O wave! Plunge headlong into the dark seas.. Allama Iqbal

THE GOD AND THE BAYADERE -GOETHE

MAHADEVA,* Lord of earth     For the sixth time comes below, As a man of mortal birth,--   Like him, feeling joy and woe. Hither loves he to repair,   And his power behind to leave; If to punish or to spare,   Men as man he'd fain perceive.  And when he the town as a trav'ller hath seen,  Observing the mighty, regarding the mean,  He quits it, to go on his journey, at eve. He was leaving now the place,   When an outcast met his eyes,-- Fair in form, with painted face,--   Where some straggling dwellings rise. "Maiden, hail!"--"Thanks! welcome here!   Stay!--I'll join thee in the road.' "Who art thou?"--"A Bayadere,   And this house is love's abode."  The cymbal she hastens to play for the dance,  Well skill'd in its mazes the sight to entrance,  Then by her with grace is the nosegay bestow'd. Then she draws him, as in play,   O'er the threshold eagerly: "Beauteous stranger, light as day   Thou shalt soon this cottage see. I'll refresh thee, if thou'rt tired,   And will bathe thy weary feet; Take whate'er by thee's desired,   Toying, rest, or rapture sweet."--  She busily seeks his feign'd suff'rings to ease;  Then smiles the Immortal; with pleasure he sees  That with kindness a heart so corrupted can beat. And he makes her act the part   Of a slave; he's straight obey'd. What at first had been but art,   Soon is nature in the maid. By degrees the fruit we find,   Where the buds at first obtain; When obedience fills the mind,   Love will never far remain.  But sharper and sharper the maiden to prove,  The Discerner of all things below and above,  Feigns pleasure, and horror, and maddening pain. And her painted cheeks he kisses,   And his vows her heart enthrall; Feeling love's sharp pangs and blisses,   Soon her tears begin to fall. At his feet she now must sink,   Not with thoughts of lust or gain,-- And her slender members shrink,   And devoid of power remain.  And so the bright hours with gladness prepare  Their dark, pleasing veil of a texture so fair,  And over the couch softly, tranquilly reign. Late she falls asleep, thus bless'd,--   Early wakes, her slumbers fled, And she finds the much-loved guest   On her bosom lying dead. Screaming falls she on him there,   But, alas, too late to save! And his rigid limbs they bear   Straightway to their fiery grave.  Then hears she the priests and the funeral song,  Then madly she runs, and she severs the throng:  "Why press tow'rd the pile thus? Why scream thus, and rave?" Then she sinks beside his bier,   And her screams through air resound: "I must seek my spouse so dear,   E'en if in the grave he's bound. Shall those limbs of grace divine   Fall to ashes in my sight? Mine he was! Yes, only mine!   Ah, one single blissful night!"  The priests chaunt in chorus: "We bear out the old,  When long they've been weary, and late they've grown cold:  We bear out the young, too, so thoughtless and light. "To thy priests' commands give ear!   This one was thy husband ne'er; Live still as a Bayadere,   And no duty thou need'st share. To deaths silent realms from life,   None but shades attend man's frame, With the husband, none but wife,--   That is duty, that is fame.  Ye trumpets, your sacred lament haste to raise  Oh, welcome, ye gods, the bright lustre of days!  Oh, welcome to heaven the youth from the flame!" Thus increased her torments are   By the cruel, heartless quire; And with arms outstretching far   Leaps she on the glowing pyre. But the youth divine outsprings   From the flame with heav'nly grace, And on high his flight he wings,   While his arms his love embrace.  In the sinner repentant the Godhead feels joy;  Immortals delight thus their might to employ.  Lost children to raise to a heavenly place. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Aitraaf - Parvin Shakir

Khuddi Ka Sirray Nihaa - Allama Iqbal

Rab banday vich aivey vasda - Baba Bhuley Shah

Yaad Aaya... Parvin Shakir

Bichra hy jo aik baar .... Parvin Shakir

bichhra hay jo aik baar tou miltay nahi dekha 

is zakham ko hum nay kabhi siltay nahi dekha

ik baar jisay chaat gai dhoop ki khawish
phir shakh pay us phool ko khiltay nahi dekha

yak lakht gira hay tou jarain tak nikal aai
jis pair ko aandhi main bhi hiltay nahi dekha

kanton main ghiray phool ko choat aaigi lakin
tatli kay paron ko kabhi chubtay nahi dekha

kis tarah meri rooh hari kargaya aakhri
wo zahar jissay jism main khiltay nahi dekha...

[Parvin Shakir]

Mohabat ka Sitara - Wasi Shah

Maa k Naam - Wasi Shah

Neend tou khuwab ho gai shayad - Parvin Shakir

Teri khushboo ka pata kerti hai...

teri khushboo ka pata kerti hai 
mujhpe ehsaan hawa kerti hai 
shab ki tanhai mein ab to akser 
guftugoo tujhse raha kerti hai 
dil ko us rah per chalna he nahin 
jo mujhe tujhse juda kerti hai 
zindagi meri thi laikin ab to 
tere kehne mein raha kerti hai 
usne dekha he nahin warna yeh aankh 
dil ka ehwaal kaha kerti hai 
beniyaaz-e-kaaf-e-dariyaa angusht 
rait per naam likha kerti hai 
shaam pertay he kisi shakhs ki yaad 
koocha-e-jaan mein sada kerti hai 
mujhse bhi uska hai waisa he salook 
haal jo tera ana ? karti hai 
dukh hoa kerta hai kuchh aur bayan 
baat kuchh aur hoa kerti hai 
abr barase to inayat uski 
shaakh to sirf dua kerti hai 
masla jab bhi utha chiraghoon ka 
faisla sirf hawa kia kerti hai 

[Parvin Shakir]

Agar main patthar ki larki hoti...

Agar main patthar ki larki hoti
To apnay paikar ki sabz rut per bohat si kaaii ugaya kerti
Bohat say tareek khwab bunti
Ujalay ko thokron main rakhti
Khamoshi kay babool chunti
Dehekti kirnon ka jharna hoti
Sama’aton kay tamam afsoon paash kerti
Main kuch na sunti
Main apnay pallu main sog bandhay
Kisi ko un ka pata na deti
Safar kay her aik merhalay per
Main rahzanon ki tarah mukarti
Agar main patthar ki larki hoti 
To main aziyyat ki malgiji un-ginat udasi kay rung chunti
Wehen ugaati, gumaan rakhti
Tumhari sari wajahaton ko 
Main sau tarah say para para kerti
Na tum ko yun aaina banati
Agar main patthar ki larki hoti …. !!!

Muharram - Ashura

With the dim light of the crescent moon 
The New Year unfurls insidiously
Like black clouds of Monsoon
Casting shadows of doom and gloom
Thick shades of black that drape the earth
Writhing and bleeding as the wind brings images -
a Severed arm, a pierced throat, a headless body
O my Abbas!, O my Ali Asghar! O my Husain!
dripping black blood like black gold
that energizes the rusty dead soul

The black garb of night
Devoid of color and pleasure
Hides the vibrant colors of truth
Pure and untainted
Only to be seen with the spirit of the eye
The spirit of the seeker seeking the truth

Truth in its gleaming armor
Faces the black beast in the Yazids,
the blackened hearts of the Qabils,
the blinding blackness of ignorance

The rare black rose of the desert
gives up its precious petals to the winds
The fragrance drifting in the valleys and hills of  time
The scent of the Tuba Tree
The scent of Yusuf’s shirt
The scent of the poetry of Ali
The heavenly scent of pure divine beings

The banner falls with a loud crash
But the words like seeds scatter far and wide
The black fertile earth
Brings forth a celebrating green of hope
Truth after all can never die

- Raihana Yousuf 

Martyrdom of Imam Hussain r.a.

Hussain was coaxed to change his heart
Induced, to play that heathen's part
Adamant to surrender, though he remained
Aggression he shunned, conflict abstained.
Hussain, explicitly, did explain:
"Vain, 0' Yazid, is temporal gain.
Through calumnious and dissolute ways
Your prevaricate what the Prophet says.
Your evanescent, sordid, slippery boon
will vanish, like a mirage; too soon.
The morbid manoeuvers; you deploy
Islam will ruin, the faith destroy.
Through muddled thinking and notions dark
On a feckless mission do not embark
Potentially hazardous whims dispel.
This mood of bleak despair expel.
This sense of spiritual emptiness
By rational thinking do suppress.
Sanity do not in this bog sink
And push Islam to disaster's brink
Decay of the faith, I do perceive
The Prophet's mission I will retrieve.
Like a looming disc, on the horizon
Poised is the religion's setting sun.
To bury the hatchet, and heal the breach
I show an olive-branch; peace I preach.
A vain strife do not provoke
Save your necks from a hellish yoke.
Listen to me for goodness' sake
(Do not just acquiesce - advice take)


"Hussain placated Abbas, with calm:
Amity's balm seeks; hurt Islam
Restrain your wrath, my brother brave,
A battle, to precipitate, we don't crave,
'Tis prudent, now to peer ahead,
Don't let them act in haste - instead.
Intellect, sound, they have none
Antagonism, to them is a thrilling fun
Nothing is worse than want of zeal
Its lack can a nation's fortune seal
But aimless zeal is folly's trap
In wisdom's fort 'tis a mighty gap
Their show of passion is not zeal
This pseudo-zeal only varlets feel.
Peoples sans vision were destroyed
The prudent, e'er, vision employed
Canting spivs they all are,
Despicable insensates can't look far.
We hope our "passive defence" does work,
A "defence offensive" till last we shirk.
My cool appraisal of this mess,
Is a genuine effort to forestall distress.
The stakes are dreadfully high,
Staggering results it will imply.
Erupt will battle - will get worse,
They crave and yearn for the divine curse.

Left my bank my honoured guests
Swamped was I by the swarm of pests.
Shorn of the honour; I was robbed
Wept through waves, through swells I sobbed.
Lamented my ripples, my flow did wail,
Inherit I did, thus, a dolorous tale.
Water, my guests were refused, en bloc,
Agonised I was, distraught, with shock.
This torrid zone and simmering land,
None (sans water) could stand
Capture me if not they did
To counter the foe's obnoxious bid
if access to me they didn't attempt
Die of thirst they will, it meant."

Abbas, his brother; fearless, grand,
Thundered, with rage, took a bold stand:
Proximity of water, deny you can't
your witting Caliph's obnoxious flaunt
!n sheer buffoonery, arrant nonsense
Convey to him scorn, intense.
Pompous pride I abhor, detest,
Like the prismatic glass 'tis just a jest.
His faith is dimmed by the lure of gold,
And conscience, to rapacity he has sold.
Drained off is his fount of sense,
And creed abandoned to vain aberrance.
Padlocked his brains, and mind is packed,
Deposed his prudence, judgement sacked.
An egregious scamp, pretentious fool,
Egoism's caricature, asininity's toot

The river he saw at paces few
(The horizon scanned - had none in view)
With the flag held high, he forward pressed,
The dauntless cham his command stressed.
Advanced; across the terrain he swept,
Enlarged the territorial gain (and kept)
The capture of the rill was underway,
(A feat stupendous - least to say)
The rill capture he did, with ease,
(The "squatters" aberrant "lease" did cease)
The stream, repossessed, he firmly held,
(Thus showed how right at might excelled)
His "post-repossession" earnest stance,
His eminence (further) did enhance.
(The priorities, apt, his balanced move
His sound judgement amply prove)
The rill captured (and the sway restored)
With a firm resolve own drought ignored
Serenely he waded in the water - at will
A leathern container, with water did fill
Leisurely emerged in a triumphant way
His mighty sword kept the foe at bay.
Exult did not at the blessed gain,
Zealously adhered to his purpose - main.
"Water must reach the camp inmates"
(Elevated sense such resolve dictates)
Enshrined in mind was "a camp inmate"
He knew, his return his niece did wait.
Shunned he did even a glimpse of peace,
Unless the water did reach his niece.
His mettle the apostates could not match
The container, from him couldn't snatch.
The fortunate ones who death escaped,
Froze with terror, transfixed - gaped.
Petrified, ventured not impede him,
(Cocksure, their prospects were slim)
As the abject terror played its role,
The dragon of scare swallowed them - whole:" 

Muharram

On MOHARAM

With the dim light of the crescent moon  
The New Year unfurls insidiously
Like black clouds of Monsoon
Casting shadows of doom and gloom

Thick shades of black that drape the earth
Writhing and bleeding as the wind brings images -
A Severed arm, a pierced throat, a headless body
O my Abbas! O my Ali Asghar! O my Hussain!
Dripping black blood like black gold
That energizes the rusty dead soul

The black garb of night
Devoid of color and pleasure
Hides the vibrant colors of truth
Pure and untainted
Only to be seen with the spirit of the eye
The spirit of the seeker seeking the truth


Truth in its gleaming armor
Faces the black beast in the Yazids,
The blackened hearts of the Qabils,
The blinding blackness of ignorance

The rare black rose of the desert
Gives up its precious petals to the winds
The fragrance drifting in the valleys and hills of time
The scent of the Tuba Tree
The scent of Yusuf’s shirt
The scent of the poetry of Ali
The heavenly scent of pure divine beings

The banner falls with a loud crash
But the words like seeds scatter far and wide
The black fertile earth
Brings forth a celebrating green of hope
Truth after all can never die.

A Journey - on Karbala

It was peak of the mischief and virtues in chains;
Just laws were sacked with rules insane;
As the tyrants on the rise, and mass confused,
offered lust with lies, and faith abused.

Thus the signs indicated, and time dictated.
Some souls elevated as Husayn(A.S.) navigated;
a seed of the Prophet (P) and the sight of his Parents (A.S.);
that time in deluge, he was ark so apparent.

In the Name of God, for the sake of Islam;
for the freedom of life and soul of Islam;
gave greatest sacrifice, but not his hands,
with the members of his kin and many of his friends.

Hur, Muslim and the friends those hearts so pure;
they offered their lives as shield and cure;
thus tyrants came forth from the curtain way old;
then peace was bought and lives were sold.

And daring in the manners were the two young brothers; 
in the boldness of their moves were the teachings of a mother;
Shone Aun and Muhammad with the valor known as Haider (A.S.);
Those children were slain not the feeling of the mother.

With a message from his father was Qasim bin Hassan (A.S.);
a radiant jewel of Islam was this glowing young son;
but Qasim into pieces with a bride day old;
on the sand in heat it was savage and cold.

Then the pride of the Hashims rode back from the river; 
and the tyrants made sure that he did not deliver;
they cut off his arms, but spirit was set;
till an arrow hit the bag, only eyes got wet.

Fell Abbas (A.S.) from the horse, with no hands for support,
then Husayn (A.S.) rushed to shore for a brother's end resort;
those children who waited with the patience were told;
and thirst in the camp was three days old.

Soon Akbar cam down with spear in his chest;
which a father had to pull so severe was the test; 
He was image of the Prophet(P), and the life of Husayn(A.S.),
He was vision of a mother and the eyes of Husayn (A.S.)

Now the Leader was alone as he called for the help,
then a baby fell down; a response from the crib!
This thirsty, pure, infant was a son of Imam,
Who, acknowledged his father and the call of Imam.

Thus Husayn (A.S.) brought him for some water in the field,
and showed them baby's dried lips and appealed;
but the six months old got an arrow so thick,
that turned him over and tore his neck.

Ali Asghar went to sleep, with his father and no fear;
with the cradle on the fire, and their head on spear;
and the mother's empty hand, with the tear dried eyes,
who looked for the baby to sing lullabies.

And a sister by the camp saw the horror of this trip;
as a knife tore the neck, where the Prophet (P) put his lips;
earth in grief, roared heavens and mourned,
Sand turned red when Husayn (A.S.) was torn.

And a child full of tears with her tiny bleeding ears,
bruises on her face and her thirst so severe;
She ran for her father who laid beheaded,
and cried for the uncle for help she needed;

Syeda Zainab (A.S.) looked for her in the sadness of that night;
did inquire every soul in the land of the plight;
but Sakina was sleeping on the chest of a body;
with the love of the father, from the fragrance of his body.

Then the camp pushed down, while flames went up;
little children rushed out, as their dresses lit up;
it was night full of cries and the innocent quests;
shattered were the dreams and broken were the nests.

All defenses laid to rest, after trials and the tests;
left to face, one Imam, even history would detest,
who fainted with the illness faced torture and torment;
a Master of the pious and devotees' ornament.

Lashes on his back heavy chains on Imam;
but ladies were the prisoners, was the wound of Imam;
no chador for them but their rope tied arms;
and grief soared high from Kufa to Shaam.

But, the daughter of Ali (A.S.) challenged, miseries with the messages;
with the families in bazaars, and deadly courts of savages;
With the depth of the patience and the Zenith of Bravery;
Islam was rescued for ever from the slavery.

Source: http://www.al-islam.org/history/history/journeypoem.html 

Alwidaya - Parvin Shakir

Khalish - Parvin Shakir