A Question
O God! You pulsate my heart:
An engine of the breathing machine,
That causes rhythm in the flow of red oil,
That circulates into the network of the tubes,
You strengthen my legs that push the body ahead,
To perform the tasks that commends my lust;
You supply the contents to grind, and strength to chew,
The belly digests and consumes with your consent,
You direct the waves of thoughts,
That stroll and sway like breeze in the mind,
The same waves also bring along a question,
“Why do I turn my back to the call,
That summons to Your ever unbolted door? ”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The Tree
The cool benevolent,
Shadowy branches,
Thick and dark,
Extended all sides around,
Shelter the travelers,
Treat them as guests,
When they are sweating,
And out of breath.
Give them soothing solace
And ease as the parents,
Over-shadow the child,
In hot sun, wind and weather,
And expose themselves to the calamities,
And blazing wind of sufferings
O Man!
Be not heedless and blind.
Do as does the tree,
To the mankind.
Be forgiving, kind and loving,
To the suffering fellows,
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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.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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‘Love’ Is Not A Vain Word
With a pride, with a delight
I have inscribed
The word ‘Love’ on the slate
Of my heart and often think
For whom I am engrossed.
This intellect my Love!
Is an enemy of curiosity of heart,
And a chain of decline,
Though there be aged prints
Of faithfulness,
It erases them in an instant.
Let it be thought, it is true,
Though there be series of oppression,
Or aching thoughts,
Or the decisions worth-forgetting,
Or anguish of penitence,
No loss is there, erase them all,
But my Love, think awhile,
If you get a moment spare,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Dialogue to Immanuel Kants
We prefer,
Beauty to the duty,
Cruelty to mercy,
Luxury to morality,
We are brought up
On the swings of ambitions,
And have remained astray
In the forest of lust.
We have trampled,
Gems of inner-self with the steeds
Of our own passions.
Our appetite has devoured us all,
And high castles of thoughts,
Buried beneath the debris
Of worthless infertile words.
O! Strange philosopher,
Out of reach lie our own skills,
Concealed from ourselves,
Yes the same all skills which make
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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
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Hazy Corneas
O! God, what will become of the world,
Its each nook and corner smokes,
With the stench of burnt blood,
And reek of the decomposing flesh.
The blue sky is blue no more,
And the stars do not show themselves
In the costume of original radiance.
Minds of the leading heads of humanity
Are confounded, confused and befuddled,
They work with the muffled hearts,
Subdued by selfishness.
Fogs of pride, jealousy and bigotry
Have spread in front of them in layers
And blur the spectrums of the whole world;
They move on with the eyes
With the hazy corneas, perplexing the visions.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Saw The Miller
My strength was suspended,
Mind and heart were muffled
As if wrapped in the mist of bafflement.
I felt my carnal existence
Thawing like a burning candle,
Eyes shedding warm drops of tears;
And I found myself standing
In the desert of impossibilities,
Amid the sands of times and your image
Began to waft around in circle.
I too moved in diurnal moves
To behold the wafting object.
When the pause ensued,
The Heaven and the Earth
Moved as gigantic mill’s grind-stones
And then I saw the Miller,
Oscillating behind in nothingness,
Smiling at His own creation being ground.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Demons Of Follies
Often at dark nights,
When I rest my head on the pillow,
To relax myself, to calm down tedium of the day,
And put down the lids of my eyes,
The door of some mysterious world swings open;
And I see the images of a strange creature,
No bigger than the physic of full-sized frogs,
Resembling the cartoons,
They stalk around me with glad movements,
Some dangle like bats on the doors
And windows of my dark room,
They emit pungent, disgusting impressions,
And some time I hear a whisper,
“We are your follies; we shall reside with you,
Till you live here and hereafter.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Who can be She?
She is who toils day and night,
Enkindles lamps spreads light,
In the celestial world of minds,
Gives the blind the gift of sight.
Rills of loyalty in her heart flow,
That water gardens where roses grow,
The lovers of poesy get in hands,
Garlands of poems that ever glow.
I know not why my heart wishes to adore,
Those who dive deep and bring ashore,
Gems, pearls and the beads of thoughts,
And distribute the stones door to door.
Her mind is flamed and blood is hot,
Her efforts will cause a change a lot,
The pride of age, the guiding star,
Who can be she? Melyssa Sprott.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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