You Enjoy Yourself Immunity
Rob us of
Whatever you like,
Deprive us of
Whatever you wish,
Slay them
Whom you like to butcher,
For since long
We have mortgaged
Our self-esteem.
Come!
Rag, rip our self-respect,
But just
You do so as I plead,
Leash more
Our bound hands,
With the cords
Of currency notes,
For their rustle
Make us deaf, blind.
Come!
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The House-Wives
We all men and women,
Professionals,
Living in the world of business,
Are the marketers:
Purchasers or sellers,
Merchandise our skills, or labour,
Or merchandise the items of body,
Honour, respect and nobility.
Some sell blood,
Some kids and kidneys,
Against the a few coins of silver or gold,
Or notes of paper;
And no one offers anything free of cost,
Except the house-wives,
Who toil with loyalty and fidelity,
Surrendering their entire entities,
Against the wages of words,
Spoken though in pretentious love
By the tongues dipped in hypocrisy
And though only once in life.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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My Love Your Are My Faith
MY Love!
You are my faith,
I am a Heart
And Soul you are my Love!
You bestowed
The dreams to these eyes,
You touched
Tone of the pulsating heart,
Instilled
Scent into breath,
You unfasten
The window of thoughts,
Your touch transformed
The forehead into moon,
Then you stealthy
Stole sparkle from the beams,
Seeing which all of sudden,
The heart fluttered,
The moon smiled.
Who knows how many dreams
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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,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Empty Hands
Where are you and where am I?
How an enormous ocean,
Of separation intruded in between.
If we imagine we shall go astray,
In the island if thoughts,
And we shall never have reunion.
At these nights of melancholy,
In the firmament of faithfulness,
When light did not flicker,
On the farms of wishes,
When clouds did not rain,
On the farm-edges,
When crow did not caw,
In the bowls of desires,
When dew of faithfulness,
And soothing sounds,
Did not descend;
Then descended a verse,
On the glow-worm of conscience,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Happy New Year 2011
Happy, happy New Year,
May it bring thousands
Of good tidings for you
And the world too.
May it bring along,
Showers of love,
Peace and harmony,
To make the world
A place worth-living for
The descending generation,
That I see approaching
On the route of life
With tiny bare feet,
Horrified and appalled
The route replete with thorns
And spots of blood.
The generation
Of our sons and daughters
Is entering the threshold
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Thoughts Descend
Thoughts descend,
They come down
From the world unexplored;
In the forms of waves,
Purple, pink or black
Or winged birds:
Twittering sparrows,
Cooing doves or pigeons,
Or singing nightingales,
And sometimes they fall
Like stones hurling down.
Thoughts that soar near are captured
By the minds,
Some are spoken, some are penned
And become the record,
While the un-captured return behind
To the origin.
Innocent plain minds
Capture magnificent thoughts,
But the murky minds magnetize
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Sepulchral Voices
Farther than the seven seas,
And seven forests thick and green,
Flew I over the mountainy crests;
Over the gorges, winding deep,
And unexplored canyons dark,
Rested I on the plain high;
Beside the house made of glass,
With tall trees in the lawn,
Where the big busy parrots,
Were spoiling the fruit unripe.
Leading to the subterranean cave,
At the entrance I did halt,
For close it was with sills long,
Of transparent glassy stones.
Waited I long for the summon,
From the Lord of the House,
But returned depressed, despised,
When sepulchral voices came to me,
“He is busy, He can not see.”
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Dwellers Had Gone
Four dejected sons,
Shouldered a catafalque,
Of their deceased father,
Each propped the corner,
And went ahead sweating,
With prints of grief on the faces,
The Imam also move ahead
In their company, and the five
After having performed obsequies,
Stood with grave looks around
The fresh dug conic heap of earth,
And raised hands for the prayer
For the deceased mason,
Whose built houses of the village,
Still stood behind the banyan tree,
But with the silence prevailed lanes,
For the dwellers had gone,
To watch the annual dogs’ fight
Fight till death,
Death either of the one or of the both.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Believe In My Oath
Believe in my oath,
I do not pine away in the pangs of separation,
My lashes are not yet damp,
No one is between except ourselves.
Believe in my oath,
Inhabitants of the world
Do not have the strength to impede us
While moving ahead on the path of love.
I lived the moments of my past life,
Only tossing and panting for you;
But believe in my oath,
My fervour for you is not the same.
What is hidden in the sleeves,
You can not behold, believe in my oath,
The flag of compromise I do not hold in hand
I have even forgotten your name,
If you are faithless, believe in my oath,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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