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THE ALIEN EYES
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THE ALIEN EYES By Fakhira Batool Recipient of:
i. ii.
Frang Bardhi Literary Prize 2014 (Galaktika Poetike ATUNIS, Albania). The International Best Poet 2013 (IPTRC China)
Translation By Muhammad Shanazar
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All rights reserved with the publisher Nala e Dil Publications, Bhera, Sargodha. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, and photocopying or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publishers. First Edition:
November, 2014
Quantity:
1000
Title:
The Alien Eyes
Poetess:
Fakhira Batool
Title Design
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The Alien Eyes
Nala e Dil
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DEDICATED
Dedicated to all women of the world whom Love broke and made them to hang on the Cross with broken shattered pieces of hearts.
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Fakhira Batool
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Contents Preface 11 Poems 1. You Forgot Me at Last 2. I Have To Say Something 3. Have You Ever Thought 4. Let Us Compose a Poem 5. Make a Search 6. Yes I Am Friendless 7. Love: A Gift 8. The Wall of Sand 9. Separation Became Indispensable 10. Defeat 11. What Is Love 12. The Moon Put Over The Clouds 13. Shamshan Ghot 14. What Do You Seek 15. The Island That Is Named Love 16. It Is Time To Come Into Senses 17. No Longer With Me 18. Suicide 19. Had There Been No Defeat 20. Separation Weeps 21. You Never Loved 22. If Love Gets Annoyed 23. Be Heeded 24. Write Not On Waters 25. A Tale Has So Many Modes
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26. I Am A Mother 27. December When You Turn Again 28. Do Not Let Me Annoyed 29. Poke Not The Ashes 30. Bring Me Back My Eyes 31. The End 32. Why Do You Sojourn In My Dreams? 33. Let Me Talk To The Wind 34. The Season Of Separation 35. My Love Your Are My Faith 36. Pity 37. Let Us Go To The Beach 38. An Astrologer 39. A Princess Resembles So 40. Love: A Miracle 41. An Old Belief 42. This Exhausted Moon 43. Hear Me! 44. If I Become Annoyed 45. You Are Fallen In Love 46. Let Us Suppose 47. Forgetfulness 48. You Have Cast Me Off 49. I Am Fond Of You 50. Let Us Confess 51. The Village Of Deceptions 52. We Are Hearts And Hands 53. ‘Love’ Is Not A Vain Word 54. Modes Of Love 55. The Alien Eyes
52 54 57 58 59 61 62 64 66 67 69 70 72 73 75 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 87 88 89 90 91 92
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56. Why Has God Created Those Lips? 57. Seasons Remain Not The Same 58. What A Small Poem It Will Be! 59. Love Is Like Sand 60. Achievement 61. I Have Been Enveloped‌ 62. On Love Half Realized 63. It Is Possible 64. Believe In My Oath 65. You Claim To Be True 66. Love Gets Crushed 67. Destiny 68. Bring Me Back First The Season ... 69. A Cry Yet Remains Behind 70. Today Is Your Birthday 71. Your Tone Is Twisting 72. If You Had Been Faithful
93 94 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110
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Preface
It is my profound pleasure as well as good fortune that I discovered Fakhira Batool a poetess of genuine heart and sentiments; her genius, truthfulness of emotions, maturity of thought and adherence to the noble cause and presenting herself as a representative of women-hood compelled me to translate her poetry into English so that it may be read in the English Speaking Countries. Fakhira Batool dealt with a variety of subjects but nucleus of all is the same; oppression, cruelty, discrimination and indifference to the existence of Woman in the world. She is born a poet-advocate and pleaded well the case of her gender in her poems, she has expressed the delicate emotions of the true lovers but the love, sincerity, purity and innocence of the female partner ever remain dominant in her poetry. When you depart, go afar from me, A dark shawl of depression
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From somewhere, Who knows, how befalls on my head.
Fakhira Batool is well aware of pangs of separation and pleasures of the union, how different moments and segments of time exert indescribable pleasing influence and shadows of depression on the fair-sex. Her eyes are open, ears are very sensitive, she can even see the sparks and hear the sound of emotions running through blood. Fakhira Batool lives amid the beautiful surroundings and the world of romance created by herself, she is not an escapist, she mingles that created charm into hard and cumbersome realities of life. Every woman of the world passes through the same sensation or fear lest her lover or life partner should part; Fakhira Batool gives expression to those general feelings: Hearken! My heart goes through a fear Lest you should forget me,
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Lest it should happen in such a season. O! My love, This was that I said to you, But happened the same You forgot me at last.
The romantic world that Fakhira Batool creates is not less imaginative than that of created by any English romantic poet; she has all seasons in her inner-self rather the whole colorful universe that is why she has a large variety of images to illustrate e.g., despised season, shawl of depression, lamps of tears ‌ quivering edges of the lashes, drizzle of Monsoon, brilliance inward and out all around, bowl of chest, tinkle of the petals, fondness of the flower fly and whisper of the breeze etc. are the poetic images which depict richness of the poetic mind. As it has been indicated that Fakhira Batool is an advocate of womanhood; she does not possess a soft corner for her opposite gender, it might be the influence of some autobiographical
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elements, she has is of the opinion that male-sex is rigid and stubborn, in one of her poems, ‘The Wall of Sand’ she expresses:
If it falls, Let it fall hundreds of times, It is useless To make him understand, For he shall make the wall of sand.
The poetic language Fakhira Batool writes is figurative, it is replete with similes and metaphors, the words seem to be multi-coloured gems of a string, they may lose their significance if go astray. There is the flow of words depicting sounds, smells and colours; different shades of light embellish more the expression and enhance more mysteriously poetic influence on the readers mind. In her poetry she goes through an experience of some confessions which can be noticed
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between the lines, she does not spare herself while she regards others to be imperfect beings of the world: All move with no gain; but with pain, Who will make out here the fellow beings? Here all chatter their own matters, Everywhere there is helter-skelter, Ah! Here we all are felons.
There are the repeated references of unresponsiveness and callousness of the male sex in her poetry. The poetry of Fakhira Batool goes around one dominant emotion which is still to be revealed: the emotion of Love, she regards It the most beautiful sentiment of the universe without which the world and life lose their meanings and significance. She says, “ Love is a gift, It is fragrance of the roses, shyness, delicacy, perplexity, and tinkle of the petals, fondness of the flower fly, silence of the airs;‌the glimpse of moon, the
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shine of stars, heat of the sun, whisper of the breeze‌�. It is very creative and gorgeous delineation of Love: an irrefutable reality of the universe.
Fakhira Batool though lives in multitude of the people, yet she has a feeling of loneliness, she thinks herself friendless, it is because she does not find human beings corresponding her thoughts and mind; it is undoubtedly true that men of sensitive nature suffer more in the world than those who have common and general level of feelings, sensitivity and compassion. Yes, I am friendless, Yes, he showed me a dream, Then made me a victim of his tyranny; When the train of my tears broke, They brimmed the bowl of my chest; And when the Sun went asleep, Someone burnt with out fire.
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Fakhira Batool is a poetess who believes in destiny, in the roe of fate and chance, she is of the opinion that some secret force works against efforts of Man, life is largely ruled by appearance and disappearance of the elements of fate and chance, man or woman is utterly in the claws of fate, he or she is bound to go trough the predestined channel of catastrophe:
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.
Whatever is predestined, she is bold enough to embrace it; she does not want
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to suffer through the twinge of curiosity and delay and so hastens to reach the end by devastating and perishing her life: If separation is destined, Why it is being delayed, We will perform it now, We will depart very moment.
Fakhira Batool while dwelling in the world of romance and imagination does not break her relation from the reality and terrestrial world, she is not in favour of chasing shadows and vain ambitions as she is well aware of the plight of those who run after the illusions: O! Friend do not cherish frivolous hopes No one gets flowers here but thorns Do not run behind the shadows, O! My friend. It is time to come into senses.
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The poetry of Fakhira Batool is purposeful, it emits spirituality from its lines, and she is of the opinion that every object is a victim to decay and in fact the splendour, glory, power and marvellous beauty of Man in this world are momentary and fleeting and she advises in a very effective style: O! Friend these gallant eyes, These pretty limbs of body, This splendid structure, On which the world is astonished, Are ordained to be decomposed.
A lot will be revealed about Fakhira Batool’s poetry in the descending years as time itself is the best judge to establish someone’s status in the hierarchy of poets. I deeply appreciate her for writing worth-valuing poetry when majority of the poets are toddling on the trodden path. ‘The Alien Eyes’ will prove itself a precious addition in English Literature; I
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regard it worth-including in the reading courses at different levels of education form Intermediate to Master. I am well aware that we neglect the poets in their lives, and adore them after their deaths, and only a few get recognition in their lives, I think it is injustice to the intellectuals, therefore, I request the high ranking officials of Govt. of Pakistan as well as Educationists of the country to patronize her officially, this will add to the prestige of the country and nation.
Muhammad Shanazar
You Forgot Me at Last
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In the despised season, In the dripping drops of blood, Only awakens sadness. I read somewhere Or heard someone, It happens that this sadness Being indifferent and heedless Nips all of sudden, Delicate buds of memories. Hearken! My heart goes through a fear Lest you should forget me, Lest it should happen in such a season. O! My love, This was that I said to you, But happened the same You forgot me at last.
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I Have To Say Something
I have to say something, When you depart, go afar from me, A dark shawl of depression From somewhere, Who knows, how befalls on my head.
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Have You Ever Thought
Have you ever thought, Why the people migrate Leaving behind their dwellings; And prefer to leave for the world unexplored. Have you ever thought How hundreds of lamps of tears enkindle On the quivering edges of the lashes.
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Let Us Compose a Poem
Let us compose a poem, In the drizzle of Monsoon, Or in a small valley, On the moments, Which spent accompanying you, Or On innocent sentiments, Or On your brilliant eyes, Or On my quivering eyes, Let us compose a poem.
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Make a Search
Search in the world of eyes, Yes those eyes, Where your reflection lives, Where the moon and the star shimmer, Where flickers a real lamp of true love, Beholding of which descends Brilliance inward and out all around.
Search in the world of eyes, Perhaps you might find the eyes, But be heeded, Lest in search of those eyes, You should lose your own.
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Yes I Am Friendless
Yes, I am friendless, Yes, he showed me a dream, Then made me a victim of his tyranny; When the train of my tears broke, They brimmed the bowl of my chest; And when the Sun went asleep, Someone burnt with out fire.
On all sides around there surges blood, All move with no gain; but with pain, Who will make out here the fellow beings? Here all chatter their own matters, Everywhere there is helter-skelter, Ah! Here we all are felons.
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Love: A Gift
Love is a gift For the Special Ones, It is fragrance of the roses, Shyness, Delicacy, Perplexity, And tinkle of the petals Fondness of flower fly, Silence of the airs; It contains, The glimpse of moon, The shine of stars, Heat of the sun, And whisper of the breeze;
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Love is a gift, For the special ones.
The Wall of Sand
If it falls, Let it fall hundreds of times, It is useless To make him understand, For he shall make the wall of sand.
Sand- made is my home, The rain is obstinate too, It seems as if, This will work a wonder at last.
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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.
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Defeat
If separation is destined, Why it is being delayed; Let us go asunder At the very moment, You will close the eyes At the very moment, And I shall place my hand Upon my heart, And you will say to me, Detached are the paths, Asunder are the destinations; But be patient! Be patient!
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And listen to me my love, If separation is destined, Why it is being delayed, We will perform it now, We will depart very moment.
What Is Love Love exits since beginning! Beyond the string of words, But is a reality. Love in the firmament of thoughts, In the guise of clouds, Always flutters, soars high, Sometimes contracted into the drops of rain, Impinges, scatters on the land of heart. Taking delicacies from the breeze, And fragrance from the roses, Colours from the rainbow, Light from the stars,
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Weave a beautiful Anchal, And from the same Anchal adorns, Mud-made houses.
Love throws into trials, Sometimes becoming poetry, Enhances deference of the words, Sometimes becoming a tune, Hums gradually, It becomes an incarnated eye, After getting the beloved one, A strange touch it becomes, In the alley of the most adored.
Who knows what kind Of magical utterances it utters, And hurriedly descends into the close eyes Of someone with out a knock, And makes a residence. Love smiles,
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It is a fragrance, Always abodes in the breath of blossoms, Such a light it is, As it turns into moon the dark nights, And permanent pang it contains, That has Indescribable tang, The definition of Love is that it is Love.
The Moon Put Over The Clouds
One night The Moon From the assemblage of stars, Descended on the roof. He spoke to me steadily whispering, “With deserted eyes, Come ahead and touch me.” I was afraid, I was shy, And addressed thus “How it may happen?”
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When He insisted on being touched, I wished, Going ahead I should touch it, Bu till then, The Moon went behind the clouds.
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.
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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 Of brand new currency noted.
There surmounts all around The noise of unabashed guests, The chief-whore chewing the betel leaves, Glints up the right brow, She is cheerful with the prettified eyes. Think awhile! Isn’t it a Shamshan Ghot, of womanhood,
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Her Ego and reverence, Respect and deference?
Notes: Shamshan Ghot: a place where the Hindus dispose of dead bodies. Tha Tha, Thi Thi: the tones upon which the professional dancers dance. Anchal: a piece of light thin cloth used by the women to cover heads.
What Do You Seek
What do you seek In between lines of hand? What do you seek In these trifles? Why do you entangle yourself? He who is destined to meet, Begins to walk on the path of life,
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With out beholding lines of fate; And then never departs. He that is not in the fate, We never obtain, And never goes along. What do you seek In between lines of hands?
The Island That Is Named Love
If you have to go, To the Island that is named Love Take my memory along.
It is heard That once there live a couple of swans,
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They both governed each other’s heart, Picked dreams descending into the eyes, Wove the fabric of faithfulness with silky dialogues, And renovated it on each day; But what happened as the season changed, They both flew on diverse directions, It is heard Since then they were not seen together.
The Island that is named Love, If you will have to go there, Please do visit the lonely tree, Upon whose costume of the branches, On every side the names of lovers are carved. It is heard
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That the inscribers never get a chance to rewrite, They stamp their fingers with blood, They lose their fortune, they accepted their defeat.
The Island that is named Love If you will have to go there, Take my memory along. My memory is a shade in sweltering temperature And it is a season of some village of the past.
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It Is Time To Come Into Senses
O! Friend these gallant eyes, These pretty limbs of body, This splendid structure, On which the world is astonished, Are ordained to be decomposed.
Here pain of love is shocking No I but the whole world declares it so O! Friend this love is nondescript It always deprives one of crown and throne On all sides around it rules.
O! Friend do not cherish frivolous hopes No one gets flowers here but thorns Do not run behind the shadows, O! My friend.
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It is time to come into senses.
No Longer With Me There is no more, A deep layer on the eyes, I live no more in the fantasies, So there is no more agony of love.
I live no more on taking and giving, And in outline of life, The moment that slipped away, From the lashes of my eyes, And from the palms of your hands, Had been a dream since ages, But it no longer exists.
On seeing me your bewilderment, Is a question, It is true I am the same and you are too, But my heart that was fond of you,
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Is no longer with me.
Suicide “Written on Mother Day”
She beholds yellow faces of her kids, Sometime she caresses them, Sometime she traces in their eyes Deep hunger and thinks She couldn’t impart them any pleasure, She couldn’t afford them life, The home is sans contents of food, She couldn’t pay bills of utilities, The kids have been struck off from the school, They only look at an empty railway track, Perhaps the time of arrival of the train is near, At that moment
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She detaches them from her bosoms, And kisses them for the last time, And softly she tells them “The world we are going to, there is bountiful to eat�. The train comes and then goes away, The spot where mother and the kids sat, There is nothing, only a few scattered bits, An empty satchel motherhood,
and
There remains nothing behind.
shreds
of
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Had There Been No Defeat
He said “Defeat is very deep As deep as an ocean, That who drowns into it, He never emerges up, So make conquest tradition of love.”
I said “No doubt it is a deep mystery, But think a while, If there had been no heart in the chest, Where love would have been, Had there been no defeat in life, There would have been no existence Of love in the world.”
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Separation Weeps Those who break up relations, Perhaps forget, They meet by embracing, Each season all alone, But they weep not alone.
On becoming restless, Saddened and impatient, Separation itself, Accompanies them in wailing.
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You Never Loved
You had no experience of love, If loved why you didn’t ask From paths about the destination, You might have written Any message on the gusts of wind, Why didn’t you search for the name, Written on stems of the trees.
You might have remembered, Fragrant roses soaked in the cold dew, And the moment When you touched my colourful Anchal, We conversed about butterflies And glowworms, and sometimes Sketched hearts on the paper-boat
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By pouring out the words of dream.
You might have remembered, Valiancy of the flower-fly And opening of the buds into petals. Did you ever love? If you loved, You could never forget all these affairs.
No my love, you did not love, You might have seen love, You might have thought for love, You might have wished for love, But you never loved at all‌.
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If Love Gets Annoyed
Faithfulness, When gets over the shawl Of compromise, And assumes, The shape of Winter, It descends in the patio of heat. It smiles like a bow of stars Hanging on the lashes, And sometimes it gives An unsmelt perfume, Of the untouchable figures Of dreams.
When the chains Of countless moments spent
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Along someone endeared, Begin to jingle in the mind, Silence at once cries On the cable of breath; It seems as if gusts of winds, Come to whisper.
O! My Friend, Now you might have realize, The true nature of love; Whatever wounds it imparts, It never allows to stitch And if love gets annoyed It dose not allow to be alive.
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Be Heeded
My love! Then you have decided, That it is apposite to flatten The craving of destination, The world desires it too, And the life goes on in the same mode.
Listen! To grumble against the world Has become an old practice, You solicit to your heart too That what does it intend. The world has not snatched yet from you The hope of destination, Tomorrow it will persuade you To renounce the route of life; It will say to you to scratch out Your eyes from their sockets. The world will persuade you
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To search for pulsation in the idols; Then what will you do?
Suppose it will not be said to you, Just you will be convinced, It is useless to breathe, And you forget the whole endeavour; Speak! Will you kill your breathing?
Listen! To grumble against the world Has become an old practice; You will look like the veteran, Who at the moment of a combat thinks That he remembers all tactics to fight, And has brought all weapons of need, But he has forgotten in haste His valour at home. Be heeded my love! The pedestal of life Is commitment to destination,
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In case you lose it how will you survive?
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.
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A Tale Has So Many Modes
A Tale has so many modes, Sometime smiles, And sometime hums, Sometime scares, And sometime is scared; It makes us weep, It makes us laugh, It erases and then makes us all, The Tale helps us in annoyance, I have a relation with it very old.
The Tale itself is Time, She came today but was much troubled And said to me, “Friend! Sassi became decrepit
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Amid the sands of deserts, And your feet are perforated With thousand of thorns, And the very thorns have Pierced your heart too, but you are Still silent even today, Death has stamped your fingers, The lamp that you put on the palm, Has been put out since long, Only ashes remain behind, Perhaps the traveller is lost In the prison of the route, That is why all over silences prevail But the Tale comes every day, To impart a new wound In the bleeding heart.
Note:- Sassi is a character of a romantic
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folk tale.
I Am A Mother
I am a mother and I know, My child, When and why calls me, What makes him weep, And what makes him smile, When he takes respite, And how he giggles.
I am a mother and I know, But when he will be grown up, He will disclose his heart, And sometime conceal the truths Assuming
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That the mother is ignorant of all, Being at home what will she know, He will come home late devising pretexts, And at that moment, I knowing all will show indifference, For it is the nature of mother.
How can my son know, That motherhood passes through His veins in the form of blood, If he gets a prick of thorn the mother tosses, Where ever he goes, He remains cosseted amid, The invincible siege of prayers, He remains in the heart of mother. Whenever he steps ahead, And wherever he goes
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The Anchal of cool shadow Remains with him, I am a mother and I know him all.
December When You Turn Again
O! December, When you turn again this year, You bring along The news of the city which I long for. The city Where galaxies glimmer of glow-worms, Where the spheres beam With the colours of butterflies, Where all-around is the aroma Of faithfulness. That one who touches it,
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Either with glance, or with fingertips, Became perfumed for a while.
O! December, When you turn again this year, You bring along The news of the city which I long for, The city where grains of sand are stars, The rose and the nightingale, The moon and the stars, Are the metaphors of faithfulness, Where the heart is an ocean, And gets several banks, Where the goddess of fortune Glimmers in the close palms.
O! December, Ask us not the plight of our city,
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Here eyes are grimed With the dust of caravan passed by, Here love is like an iceberg, And grows on the farms of sunlight, Here when the dawn emerges, The exhausted dreams of night Are dumped and begin to thaw, Here splinters of broken passion Prick in the eyes, here we weave Golden dreams by dipping Lashes into the blood of hearts, Then live and die Amid those fascinations.
Though it is impossible to stitch The tattered soul yet, O! December do come and bring along, The news of the city which I long for.
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Do Not Let Me Annoyed
Though I rag you thousands of times, And reconcile not thousands of times, Yet I plead, do not let me annoyed If I become angry with you.
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Poke Not The Ashes
How pride of the dreams Shattered in a moment! And how the bits bled the eyes! Who placed, The burning coals on the tray? Who deserted, These wrists of yours? Who erased The lines of hands? Who inscribed the pang Of separation on the forehead? The descending fog will blow out The lamps of lashes; Ah! It is not a delightful fun To poke the ashes.
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Bring Me Back My Eyes Bring me back my eyes, For I shall behold All colours of the universe. I shall captivate The galaxies in my eyes, And steal all colours of roses To adorn my countenance.
I shall behold How the pang of separation Inscribes lines on the forehead, How love makes Hermits the kings, And union fills The eyes with stars.
I shall behold
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How tears drop From the lashes when one weeps, And if one laughs impulsively How pink roses Bloom instantly on the lips.
I shall behold Why the snakes complain Against the lady of night, How the petals uncatch themselves From the flowerer-flies, Why the butterflies become Gloomy seeing the flowers, Who wrote all the mysteries On the chest of mother Earth.
I yearn to pick All seasons with the lashes. O! My love, You keep the reality with yourself, But only once show me a dream
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Though glimmering Like a tiny glow-worm.
The End
The affair advanced, In such a way, He sent me a rose, I opened the book, Placed amid the leaves, And kept it hidden From all spying eyes. At last it happened There remained behind, Nothing else except, Some dried petals, and a little Perceptible fragrance.
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Why Do You Sojourn In My Dreams?
Why do you sojourn in my dreams? Sometime In the form of intoxicated breeze, Sometimes With fondness of the flower-flies, Sometimes In the wild look of a hermit, Sometimes With fragrance of flowers, Sometimes In the form of an innocent hope, Sometimes In the shape of a moon-ring,
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Sometimes In the type of a string of stars, Sometimes In the texture of a woolen shawl, Sometimes As a butterfly, Sometimes As a glow-worm, Sometimes In the style of fragrance. Why do you sojourn in my dreams?
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Let Me Talk To The Wind
Let me talk to the wind, We have to tell the complaint, That we nourished against her, Often it knocks at the doors, And disturbs our sleep, Sometimes brings along from abroad The news of arrival of the dear one, But he comes not. It blows out All quivering lamps of the lashes, Sometimes awakens melody in the lute, It mixes itself in the beats of heart-beats, Sometimes it fells aged dried leaves, It gives the birds a ride By making them homeless.
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Let me talk to the wind, Look how it descends, Pushes boats on the chest of the sea, It blows from all directions around, And with a caressing touch Shapes unsullied faces on the coastal sand, Then it flattens them all and how it trains The wingless clouds to soar, Then squeezing the drops Out of them garnishes the Earth, How it smiles and hums Diving into the chain of breath, How it blows swishing And then becomes motionless; To make out these secrets,
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Let me talk to the wind.
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The Season Of Separation
He inquired, “Were all dreams shattered?” I responded, “No there left some behind.” He inquire again, “Since when have you been conversing to yourself?” I responded, “It is a gift bestowed by aloofness.” He said, “What have you done with bright eyes, Rosy cheeks and golden facade?” I answered, “There rests in my inner-self the season of separation.”
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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
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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 You showed Till the dawn emerged, You picked Bafflement of the lashes. You are the Guest of my Heart! You are my Faith, my Love!
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Pity He demanded My eyes from me, The black lace of lashes, Shy rosiness of the cheeks, All sparkle of the face, Pinkness of the lips, Dark night of the locks, Golden sunlight of the forehead, Curling hair, and ear-ring, All grace of innocence, Immature charm of youth, Silvery arms, And essence of the existence. He demanded and I granted all, But the secret has revealed today, All affairs of love And loyalty were transient, Emotional and fleeting, He nourished only pity for me
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And not love.
Let Us Go To The Beach Let us go to the beach To weave a golden net With the lashes, Dive deep into the ocean, To thieve melodious tones Of the oysters, To pick gust of scent With the tender tips of fingers, To touch the pain, And listen to its conversation.
Let us go to the beach, To see un-ravished petals Of the roses On which dewdrops cheer up For a while then faint down.
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The sand of wanderlust Troubles the eyes, Let us capture The fresh moon-beams In the fist and steal there The seven tones from the wind. Let us both make An earthen house, Though for a while, Yet to smile heartedly. Let us count there Those months and years Which have been inscribed On the stones and dried leaves; Let us go to the beach‌..
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An Astrologer
He sat beside the road, And was busy in telling the people, What fates have been ordained, I impulsively stopped beside him, And inquired, “What fortune is your own, Do you know?” He became distressed, Then he composed himself And responded, “Lo! How deep is creased The line of swindling at my palm.”
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A Princess Resembles So
He said, “You are the princess, Princess that God might have made, Kneading, blending the seven colours, Incarnated a form of brilliance. If you cast a glance at someone, Even the stone gets a tongue, Opens the eyes steadily, Pledges you to provide Whatever you desire, Whatever you think, it will give you By selling its whole entity: Body and soul. Just make a motion, a gesture, I will sacrifice the whole lot. I desire to win you,
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By loosing the game of love, By surrendering the whole being, If I go back my words, May I not live this life the next minute, May I not inhale the second breath.” He said, “You are the princess.” I am engrossed how princess looks alike. Does she resemble me? Yes; the princess bears resemblance Such as I am.
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Love: A Miracle
Love is light, a melody, A strange inexpressible taste it has, It possesses invincible the strength, Sometimes digs a range of mountains, Sometimes tramples sands of the desert, Sometimes pitcher,
swims
on
the
unhardened
Sometimes diverts course of the clouds, Now becomes captivity of Laila, And then lunacy of Qais, Now like Khizar shows the exact route, Then demands daggers,
to
bow
beneath
the
It knows how to walk on the thorny paths, It knows how to die laughingly, It knows how to
kick the
worldly
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splendour, It requires to be placed in the being-built walls, It makes the stakes a gratifying hobby, Now turns the gardens into ashes, Then becomes sparkle of the crop of roses, It is the secret of self and ecstasy too, Love has a strange chain of affairs, Now Yasrab then Karbala In each shape it has been dwelling, Love is a miracle and total submission too.
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An Old Belief
I shall write on my palm, In the colour of henna The same old belief “Whatever it happens, Men are never faithful.�
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This Exhausted Moon This exhausted moon Is the dream of someone’s eyes, Those eyes which have been penalized For being awake. This moon is agony, The agony which mixed into dust In no time, the rosy moments. This Moon is a response Of such a question as it never Has emerged in the mind Of anyone even by now. This moon is a chapter Of some pain, of some union, Of some separation; If you confront him ever Ask the exhausted moon, Seek a reply from him, Who caused him soreness
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Who awoke him from the slumber.”
Hear Me! Hear me! I have to say you something, “After spreading colours on my face, Showing dreams to my eyes, Touching with talks pulsation of my heart, Filling my hem with a galaxy, Overspreading my head with an Anchal of faith, Become not disloyal to depart again.”
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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.
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You Are Fallen In Love
When the clouds move swaying to the desert, The roses scent the air lacerating the rocks, The grains of sand become a galaxy, The moon becomes envious on seeing the earth, The waterfalls engender melodies, Wires of the heart throb on naming someone, All dreams awake in the dormant eyes, Autumn begins to converse with spring, Dusk of the evening perches on the lashes, Silence on the lips becomes a message, The season of intimacies begins to linger, Then you think you are fallen in love.
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Let Us Suppose
Let us suppose, In case you had been faithful, I would see the dream of life, Expostulate with the fortune, Dwell in your heart, Would make you my own, Would have never Bothered the world, In case you had been faithful.
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Forgetfulness I have decided to forget you, But It is impossible to forsake you, If I disown you, I shall have to renounce life.
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You Have Cast Me Off I was the only one, Who caressed your all wounds; I was the only one, my Love! Who with pens of my lashes, Time and again, wrote thousands Of couplets on your conversing eyes; And on the land of your heart Placed I thousand of the reflections Of faithfulness. Speak! Who gave you life against the wish of death? But what have you done? Have You cast me off too?
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I Am Fond Of You He often said, “You are not fond of me. I responded, “It is just a dawn my Love! Confession is yet to be expressed, Whatever I wish to say, I shall not speak it yet, I conceal from myself a lot, I defer the emotions, If they appear on the tongue.”
“Listen, My Love! Stop for a while for it is my turn, I am fond of you that is why I become annoyed on every trifle, And all of sudden become shattered, Like a piece of mirror; And if you delay in coming back,
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Thousands of suppositions Torment my fond heart, This or that may not happen. Peek into my eyes, My Love! How much love for you I have in my store, For I am fond of you.�
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Let Us Confess
O! My love, Separation of centuries Ensued between us, But the son of love Still shines in the heart. Though we parted Yet remained loving; Let us confess that we dwell In the heart of each other.
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The Village Of Deceptions The world O! Friend, Is a village of deceptions, No deference is observed Behind the pardas. This is the place where we meet Losses but not the truth.
O! Friend speak caring least The difference of ‘I’ and ‘You’, Here marital pleasures Of all are robbed off. Do not press your tongue, Between the teeth, for your silence Holds a storm in it. The world in itself without you, Is nothing, proclaim aloud That it has severed you Only with the fever of love.
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We Are Hearts And Hands Be not annoyed with me, Those who go asunder On the winding route Are in fact alien since beginning. If it is possible, Think not of them your own, And be not melancholic, O! Friend, Make not your courage The dust of their feet. Be not annoyed with me, Never lose your valour, Till breath goes on be optimist, Leave not the edge of hope, Tough love is afar yet it is near too. Rise! Gird up your back , For I am with you, We both are hearts, And hands of each other.
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‘Love’ Is Not A Vain Word With a pride, with a delight I have inscribed The word ‘Love’ on the slate Of my heart and often think For whom I am engrossed. This intellect my Love! Is an enemy of curiosity of heart, And a chain of decline, Though there be aged prints Of faithfulness, It erases them in an instant. Let it be thought, it is true, Though there be series of oppression, Or aching thoughts, Or the decisions worth-forgetting, Or anguish of penitence, No loss is there, erase them all, But my Love, think awhile, If you get a moment spare,
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My ‘Love’ was not a vain word.
Modes Of Love Who can forget, Pages of the bulky book of life, Even though They are torn to pieces. The first colour that awoke in the eyes, The first name that my lips liked, The village and an unpaved Path of that village, The first spell of love, An undreamt dream in your eyes, And lowering of my eyes in shyness, Innocent confession in my denials, While saying “Yes” my impulsive “Nots” Who can forget, All these modes of ‘Love’.
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The Alien Eyes
He in whose name I breathed, Whose name remained on my lips, He crept in such a way as that each Recess of my being became fragrant. I wrote his name on the palm in Henna, But he met me today in such a manner As with alien eyes on his face.
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Why Has God Created Those Lips? He often said, “Do you know why God created your lips?”
On my unawareness he replied, “So that they should confess, You are mine, you are mine” And then, I became habitual in saying, “I am yours, I am yours.”
Then a day came, he spoke wearily To my routine expressions, “It is queer you neither feel fatigued Nor experience tedium, and then It is true; the same sentence has been learnt To be said by the lips of someone else.”
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I am pondering that I should ask him, “Tell me my Love! Why has God created those lips?�
Seasons Remain Not The Same (Written in the perspective of Kashmir)
The birds have awoken, So discard the intension To trap them with no water And with no grain. They too need Some crimson evenings of freedom; They are being invited By the washed clear dawns, And by the spring-tide. They remember too the soil Of unpaved mud-plastered yards, They like to dream about fragrant roses, And they bear in minds References of the books.
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The birds have awoken ‌ Their nests in the trees sobbingly wail, They make them perturbed, Their dreams are frailer Than the wings of butterflies That smolder in the burning coals. They all are being brought up in the flames, But it is the time of their wakefulness That this red wind-storm is just like The scattering wall of sand. The chains of separation Do not always jingle on the feet Nor the inscription of union Always does glow in the eyes, Nor airs always fragrance contain, Nor seasons always the same remain.
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What A Small Poem It Will Be!
I have written a lot yet it seems Nothing has been penned, I have to sketch yet The countenance of my dream, And grip its realization in close palm, Because the heart still palpitates, And pain resides in there, Dust of the past moments jab the eyes, Someone’s memories make the lashes sodden, And shehnai still weeps.
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I have to write yet on water, And all around will be the tale of separation, poem it will be‌
What a small
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Love Is Like Sand
I said it too, Love is like sand, It slips down through fingers, But some grains stick with the palm, And when it is bushed, These grains pass through eyes While journeying to the soul, They often weep and wail Lying in its secret channels, But troubling a lot.
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Achievement
It was his habit to say, “I had only thought of you, And loved you since centuries, Then became successful In getting you, No one is more beautiful than you my love,
If the moon has a glimpse
of you,
No doubt he
will become jealous, You are brightness of the red rose, Fragrance has an urge to touch you, Each moment is in ecstatic sway, The sun steals luminosity from you, The touch of your lips makes the word a matter,
You may turn
instantly the victory into a defeat, I shall never uncatch you, No rivals will have the right to get your favours,
Whenever
you detach, I shall die at the spot.�
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But it was all that he used to say, And he is not saying at present, Who knows there exists a century Between “was” and “is”.
I Have Been Enveloped…
The world demands, At each movement new affairs, New days, new nights, New eves and new morns, New oaths, new pledges, New relations and new links; Now they do not laud the olden tales. O! My love, I myself became bushed of reiteration Of the words and lines, Then I wrapped the poetic lines And diction in the red paper I set them on the dancing flames Of my inner-self. When the flying particles of ashes enquired me, “What will you do hence,
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What will you listen, and what will you say?” ‘Your ‘Daman’ is empty.’ Then I respond, “I shall neither do anything hence, Nor shall listen, nor shall say anything.” The world has made me a legend, For I have been enveloped by a tale.
On Love Half Realized
Even in the dream Never lay your lashes For half-realized love. Half curtailed dreams Torment the eyes. Implant not half-recalled memory, In the terrain of heart, for it pricks And wheezes restlessly therein, Rattles agonizingly,
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And flashes like lightening in the blood. Let go away love half-realized For Love, Fondness, And Love Madness Are always unfulfilled, half-realized.
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It Is Possible
It is possible that you From each word of love, May derive thousand of meanings, And then your yourself refute them. It is possible My Dear That its charm may make you paralyzed, And you finding yourself In the lonely dark cave of heart May confess, express reality of love. But who will guarantee? You never write 'No' prior to 'Yes', And you never write 'Yes' prior to 'No'.
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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, are faithless, believe in my oath,
If you
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I am not faithful too.
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 instil 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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Love Gets Crushed
Lust when possesses the heart And rises Its head through earth of wisdom,
At the very
moment When life makes Lust its nucleus, It sets on fire everything all-around, And garnishes conquest on Its heads, At the very moment Love gets crushed.
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Destiny
O! Fortune-Teller, Who inscribed consternation In your eyes after reading, The lines of my hands? Tell me what tale you have read, Tell me at least whatever the tale is Whether there will be an end of it or not. O! Fortune-Teller, Tell me at least something Whether there will be an end Of the tale or not.
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Bring Me Back First The Season ...
These beautiful bracelets of Motia, This Kagal, this henna, Glassy bangles and a tray of red-roses, Beautiful are the green Anchal and scarlet suit,
The same is
sound of the mill, The same is the crowed on the well Village is the same, same are the rites, Same are the old faces but bear new looks,
The same tale,
the same promises, The same fraudulent are the oaths, O! My old well-wisher, it is all right, But bring me back first the season to write on sand.
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A Cry Yet Remains Behind
You went across the seven seas, It seems as if several centuries have elapsed.
The seasons of union
came and went away, But all tired, exhausted. Behind you I became a victim of daggering tongues, The relations also made me feeble and frail,
The long dark
nights of separation Made me powerless too. The wounds of experience were dungeon deep,
No physician could heal,
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There had
been hefty spectacles of a dream, When it broke nothing was beside; It had been better we should not have survived,
Our existence did not
match our beings.
Ask
me not what happened in this episode, What listened to and what I endured, Founts of water gurgled from the eyes for several years; The walls of breast even now often quake,
It seems as if
they are saying, “Peep into the inner part of your Self A cry yet remains behind to be uttered.�
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,
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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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Your Tone Is Twisting The earth is the same, And the sky is the same too; This heart is an ocean, And the eyes are its whirlpools, Belief is the same, And same are the delusions, The moon and galaxy are the same, Your form and features, your conversation are the same, But I have the sense for many days, The sun is thawing Descending into clamours; In fact you tone is twisting.
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If You Had Been Faithful If you had been faithful,
I would feature the face of dream, I would lower and lift the silky lashes in coyness, I would settle you in the sugary rhythm of palpitation, I would get you inscribed In the thick network of lines of my hand, I would hide you in Bindia of my forehead, I would reveal you the secret of quivering ear-rings, I would show you the bracelets on the wrists my fate,
I would make a trial of You would
wipe colours of lips with a mischief,
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You would lift up the bridal-veil, You would make me your own, If you had been faithful.
A Devotee‌ (An Acrostic) Fineness combined with all delicacies, Affects both adamant hearts and minds, Kneels and bows only before Almighty, Humility, grace in perfect womanhood,
Incarnated love, sincerity, and fidelity, Reward and gift to someone fortunate, Admirable in lovely pose and posture.
Beauty that always reminds its Designer,
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Aroma much sweeter than fragrant roses, Tactful in dealing with impulsive beings, Open-hearted and with capacious mind, Orator who ever fought for woman cause, Lover and devotee of Five Sacred Beings. Fakhira Batool By: Muhammad Shanazar
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