A Poem Of Love
I feel as if your eyes have housed in mine,
My eyes which were desert, where
The desire to grow did not find the route,
Now there dance thick shadows of flagons.
My eyes which were thirsty,
Like some cracked clay,
In the smouldering sunlight,
Now scattered are there
The colours of clouds and rainbow.
My eyes had a forest, where shadows
Of suspicion were long and thick,
Where the beams reverted
Before they descended, now there blossom
Sweet scented flowers of all colours.
My eyes contained lakes,
Where no track was visible in moss and marsh,
There fall several lotuses from your neckline,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Shamshan Ghot
When the Sun hides countenance
Behind the black shawl,
All of sudden the city of night
Awakes with a poisonous turn,
It begins to glimmer like heavenly bodies,
And on the measured beats of drums,
And tinkles of anklets,
Begin to sway in the air, the tinted Anchals.
Geeta, Roshi, Amereeta, and Chanda dancers,
In the herd of obstinate jingles
Dance as step feet of a peacock,
On the tones Tha Tha, Thi Thi,
They strut, twist in pride,
And after showing,
The glimpse of heartiness,
Beautify and elegance,
Making the bodies bows and arrows,
And embellishing lips with fake smiles,
Dance amid the rain
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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What Are The Wages Of Labour Journey
My so-called friends you dawdle
Having in hands,
Khaiwat, Khasra, Latha and Gardawari,
Your Jareeb is not long enough to measure,
The length two farms which my father
Tilled walking and walking behind yokes of oxen,
Placing his hands on the handle of plough,
The same hands harder than stones.
Walking and walking behind yokes of oxen,
He measured more than half of the world,
But you would not sense gashing pain
Of his lacerated heels.
My mother too while bringing on the farms,
Lasi and bread, and carrying bundles of grass,
Got her feet worn out, got her neck twisted.
While measuring, totaling these two farms
The Jareeb of my and your breath would finish
But the labour-journey of my father
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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An Unpardonable Crime
Strange is the justification
To launch a war,
Against the innocent
Against the weaponless.
Strange is the confrontation,
A shell or a missile.
Or a Daisy Cutter against a stone.
Pretended war has at the back,
The intention to reserve,
The reserves of the world,
For descendants of the Launchers.
Lands are being occupied,
The oil-wells are being usurped,
The rights are being snatched,
Multitude of homeless is being enhanced,
Hunger is being sponsored,
Smiles and laughter are being stolen,
The son are being slaughtered,
The brothers are being murdered,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Paragon (Mother)
A paragon of patience,
A model of sacrifice,
Clad in clothes,
Rough, drab and dull.
Uncomplaining, silent and bland,
Remains busy like a bee,
From morn to eve with no rest
For the pleasure of husband
Who often talks to her,
Harsh, hard, and rude.
She collects dry sticks,
And fire wood from the forest,
Toiling up the steeps,
Walks to the home drooping,
The burden upon her back,
For the stock,
She labours on the farms,
Feed the children from the chest,
With the marrow and sap of bones,
Shields them against hunting vultures,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Protest Of The Phantoms
At the time of dawn,
When the lights went out,
I bolstered my head,
On the pillow,
Closed my eyes,
To loosen my thoughts;
I felt negritude
Extending its limbs,
Into infinity,
And I began to ponder,
On the plight
Of my countrymen, times
We were going through,
And consoled myself
Thinking that we had
Better times to live in;
The era of crimes,
And brutal deeds
We had left far behind.
Our descendants
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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I Am Ragged In Twain
I am the discarded being,
Discarded from the doors of heaven,
Thrown into the abyss, upon the Earth.
Oh! Creatures of the strange world,
Now gaze me not at my nakedness
With dreadful suspicions,
I am the innocent being, who became the victim of jealousy,
I am the being, who was poisoned,
Now poison runs through my veins,
In the form of jealousy, hatred and pride.
The forbidden tree was planted
In the lush green garden of Eden
Before the clay of my existence was kneaded.
The evil eyes gawked at me
Before I was sent into the luxuriant zones,
To dwell in and relish sweetness of the regions;
I had been victimized before I was taught the tricks
To ward off the tempts.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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To The Shadow Of My Own
I remember you my attendant,
You have been with me since I was born;
I recall the moment when I saw you for the first time,
I was appalled thinking you some small agent
From a fairy-land, all time spying me,
Then I ran and ran to leave you behind
But you ran too as fast as I could,
And I exhausted, out of breath fell into the lap
Of my mother where you were no more.
You all the times in my childhood remained with me,
In front, behind or beside. In the morn and eve
You were stretched in lengthwise
And at noon you shrank like a coiled snake.
In the days when I led cattle to the pasture,
In the evening I measured you with my bare feet,
Sometimes you lengthened more than fifty yards.
In my whole life you have been
Imitating me in my modes and manners,
I walked, you walked too; I stopped, you stopped too;
When I sat, you squatted too;
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Change
Was this the face upon which,
Beautified innocence danced and danced?
How looks gazed, riveted untiringly!
The black lashes cast glimmering shadows,
In the dark deep blue glassy eyes;
As the reedy tufts along the banks,
Do while throwing wavering reflections,
In the unpolluted azure deep lake.
How frantic heart urged to explore,
Plunge into the depths, to be lost,
Never to be found, to endure the pangs.
The black curly locks eclipsed,
Enchanting more the broad fair forehead.
The words slipped from the tender lips,
As do the dews from the blooming roses,
When the breeze shakes them gently,
Like beads they dropp one by one.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Chorus
When at the moon-lit cold nights
Came out we all the girls an boys,
To be amused with hide and seek,
The long low wailing howls of dogs,
And heinous shrills of the little owls,
Cast fear, I became horrid recoiled,
Threw each of us a handful of dust,
To the direction of ominous harbingers,
To impede an instant invading calamity.
Often then in the foggy morn we found,
A robbed body in the thick shrubs,
With perforated chest, broken bones,
Lacerated belly, or stabbed heart,
For a few pennies, or a ring of gold.
Some fierce animals in the human form,
Disturbed peaceful silence of the village,
As flings someone a big boulder,
From the height, down into the deep water,
And the waves raise commotion around.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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