I Was Shot
It was night,
The whole nation was in freight,
For starvation prevailed over
Each nook and corner.
I went out with an empty pocket
And a blank bag,
To manage commodities for my own kids,
And walked timidly
Through the lanes and lawns,
I came across men and women
With harrowed pallid faces,
There was stifling in the airs
As if something had rotten
Beneath the crust of time.
I advanced through the streets
To seek an opportunity,
A chance to carry out my intents:
The maiden adventure.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On Poverty
Poverty savours bitter,
So it is a thing unwished,
Upon whom it invades,
Makes them utterly worthless.
Sheet by sheet taking off,
It exposes inner of man,
Making naked, brings out,
Deformities and spots heinous,
Abhorrent, full of disgust.
Brothers, sisters and relations,
Who once heartening embraced,
Sneer, jeer full of hate,
Pointing out thousand faults,
Break all bonds of propinquity.
The world becomes a cage,
The life hard punishment,
Where a moment stretches,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On Doing Little
I stood all alone
On the round rock,
And beheld below
Into the valley,
The smouldering substance,
Smoke rose,
Dissipated into spheres,
Explosives
Blackened the ground,
And I smelt the stench
Of burning blood.
Then I saw descending,
A queue of angels,
From heights
Of the yonder mountain;
They were white, black and brown,
They were toddling down
To the singed valley,
And in hands they bore
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Suspended Mountain
He who makes understands the scheme well,
The working riddles and amazing mysteries,
But the observers become stunned, tongue-tied,
On finding all rules of wisdom suspended.
Wanderlust led me to the ground of wonder,
Where placed I was a slight afar,
Out of the simple scattered houses,
Built on the uneven hard land of pebbles.
A huge mountain suspended in the air,
Above those silent serene dwellings,
Perplexed me and my sense of logic.
The bulky phenomenon stood above,
Unpropped or without supporting pillars,
In the space not more than miles two;
Seemed all shining, dignified dark grey,
Composed of a single rising rock.
The ceiling plain, the front glimmering rough,
Glistened, reflected dim light to the west;
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Licence of Death
Who knows how sooner the journey ends,
The clouds what direction the wind rends,
On each moment of the fleeting days,
The sacred substance coats our highways.
Spectrum too horrible and pathetic scenes,
On this or that spot, our eyes certainly meet.
Ah! Painful, no more than painful occurred,
A day before who slept on the beds soft,
Lay on the ground, upon the pricking stones,
Besides the hard surfaced gray road,
Some prostrate, some supine, some on the sides,
Still ran down trickling warm blood,
Mixing into earth like too cheap substance,
Ah! How sooner would change into dust.
Counted I them all, they were ten and two,
Placed in a line straight, all dreadfully red,
Among those lay an infant, too gruesome to see,
With crushed head, eyes out, scattered brain,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Recipe For Peace
Peace is though difficult
Yet not impossible to uphold,
All the kings of the states
Must remain self-concerned,
Without poking noses
Into the affairs of others,
Curbing cupidity
To expand the territories,
Subjugate the nations of the world,
Enforce the so-called personal visions,
And put the humanity
Into new-fangled trials.
All the weapons
Latest, conventional or primitive,
Precious or utterly worthless,
Nuclear or less potential
Made of common explosives,
Be spoiled,
Be thrown into the deep waters
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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O! America Reverse
My opinions are changed,
My heart lacks fervour,
For you launched the war,
Purposeless,
To liberate who are already free,
To enrich who are already rich,
To make the fierce, more ferocious.
When will the time intrude you,
Make you see the brilliant aspect of the affair,
And humanity will sing the song of peace?
When will you peep into your inner-self
To see the reflected image of you own?
When will you obey the divine commands
And make out them that God forbids pollution
Smog and fumes of turmoil wrapping His fair Earth?
Now open your eyes
The shores are red;
The lands are coated with blood,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Old Man In The Canyon
I sought for Him on the whole roundity of the world,
On the stretched sand of the deserts, dusting the eyes,
Along the banks of the flowing hissing curvy rivers,
In the populated metropolitan cities, towns and villages,
On the green pastures, lush valleys and deep forests,
In the heaven kissing mountains of Himalayan ranges,
In the moonlit golden nights, in the silvery bright days,
Under the folds of darkness, in the feathers of light,
And enquired after Him from the tired weary mariners,
Who made lengthy voyages ransacking the seven seas;
But no footprint of Him was traced and depressed I sat.
Ah! One day wanderlust took me amid the Northern hills,
At the webbed opening of a subterranean dark cave,
And curiosity led me in and what I did see there, hark!
There in the murky, gloomy, dismal canyon I found,
A faintly breathing exhausted strengthless old man,
With overgrown, dishevelled and withering grey hair,
He had deep eyes covered with thick rough brows,
Profound wrinkles like furrows creased on his visage,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The World Lacks Patience
My world burns,
Its cities, towns and villages,
Plains, valleys and hills,
And the tops of mountains,
Smoke and smoulder.
No one knows whether he will return safe,
When he leaves his abode.
The mosques, the temples and the churches:
The sacred places of prayers are no more secure.
Whom we obey and whom we represent?
We have confounded the affairs,
The eyes are blurred with the mist of rashness,
We act but with the muffled hearts,
Baffled minds and hazy eyes.
Assuming we are right, others are wrong,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Three Suns
The sooty hands guide to the black lands,
Where eyed and uneyed do become equal,
And the victims swell priding upon blindness.
How should I praise the Laudable Lord,
Who made me explore the worlds distant,
Where wisdom willingly weeps but love leaps,
When finds opened amazing truths ahead.
Standing at the base of a mountain high,
Saw I the erect tops kissing the skies
That cast thick shade extending to the west;
Grey rocks were bare yet vegetated it was,
With the tall trees and grass green.
Neither hot nor cold was the climate,
As we feel in the month of March,
In the plain of five flowing waters,
Freshening minds of the depressed souls,
After awakening from the trance of winter.
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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