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Muhammad Shanazar

Write Not On Waters

Write not on waters,
To write on waters is not a good practice.
Whatever you write on them,
Whether it is meeting or parting,
Whether it is pang or tang,
Is not perpetual.
The inscriptions on waters are fleeting,
They take us into illusions,
And wipe away us all.

By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar

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Separation Became Indispensable

Very brief is the tale of separation,
Strange was my plight,
I was just to step ahead
At the very moment,
Address of the destination
Fell from the hand, and then lost,
At the same moment the fate slept,
While She was about to awaken,
So separation became indispensable

By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar

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Nip The Evil Intents

Oh Friend! To avoid shameful disgrace,
And earn favours in the Mighty Court,
Nip off the evil intents in the bud,
Lest they should assume the shape of words,
Which might take up the form of actions,
Actions become the character whole,
And the character bears instant catastrophe,
Bitter, painful and certainly tormenting.

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O! Dear Love

O! Love, love, dear love,
I thank thee to awaken me;
From the slumber deep.

Thou showed me a path,
To the roses among thorns,
To pleasures with dew of tears,
Thou widened my vision, my sight,
Opened the hidden mysteries,
Of life, of smiles, of sorrows.

Life is but rubbish,
If devoid of faith,
In master and fellow beings.

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An Epitaph Of A Collective Grave

Human race,
On soggy lath of its fate,
Writes suicide.
The window of my eye,
Opens to the future.

For the lap of my Earth,
An epitaph of a collective grave
Is being written;
On the head-side of which
A dried lamp is looking to the way
For mustard of its own share.

(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)

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If I Become Annoyed

Brawls between us,
Tangling, expostulating,
And threatening not to return,
No doubt,
All these have their apposite worth;
But be heeded, hear me!
Though I am stubborn, adamant,
Yet if I become annoyed,
Absolve my all imperfections,
By embracing,
Reconciling with me again.

By Fakhira Batool Translated By Muhammad Shanazar

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An Incentive

Alas! Some strange dream,
In their colourless lives,
Should raise such a tempest,
As your love,
Fused into my blood,
And keeps me in fervour,
Enkindles my heart,
Places my entire self in commotion,
Provides me with the cause to live,
And titivates my face like a moon.

Written by Sabina Riffat
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar

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Today Is Your Birthday

Today is your birthday. Do you know what happened years ago? Speak my friend! Resolve the riddle! Why are you so engrossed in thoughts? Why are you so silent? Come let me tell you, Years ago on the very day, A sun-beam embellished this earth, And smiled. Do you know this secret? Today is your birthday.

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You Claim To Be True

You claim to be true,
I tell no lie to you too,
You bring me tidings of good times,
That they will come too,
In the patio of my house
The flowers will smile
And they will instill fragrance into my breath,
Have you ever thought that the spring tide
Often goes astray forgetting the path
Of someone’s house, but you claim to be true.

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Who Can Measure?

Who can measure?
The pungent pleasure,
Avarice, wrath and rage,
Of the blood lickers.

Who can measure?
The depth of shrieks,
Of the bleeding humanity;
The loudness,
Of the exploding shells;
The blackness,
Of the mushrooms rising;
The callousness,
Of the rulers,
The passive spectators,
Waiting for their turn,
And encroaching doom.

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