
travelling through those
it moves to another direction -
Is that path dark too?
Is there a bottomless
crater of darkness
that moves from one illusion of light
to another?
Does there too
the darkness draw
delight the way
we draw pleasure from our
wanton sadness? And
overflow with our
iniquity; and
lose all residual words
in the entwining net of great verses.
Wounds in the souls
go deeper each moment; and
life in between the day and night
like crawling and swaying shadows -
Moves from one direction to the other;
second to the third,
third to the fourth,
fourth to the fifth; and then
to the whole universe; and
like this, onto a limitless direction.
Life keeps crawling on the knees silently
from one lair to the other;
from one corner of the universe to
the other corner -
Even the souls start sobbing
and there at the God's column-less
palaces;
darkness looms over the sparkling stars;
waiting for the chance to assault, and
reaches those lands where
hearts cultivate
and minds blossom in flowers!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,2008.
Translated from Urdu into English by Dr.Bina Biswas
Copyright(C) Naseer Ahmed Nasir, All Rights Reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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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
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Where Did You See Her?
Have you ever ventured
Beyond the dreams
Where the sulking night
Angry with her lovers, the moon and the stars
Dabs her bare body with ashes
And dances around a bonfire?
Have you ever peeped behind eyelashes
Into tired blue eyes
Where a whole world of woe
Swims in spaces unfathomed?
Have you ever spent a day
Under the greenwood trees
Erect sentry-like on each side of the road
Where the sun struggles
To find its way?
Have you ever asked
A wayfarer, a stranger
The directions to the house
Of the one
Whose waning footprints
The winds kiss
Wandering about from town to town?
(Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Don't Ever Come, O December
Look December
Don't ever come now!
Look, December
Deserts unnumbered have expanded in me.
All my rivers
Are silted with the sands of loneliness.
Now only I
And the weight of my loneliness
Remain together.
Look, December
In your frozen nights
In your sleepless nights
Who will knit dreamlike sweaters?
Who will pick snowflakes falling in the soul?
Look, December
Don't ever come now!
And even if you do come
Don't go to the abodes of the sun
Wearing the snows of your woes.
Don't ever go to my loved ones!
Look, December
Don't ever come now!
(Translated from the original Urdu into English by Dr. Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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The Fifth Loner
Beginning in the eyes
dreams end up at soles of feet.
The river is yet without a bridge.
For the earth is to become a path, a route,
centuries, a journey must endure.
Racing with water and wind
time overtakes me
and I, the lone
traveler of earth,
lagging way behind you,
holding close, the
left-overs of life,
from the farthest edge
of my expanse
wait for the universe to shrink.
They clay-lamp's flame
frightens the ghost of night.
The sky-canopy is too small;
the light more abundant than my heart.
But drams have a life, longer than all distances.
In seasons divine,
when stars, like flowers will bloom
and around sun-fire will hover, butterflies,
your moon-face will appear
through branches of eternal dusk.
If you'll have the strength
to endure and wait,
then, with a new arrangement of elements,
I'll come for you ….!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1994.
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Yasmeen Hameed.
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Lighthouse
Tell me, O moisture
Halted in the eternity of my eyes
Which stagnant epoch has confined you!
God weeps rain
On some land of pain
Why only one dropp of my tear
Has stuck on His lashes.
Tell me, O breeze of shores
The name of the city
In which she waits for me
Who told me in a drenched voyage
love is an island, grief the sail!
Tell me the releaving spell
I will perform the ritual
Of departing
And will meet her
In long rows of stony pillars
I will hold her in my arms
And will hand over her
Odysseys of the lands
In exchange for only one kiss!
Tell me, O sign of light
Whether the images of peak-less
Rocks beneath the water
Are abstraction of olden centuries
Lying on the verge of eternity
Or sculptures of unreflected
Shrieks of slaves
Rowing in a fable!
Tell me, O magical bird
Flying over the waning immensity of time
Where is she
Whose memories have
Anchored the mast of ancient voices
In my heart.
Tell me, O star on land
Why travellers
Dream about you?
Poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1994
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Parveen Tahir
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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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
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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
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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
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A Change Of Scene Is But A Moment's Respite
In the sunbathed expanse of the sky
Birds were on the wing
Now lost in the quaint net
Of limetless space
In sky-lakes, azure blue,
They can't be seen.
Clouds kiss the hillock's lips
Then dance in ecstasy
Move around from valley to valley
Suddenly slipping from steep precipices
A comely face like a silken handkerchief
Gets soaked somewhere
In the rain of tears.
My dreams take a plunge
From the open window
And land
In the hands of the kids playing
In the eyes of the balloon seller
In the heart of the Gypsy girl
Hawking her wares - earthen toys.
The wind blows them away in a moment.
A change of scene is but a moment's respite
To look long and longingly
With a deep gaze of adoration
Is a palpable loss.
Whole life spans are spent
In slow motion.
Poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1980.
Translated from the original Urdu into English by Satyapal Anand.
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Living Trophies
On their way to school
Carrying dreams of future
In their book bags
Kids grow into old man
Their prattle
Like tiny butterflies
Continue to live.
Of dreams and their interpretations
Of brightly lit hands
And happy lines of fate
Folks seperate from us
Their memories
Continue to live.
In the eve-time loneliness
In the head-splitting deep gaze
Like withering dreams
Scenes get blurred
Glued to the path - eyes
Continue to live.
In the empty spaces of life
In the courtyards of
Waning sunlight
Holding medals of valour
And defeats
Mothers of slain war heroes
Continue to live.
Poets
Writing on scraps die
Their poems
Continue to live.
(Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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The Fifth Loner
Starting in the eyes, the dreams
end underfoot,
there the river lies still without the bridge.
It'd take centuries to build the muddy path
walking with the air and wind;
Time goes beyond me
And I am the solitary voyager
far behind you;
Holding on to the residual stores
of my life,
I wait for the moment standing
on the farthest point of the expansion
when the universe shrinks back.
The shadow of the night gets
terrified seeing the pointed
flame of the lamp.
The pavilion of the sky looks small, and
the light is more abundant than my heart.
But, the distances
are not longer than the
circles of the dreams;
In the divine seasons
when the stars blossom
like flowers; and
the butterflies flit around
the sun-fire, then
your moon like phizog
will appear on the
branches of the eternal dusk
If you have the spirit
to last and wait,
then, with a new pact
of the rudiments
I will come for you!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1994.
Translated from Urdu into English by Bina Biswas
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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I Had Seen The Ultimate Poetry
With grandpa
while working in the fields
by a forest along the bank of a
rain-wet river;
while the cattle grazed in the meadow,
I, touching the gooseberry bushes, and
sitting under the shade of the
acacia;
once became high while eating up
pickle and roti, and
while drinking water from the
low lying tap
I saw poetry
at the fringe, in her real image
The beginning was not known then
not even now -
but the end could be seen
with the naked eye;
in all starkness of the reality
from the head to the toe
The fusion of life and death was
not a smaller intoxication;
I'd learned silence from
grandpa's words, and
from the poeticized creation of god,
the echoes of the songs of the sky
that were coming out from deep of the earth!
Aristotle and Neruda still had
not awakened in me;
only there was grandpa
and only was I -
There were terrains of land, and
there were breeze and clouds
And was a sudden shower of rains,
and in the midst of all these
there was a random loneliness
that since then
hanging around in the same pose -
the pose that
it'd struck in the frame of the universe.
Just our perspectives have changed
grandpa has slept forever, and,
I while away from my
ancestors' fading graveyard;
hold the hand of my grandson, and
run in a nearby park-
taking small footsteps like him
While poetry sings ceaselessly
swaying in a swing
in a play land!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir
Translated from Urdu into English by Bina Biswas
Copyright (C) Naseer Ahmed Nasir. All rights reserved.
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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The Door Of No Return
Those who passed from this door
Were negroes
With centuries-old ethos permeating
Their swarthy bodies.
This door
(The door of no return)
Opening on to an ocean
Was the gateway to
The Brave New World of slavery.
A return journey
Was only a scintillating dream
Reflected in the eyes of
The multitude of skeleton-like bodies
Aboard the sea-going vessels.
This door
On the shore
Now admits the white masters
Who pass with reverence
Recalling the bygone ages of their tyranny
But perchance forget
that Africa
Will shine like the rising sun of the
Brave New World.
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1995.
Translated from Urdu into English by Dr. Satyapal Anand.
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Dreams Lost In Water
No distance ever separates
Dreams and desires
No mirror ever dissolves
Reflection and water
In one's eye
What graph would you make
Of lines of thought?
The triangle of pain
Is without any angle
Countless races
Have dreams alike
But sleep and night-watch
Are never the same!
Names are forgotten
Codes alone come to mind
In nuclear setups
Dreams of radiant generations
Are smitten
By atomic explosions
Cities sink
Nuclei dissipate
Orbits dwindle
What remains
Are terra and sol
In the dance of death
God is a casualty.
A moment of brightness
In a light year
Breaking into smithereens
In a million eons
An accident - yes
But not an event
History is continuity
Broken once
Telescopic eyes, tired out, give up
Their distance watching
Lost planets
Bygone epoches
Have no interposition.
Who will look for
Flowers
In spring-fresh hands
Of tiny tots?
Who will see
Dreams
In eyes-yours and mine
In centuries to be?
No one is sure
Of things lost in water!
Poem by: Naseer Ahmed Nasir,1980.
Translated from Urdu to English by Dr. Satyapal Anand and from English to Spanish by Dr. Teresinka Pereira.
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poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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