Aik Aisa Lamha....This Moment With You.

آه یہ لمحے جو گزرتے ہیں تیرے ساتھ

ابھی ایسے

تو سوچتا تھا کے میں ایسی ہوں 

vulnerable
impressionable

بہت جلدی اٹچ ہونے والی

میں نے پہلی  دفع تیری  آنکھوں کی طرف دیکھا

میں ٹھٹکی 

کیا میں اسے ٹرسٹ کر سکتی  ہوں

یہی سوال تھا میرے ذھن میں

اور سرخ تھیں وہ آنکھیں
شدّت جذبات سے شاید

ایک اندیشہ  تھا  ان میں

کیا یہ مجھے ٹرسٹ کرے گی

میں کہتے لگی  تجھ سے زندگی کی کہانی 

اور تو سنتا گیا

وہ لمحے گزر گئے

 اور پھر اس نے اس لڑکے سے کہا

 یہی  لمحے جو گزر رہے ہیں وہ سچ ہیں

 یہی حسین ہیں

آھستہ آھستہ گزرتے لمحے

رنگیں خوشبودار لمحے

 ان دونوں کے لمس سے بوجھل لمحے

 تیرا وہ ؤسسا

 جیسے جام آتا ہے مے کے پاس

 اور اس کا اثر روح میں اتر جائے

 حسین رنگین خمار آلود

ترے دھن کی مٹھاس ہے میرے ذھن میں یوں   برپا

 ایک جوشیلے نغمے کی طرھ

میں آھستہ آھستہ بھروسہ کر رہی ہوں

لکین کبھی کبھی خیال آتا ہے 

کیوں

کیوں کرتا ہے تو مجھ سے پیار

 ایک بوسیدہ جسم اور موت کا سنناتا

 جو الجھن ہے میرے ذھن میں

 جو درد ہے میرے دل میں 

 یہ کوئی اس ذات کے لئے تھوڑا ہی ہے

 یہ تو ازلی کرب ہے

انسان پے  جبر کا کرب 

جواں کندھوں پر غربت کے بوجھ کا کرب

بلکتےبچے   کے سوکھی چھاتیوں کو چوسنے کا کرب

کمزوری سے   حملوں کے گرنے کا کرب

مزدور کا فکترے کے اککیڈنٹ میں اپاہج ہونے کا کرب

 نوکری سے نکالے جانے کا کرب

پھر اپنی بوڑھی ماں کی دوا  نہ لانے کا کرب

اپنے باپ کے لاشے پی کفن قرضے پر لینے کا کرب

اپنی عزتی نفس کو چیتھڑے  ہوتے دیکھنے کا کرب

تو سمجھا کے مرے آنکھ میں یہ آنسو اس لئے ہیں کہ  میں اپنی ذات سے بہت پیار کرتی ہوں اور وہ نہیں؟

 نہیں وہ دکھ تو کب کا مدھم پر چکا

اور بھی غم ہیں زمانے میں محبّت کے سوا کسی فیض نے کیا خوب کہا تھا

جب تو نے میرے گال کو پیار سے چھوا تھا تو  میں ایک لمحے کے لیے ٹھٹکی    تھی 

 ایسے لگا کہ  میں نے جنّت  دیکھ لی

تیری مری جنّت جس میں شاید  ہم دونوں  اب سدا  رہیں اپنی باقی ماندہ زندگی میں

ہاں ہم دونوں  وہ لوگ ہیں جو اپنے ذہن اور بیلییفس کے پیچھے چلتے ہیں

تو کہتا ہے کے تم عدیلسٹ نہیں ہو مری طرھ مٹریلسٹک ہو

 میں یہ نہیں سمجھتی

میں توشاید  سارترے   کی ایران  ان دی  سول کی ہیروئن ہوں

 اسے طرھ اٹکی ہوئی

اپنی عیےاشیوں   میں

 سہیل زندگی میں بسنے  والی
ورنہ میں اگر ایکسیسٹنشیلسٹ  نہ ہوتی تو 

میں مزاروں پر رہتی
 صوفی کی ابا پہنتی  اور تیری  مالا جپتی
پر میں ایکسیسٹنشیلسٹ  ہوں
آرام پسند
 اسے لئے اس خوبصورت پنجرے میں بند ہوں
 سجے ہوے مقتل میں رہتی ہوں
مگر میں زندہ ہوں
 اور یہ احساس مجھے شاید اس سبب ہوا کہ میں درد محسوس کرتی ہوں
 جب کوئی بھوکا ننگا ننھا سا بچھ مری طرف دیکھ کر مسکراتا ہے
اور اپنے پھٹےہےتیار   کے  ساتھ کھیلتے اپنی سدا بہتے ناک پونچھتے ہوے بھاگتا ہے

اور جب کوئی چھوٹے سی بچھی تعلیم سے محرم رہ جے اس لئے کے اس کو اپنے ننھے ننھے ہاتھوں سے کام کرنا ہے
کیسے کے گندے برتن دھونے ہیں
 اپنی کمزور ماں کا ہاتھ بتانا ہے
اور اپنے چھوٹے چھوٹے بہن بھایوں کو پالنا ہے کیوں کے اس کے باپ نے
دوسری شادی کر لی ہے اور وہ نشہ بھی کرتا ہے
اور یہ لمحہ
جب تم مجھ سے  پیار کر رہے ہو
 یہ بلکل اس جام کی طرہ ہے
جس میں ڈوب کر میں صرف اپنا اور تمہارا عکس دیکھتی ہوں
 اور خوش ہوتی ہوں مدہوشی میں مست ہوتی ہوں

اور کچھ دیر کہ لئے بھول جاتی  ہوں کہ 

 بہت سے کانٹے جو دل میں چبھے ہیں وہ کسک دے رہے ہیں اور میں ان کے کرب میں سدا سے مبتلا ہوں

In Roman English

Ah yeh lamhe jo guzar rahe hain tere saath

Abhi aise

Tu sochta tha ke mein aisee hun

Vulnerable

Impressionable

Buhat jaldi attach hone waali

Mein ne pehli dafa teri aankhon ki taraf dekha

Mein thatki

Kiya mein isey trust kar sakti hun

Yahi sawal tha mere zehan mein

Aur surkh thi woh aankhein
Shidate jazbaat se shayad

Aik sada thi un mein 

Kiya yeh mujhe trust kare gi?

Mein kehene lagi tujh se zindagi ki kahani

Aur tu sunta gaya

Woh lamhe guzar gaye

Aur phir us ne us larkey  se kaha

Yeh lamhe jo guzar rahe hain woh sach hain

Yahi haseen hain

Aahista aahista guzarte lamhe

Rangeen khushboodar lamhe

Aur dono ke lams se bojhal lamhe

Tera woh aana jaise jam aata hai mei ke paas

Aur us ki rooh mein utar jaye

Haseen rangeen khumaar aalood

Tere dehan ki mithaas hai mere zehan main yun barpa

Aik josheele naghme ki tarha

Mein aahista aahista bharosa kar rahi hun

Laikin kabhi kabhi khayal aata hai

Kiyun 

Kiyun karta hai tu mujh se pioyaar

Aik boseeda jism aur maut ka sannata

Jo uljhan hai mere zehan mein

Jo dard hai mere dil mein

Yeh koi is zaat ke liye thora hi hai
Yeh to azali karb hai
Insaan pe jabar ka karb
Jawan kandhon par ghurbat ke bojh ka karb
Bilakte bacchey ke sookhi chhatiyon ko choosne ka karb
Kamzori se hamalon ke girne ka karb
Mazdoor ka factory ke accident mein apahij hone ka karb
Naukri se nikaale jaane ka karb
Phir apni boorhi maan ki dawa na laane ka karb
Apne baap ke laashe pe kafan qarz per lene ka karb
Apni izzat-e nafs ko cheetrey hotey dekhne ka karb

Tu samjha ke meri aankh mein yeh aansoo is liye hain keh mein apni zaat se buhat piyaar kartee hun aur woh nahin?
Nahin woh dukh to kabhi ka madham ho chuka
Aur bhi gham hain zamane mein muhabbat ke siwa kisee Faiz ne khub kaha tha
Jab tu ne mere gaal ko piyaar se chuwa tha to mein aik baar thatkee thee
Aise laga mein ne jannat dekh li hai
Teri meri jannat jis mein shayad hum donon  sada rahein apni baaqi maaanda zindagi mein
Haan hum donon woh log hain jo apne zehan aur apni beliefs ke peechey chaltey hain
Tu kehta hai ke tum idealist nahin ho meri tarha materialistic ho
Mein yeh nahin samajhtee
Mein to shayad Sartre ki Iron In The Soul ki heroine hun
Isiee tarha atki huiee
Apni ayyashiyon mein
Sehel zindagi mein basne waali
Warna mein Existentialist na hotee to

Mein mazaron pe rehti
Sufi ki aba a pehenti aur teri maala japti
Per mein Existentialist hun
Aram pasand
Isee liye is khubsoorat pinjerey mein band hun
Saje huey maqtal mein rehti hun
Magar mein zinda hun
Aur yeh ehsaas mujhe shayad is sabab hua ho keh mein dard mehsus karti hun
Jab koi bhooka nanga nanha sa baccha meri taraf dekh kar muskurata hai
Aur apne phatey huey tyre ke saath kheltey huey apni sadaa behtee huiee naak ponchtey huey bhaagtaa hai

Aur jab koi chhotee si bacchee taaleem se mehrum reh jaatee hai is liye keh us ko apney nanhey nanhey haathon se kaam karna hai
Kisee ke gandey bartan dhoney hain
Apni kamzor maan ka haath batana hai
Aur apne chotey chotey behn bhaayion ko paalna hai
Kiyun ke us ke baap ne doosri shaadi kar li hai
Aur woh nasha bhi karta hai

Aur yeh lamha
Jab tum mujhe piyaar kar rahe ho
Yeh bilkul us jaam ki tarha hai jis mein doob kar mein sirf apna aur tumhara aks dekhti hun
Aur khush hotee hun, madhoshi mein mast hotee hun
Aur kuch dair keh kiye bhool jaatee hun keh

Buhat se kaantey jo dil mein chubey hain woh kasak dey rahe hain aur mein un ke karb mein sada se mubtila hunhun.

Buhat se kaantey jo dil mein chubey hain woh kasak dey rahe hain aur mein un ke karb mein sada se mubtila hun.

Meherzaidi , the poet.

Translation:

Ah these moments spent with you

Now, here

You thought I am like this

Vulnerable

Impressionable

Very easily attached

Very easily fooled

When I looked at your eyes, the first time

I was startled

Can I trust him

This was my question

Those eyes were red

There was an intensity in them

I told you my life story

And you listened

Those moments passed

And then she said to him

These passing moments are the truth

These are beauteous moments

These slowly passing moments

These colorful ,fragrant moments

Moments pregnant with their touch

Your kiss is like a goblet coming to its wine

It reaches my soul

Beauteous, colourful, heady

Your sweetness is spread on my mind

Like a passionate song

I am slowly trusting you

But I think sometimes

Why?

Why do you love me

This old body and death’s silence

This confusion in my mind

This pain in my heart

This is not for my existence

Tis eternal agony!

Agony of cruelty on Man

Agony of the burden of poverty on young shoulders

Agony of a suckling sucking empty breasts

Agony of recurrent miscarriages of the weak

Agony of a disabled worker due to industrial accident

Agony of being thrown out of work

Agony of inability to get  sick mother’s medicines

Agony of taking loan to shroud father’s dead body

Agony of tattering of self respect

You thought my eyes tear because I love myself too much and he does not?

No that pain has numbed long ago

There are other agonies more profound than love’s pain ,so says Faiz

When you touched my cheek with love I startled

I felt as if I have seen heaven

Yours and mine heaven in which we both will stay forever for the remaining lives

Yes we both are such people that walk behind our beliefs and convictions

You say that I am not idealist but materialistic like you

I do not think so

I am perhaps like the heroine of Sartre’s Iron in the Soul

Suspended in my pleasures

Easy life

If I were not an existentialist…

I would live on Mazaars

Wearing Sufi’s abaya and singing your rosary

But I am existentialist

Leisure loving

That is why I am entrapped in this beautiful cage

Abide in this adorned death cell

But I am alive

This I realized because I feel pain

When a naked, hungry child smiles at me

And plays running with his torn tyre

Cleaning his eternally running nose

When a little girl cannot study because she has to work with her little hands

Wash someone else’ dirty dishes

Help her weak and frail mother

When she has to look after her little brothers and sisters

Because her father has married another woman

And he is an addict too

And this moment

When you are loving me, wooing me

Tis like  a goblet

In which I see reflections, yours and mine

I forget for a while

Those many thorns that prick my heart and cause that deep pain since eternity.

Karachi Kahani...East Wharf, West Wharf, Dreams.

A Short Story
By Meherzaidi.

Life was too rich in this stinky, oily hot sector 22 of his  mad, wild , beloved city. He stood on the pier, small, creeky, yellowish brown in the light of the setting sun. Munna came here every evening after work.He came to enjoy the sea and to meet his friend Dilawar. He counted the coins in his small hands with dirt in its creases and dirt under the finger nails. Small hands hardened and blackened. He smiled. His pink lips parted and his white teeth flashed. His smile lighted up his face. He had a wonderful smile. His boss at the mechanic shop also loved his smile. He said that all his tiredness disappeared to see him smile.So the coins were enough for today. They will buy him his food and the medicines for his ailing mother and his two siblings. One brother who was born with some injury to his head during childbirth , they said. One sister who had suffered from meningitis as the neighborhood doctor had said when she was  one year old.
The seagulls were making noises near the shore. Some people had thrown some fish and food there.The colorful kites filled one part of the sky as some children played outside the small shanty huts by the peir.He took a deep sigh as if missing the joys of kite flying and playing. He had lost his childhood. responsibilities of earning a livelihood had made him a man. He felt old already.like his father. His father, a mechanic in a workshop, now frail and ailing too.
His friend Dilawar came whizzing his bike ."Come have a ride", he said. Dilawar was eighteen, sturdy and friendly. He was also an apprentice mechanic since the age of nine. He would work the whole day and happily share tea and biscuits with Munna."Ah" ,said Munna as he sat behind Dilawar on his shiny red bike.
"Zurr, Zurr" ,Dilawar revved the bike and off they went. Whizzing past the stalls on which fish was sold. Whizzed past the women cleaning some small fishes in the baskets. Whizzed past the gatekeeper and out of the gate of the Fisheries East Wharf. Quickly passing the roads , bumpy and uneven from the wear and tear of the heavy trucks and lorries passing over them without maintainence and repair. They entered the curvy,new overhead bridge. Inching slowly past the long trailers turning and entering another lane, they turned towards the West Wharf Peir Road.
Munna chuckled in sheer delight. He knew where Dilawar was taking him. He closed his eyes and felt the cool, oily , sticky breeze on his face. He felt it on his heavy lids with their long black lashes.He took a deep breath as if devouring the air, this moment, now.His tongue flickered out like a slimy snake as he licked his lips. His thoughts dwelled on the West Wharf pier. Beautifully redone with lots of food stalls, shiny, posh restaurants, a walking path along the sea and lights.Oh how he would love to go inside. He had never been inside. He just parked outside everytime with Dilawar, watching all the beautiful people in their expensive clothes and big , shiny cars go inside.
Some day I will be eating there. Some day I will bring my wife there. When I am old and rich. He thought every time.Dilawar stopped the bike where the guards would not scold them and beckoned Munna to the side. They both sat down hunching. All the people were getting down from their cars and going inside. There were whiffs of strange exotic perfumes in the air.There were chuckles and tinkering laughter in the air.This was heaven. He savored the pleasure of the moment.This was his world , this evening, today.
Munna dreamed he was all grown up in a black suit. A black suit just like Shahrukh Khan was wearing in Don 2 poster that smiled down on him near his uncle's workshop on M A Jinnah Road. His hair was slick like the hero too but he had no gun in his hand. Munna hated guns. Guns had killed so many in his neighborhood. He hated the wails and cries of the women, men and children when the slains' bodies were brought home for the funeral preparations. He hated dead bodies. He hated the white shrouds. He hated death. He wanted his father to live , even with his weak lungs and incessant cough and bouts of white phlegm. He wanted his mother to answer him smiling even if weak and tremulous, lying on her oft repaired charpoy, when he came back from a long and hard day's work. He wanted his brother with  weak, distorted hands and inability to stand straight to live. He wanted his sister to live. Even if she could not see him clearly with both eyes, even if she could not sit straight and listen to him. He wanted all his family to live , happily with him. All his family with their weak and disabled hands, feet, eyes and bodies. All his family with their coughs, sneezes, tears and sorrows. He was happy. He wanted them to live and he hated guns and death and shrouds.
His dream expanded. He entered the gate of the "Grand Cafe" where all the beautiful men and women were going. It was a dream. Lush surroundings. Lights. Strange dancing coloured lights and beautiful people around him.Munna was happy.This was his world. Lighted, fragrant and beautiful.
Then he heard a sound. A familiar tinkering sound of a woman's voice. "Dilawar' ! He opened his eyes. He came out of the dream in an instance. She was beautiful. Tall, dressed like Priyanka Chopra, smelling , oh, so good. She stood laughing in front of them, a tall woman in shimmering dress and heels.It was like he had come into a real dream again. The lady came towards them, her shiny car parked behind her.
"Dilawar, how are you ?" she smiled and laughed at the same time. "It has been so long I saw you last" "So many years. my, my, you have become a young man" "How is your workshop" "Oh, I can see your new bike"
Overwhelmed by her barrage of statements and questions. Overwhelmed by her presence, and surprised , Dilawar's mouth had fallen open. She was the "madam" who used to get her Volkswagon tyre fixed when Dilawar was a kid. She was the "Madam" who in the first week of the month got Dilawar a "Mr Burger" burger from her doctor's salary. Dilawar moved towards her and smiled. "What are you doing here and who is this young man ? your son? Couldn't be!" She laughed her tinkering laugh ,like sweet bells coming out of a fairy tale. She was a fairy. In his dream. But Munna's eyes were open.
"Remember the burgers, Dilawar?" "Yes, but..." stammered Dilawar. Munna wanted to go in with the lady to the Grand Port.He wanted to wear that black suit of his dreams. He wanted to have his hair slicked, shiny in place and he wanted to smell good.He wanted to be her prince. Munna smiled.
"Let us go inside" , came a harsh male voice from besides the lady."They are waiting for us and we will be late". A man in a suit nudged the lady. "Yes, yes " said the lady. She wasn't smiling any more. The stars in her big , brown eyes had vanished. The beautiful smile that had made her face shine and look child like, soft and radiant vanished. Her sure-footed step faltered. Then she regained composure and took out a card from her bag. She thrust the card in Dilawar's hands. "Promise you will telephone me tomorrow" "Promise , you will come to see me tomorrow" "Promise, you will have dinner with me tomorrow, Dilawar" "Just like old days?"
Her eyes were smiling. Her face was shining , child like. Bring your friend with you too. Do bring him, she bent towards Munna. Munna's head swooned as her scent wiffed in his nose. He felt heady, in a trance.
"Oh, but we can come her tomorrow for dinner, sure, we can do that". She said, smiling. "You  telephone me and we will fix time , Dilawar". Dilawar, nodded, keeping the card in his pocket safely. And then she was gone.
Munna and Dilawar sat on the bike and came back. They did not speak to each other till Munna's home . Their journey back was like a dream. They were snug and quiet. Each was thinking about today. Each was thinking about tomorrow. Munna was already thinking about the clothes he was going to wear ,tomorrow and his hair.

Meher's Miraji :Samandar Ka Bulawa.

Meherzaidi(Translator) with Anjum Zia(Poet)

یہ سرگوشیاں کہ رہی ہیں اب آؤ کہ برسوں سے تم کو بلاتے بلاتے میرے دل پی گہری تھکن چھاہ رہی ہے 

کبھی ایک پل کو ، کبھی ایک عرصے صدائیں  سنی ہیں 

مگر یہ انوکھی  ندا آرہی ہے 

بلاتے بلاتے تو کوئی نہ اب تک تھکا ہے نہ آیندہ شاید تھکے گا

"میرے پیارے بچے"  "مجھے تم سے کتنی محبّت ہے " "دیکھو اگر یوں کیا تو " "برا مجھ  سے بڑ ہ کر نہ کوئی بھی ہوگا "

"خدایا، خدایا! "

کبھی ایک سسکی، کبھی ایک تبسّم ، کبھی صرف تیوری

مگر یہ صدائیں تو آتی رہی ہیں 

انہی سے حیات دو  روزہ ابد سے ملی ہے

مگر یہ انوکھی ندا جس پے گہرئی تھکن  چھا   رہی ہے 

یہ ہر ایک صدا کو مٹانے کی دھمکی دیے جا رہی ہے 

اب آنکھوں میں جمبئش ، نہ چہرے پے کوئی تبسّم نہ تیوری

فقط کان سنتے چلے جا رہے ہیں

یہ ایک گلستان ہے ،

ہوا لیلھاتی ہے ، کلیاں چٹکتی ہیں 

غنچے مہکتے ہیں اور پھول کھلتے ہیں، کھل کھل کے مرجھاکے گرتے ہیں

ایک فرش مخمل بناتے ہیں

جس پر میری آرزوں کی پریاں عجب ان سے یوں رواں ہیں 

کہ جیسے گلستان ہی ایک آئنہ ہے 
اسی  اینے سے ہر شکل نکھری ، سنور کر مٹی 

اور مٹ ہی گیئ پھر نہ ابھری

یہ پربت ہے - خاموش ساکن 

کبھی کوئی چشمہ ابلتے ہوئے پوچھتا ہے کہ اس کی 

چٹانوں کہ اس پار کیا ہے

مگر مجھ کو پربت کا دامن ہی کافی ہے

دامن میں وادی ہے ، وادی میں نددی ہے ،

نددی میں بہتی ہی ناؤ ہی آئینہ ہے

اسی آئنے میں ہر ایک شکل نکھری

مگر ایک پل میں جو مٹنے لگی ہے تو پھر نہ ابھری

یہ صحرا ہے ،پھیلا ہوا خشک، بے برگ صحرا

بگولے یہاں تند بھوتوں کا عکسے مجسّم بنے ہیں

مگر میں تو دور - ایک پیڑوں  کے جھرمٹ پے اپنی نگاہیں جمایے ہوئے ہوں 

نہ اب کوئی صحرا ، نہ پربت، نہ کوئی گلستان

اب نہ آنکھوں میں جمبش، نہ چہرے پے کوئی تبسّم، نہ تیوری

فقط ایک انوکھی صدا کہ رہی ہے  

کہ تم کو بلاتے بلاتے میرے دل پہ  گہری تھکن چھا رہی ہے 

بلاتے بلاتے تو کوئی نہ اب تک تھکا ہے نہ شاید تھکے گا 

تو پھر یہ ندا آئنہ ہے ، فقط میں تھکا ہوں

نہ صحرا نہ پربت ، نہ کوئی گلستان ، فقط اب سمندر بلاتا ہے مجھ کو 

کے ہر شہ سمندر سے آئ ، سمندر میں جا کر ملے گی

In Roman Script:

Yeh sargosheyan  keh rahee hain ab aao keh barson se tum ko bulaate bulaate mere dil pe gehree thakan chharahee hai 

Kabhi aik pal ko kabhi aik arsey sadaayein sunee hain

Magar yeh anokhi nida aa rahee hai

Bulaatey bulaatey to koi na ab tak thaka hai na ayenda shayad thake gaa

"Mere piyaare bach che"

"Mujhe tum se kitnee muhabbat hai"

"Dekho agar yun kia to"

"Bura mujh se bardh kar na koi bhi hoga"

"Khudaya, khudaya!"

Kabhi aik siskee, kabhi ek tabassum, kabhi sirf tiyuree

Magar yeh sadaayein to aatee rahee hain

Inhee sai hayate do roza abad se milee hai

Magar yeh anokhi nida jis pe gehree thakan chaa rahee hai 

Yeh har ek sada ko mitaane ki dhamki diye jaa rahee hai

Ab aankhon mein jumbish na chehre pe koi tabassum na tiyuri

Faqat kaan sunte chale jaa rahe hain

Yeh aik gulistaan hai Hawa lehlihaatee hai, kaliyaan chitaktee hain

Ghunche mehekte hain aur phool khilte hain, khil khil ke murjha ke girte hain               

Ek farsh makhmal banate hain jis par

Meree aarzoo on ki pariyaan ajab aan se yun rawaan hain  

Keh jaise gulistaan hi ek aaeena hai

Isee aaeene se har ek shakal nikhree, sanwar kar mitee

Aur mit hee gayee phir na ubhree

yeh parbat hai khaamosh saakin

Kabhi koi chashma ubalte huey poochta hai keh us ki chataanon ke us paar kiyaa hai?

Magar  mujh ko parbat ka daaman hi kaafi hai

Daaman mein waadi hai

Waadi mein naddi hai

Naddi mein behtee huwee naao hee aaeena hai

Usee aaeene mein har aik shakal nikhree

Magar aik pal mein jo mitne lagi hai to phir na ubhree

Yeh sehra hai phaila hua khusk be barg sehra

Bagole yahan tund bhooton ka akse mujassam bane hain

Magar mein to door aik peron ke jhurmat pe apni nigahein jamaaey huey hun

Na ab koi sehra na parbat na koi gulistaan

Ab aankhon mein jumbish na chehre pe koi tabassum na tiyuri

Faqat aik anokhi sadaa keh rahi hai ke tum ko bulaate bulaate mere dil pe gehree thakan chhaa rahee hai

Bulaate bulaate to koi na ab tak thaka hai na shayad thake gaa

 To phir yeh nida aaeena hai faqat mein thaka hun

Na sehra na parbat, na koi gulistaan, faqat ab samandar bulaata hai mujh ko

Keh har shey samandar se aaee Samandar mein ja kar milegee.

Translation:

Ah these whisperings beckon you to come to me since long

and my heart is tired, sinking.

Sometimes for a moment, sometimes for long

I hear these voices

This unique sound that I hear

The caller beckons and is not tired 

The caller will never tire of calling

"Oh my sweet child"

"I love you so much"

Look if you do not do this 

there never will be any one more angrier than me"

"Oh my God, Oh my God!"

Sometimes a whine

Sometimes a smile

Sometimes a frown

But these voices beckon

They have given this life eternity

Alas, this unique sound that makes one tired 

Threatens to drown all voices away

The eyes are still

The face does not smile or frown

Only the ears hear

Tis a garden

The breeze dances

The buds blossom

The blossoms' scent spreads

The flowers bloom

They die

Fall on the floor

Maketh a satin bed 

Upon which the fairies of my desire dance

Giving an impression that this garden is my mirror

All faces shine, then adorn, then fade away

Never to rise in the mirror again

The majestic mountain, quiet, still

Has any brook asked its rocks what lies behind?

Alas, for me the lap of the mountain is enough

The lap is a valley

The valley has the river

The river has a boat afloat

The boat is a mirror

The faces reflect shining in the mirror

But they fade away

Never to return

This desert, vast, expansive, dry

The whirlwinds dance like ghosts embodied

I stare at the fronds of trees far away

No desert, no mountain, no garden for me

Eyes are still,No smile on my face

Nor frown on my brow

That unique sound says that my heart is now tired and calls you repeatedly

But never tires of calling you

It will never be tired

This sound ,a mirror

I am just tired

No desert, no mountain, no garden

Only the sea beckons

As all has come from the sea
So will return to the sea!


(Miraji's poem Samandar ka bulawa is unique representation of his mastery and unbridled use of expression. The poem is typical in its flow of thoughts, scenic representation of feelings and use of physical idioms of life relating to the Earth like river, mountains and desert.He expresses his feelings about life as memories of childhood, bonding, mother, his and man's relationship with Earth as a mother, life's restrictions and how we are supposed  to lead our lives.He makes use of words that emphasize the nuances of relationships and expectations which mothers or lovers or female members have with us.He then brings in the sea as eternal giver of life and also that to which man returns. In some cultures and societies, the corpses or remains have to go back to the sea.In the Bible  it is written that before Universe there was water. His imagery makes eternal human life from cradle to death.He also shows the importance of the senses in experience and feelings and how close they are to life and death. The sound of the waves from the sea is used as a metaphor for both the sound of life and death.He uses the terms of "sada" as a sound of life and also as of death.He was a truly modern poet who used the Urdu language in a unique way. The abstraction in his expression also adds to the modernism which I think is almost post modern in Urdu poetry. My mother Anjum Zia taught me Urdu poetry and it is to her I owe my deep gratitude for this).

  

Piyaar ki kashti...Love Boat.

Monet

یہ حسین لمحے گزر رہیں ہیں جو تیرے ساتھ
یہ دوبارہ این یہی ہے خواھش
یہ گزر نہ جایں یہی ہے خواھشے
وہ جو سامنے کھڑے ہے کشتی  چمکتی
دمکتی
ے
کریک کراچی کے کے پرسکون پانیوں پے
رات کے سرمگیں اندھیرے میں وہ لڑکیوں کے قہ قھ
جو سال نو کی دعوت میں سجھ دھج کے آییں ہیں
 اور جنکی خمار آلود آنکھوں میں جھانکتے ہیں ان کے ہم نشیں ہمسفر
کھنکتے قہقہے چھلکتے جام مہکی ہوئی شام
میں اپنے محبوب لوگوں کے ساتھ اپنے کمرے کے بستر پر سے دیکھتی ہوں یہ منظر
ایسا منظر نشیلا منظر
بہت زیادہ مزہ دینے والا منظر
بلکل مونٹ کی پینٹنگ میں آگیے ہوں اندر
اس کشتی کی قمقمے چمک رہے ہیں
ان کا رنگین لہکتا عکس پانی میں لہراتا رقص کرتا دل لبھاتا
اور وہ آدھ چاند 
کریک کراچی کے سرمگیں پانیوں، آسمانوں کے اوپر ابھرتا ہوا
جیسے میرے من کا پیار
میں اس سردی کی شام میں اپنے پیاروں کے ساتھ دیکھتی ہوں
دل چاہتا ہے میں یہیں منجمد ہو جاؤں یہیں اشی طرھ اپنے پیارے محبوب لوگوں کے ساتھ 
اور امر ہو جاؤں 
 اس مونٹ کی تصویر کی طرھ


Translation:


Ah, these beautiful moments that I spend with you
I want them to return
I wish them to last forever
That boat that shines parked over the peaceful waters of Creek Karachi
The laughter bellows over
of the ladies 
Ladies who have come dressed to party
New Year's party on the boat
Their eyes drunk with their lovers' love
Laughter , wine and this evening
And I watch this scene from my bed
Lying with my loved ones
This intensely pleasurable scene
Like a Monet painting
I have entered this scenic painting
The lights in the boat shine 
Green, blue, yellow
Their reflections dance on the Creek waters
Enticing, alluring
And the rising half moon
On the waters and the skies of Creek Karachi 
Like the love in my heart
I gaze mesmerized at this beautiful scenery
Lying with my loved ones
I want to freeze in this scenery
Like this, forever
Becoming a Monet painting, eternal.
(Urdu words like surmageen, khumar alood, chalakte,amar can not be fully described or translated in English, however, I have tried to do so. I wrote this poem on New Year's day after spending wonderful time with my family).