Koshisho me kasar na thi, faqat yaqeen be-asar tha;
Me tinke beenane gaya, wo ghonsla chhod kar gaya.
Translation
It was never for the want
Of effort–just trust;
I just left to gather straws;
He left the nest.
Category: Poetry
Maikash I Urdu | Poetry
Andhero me doobi thi jinki shaame,
Surkh seher ka intezar karte hain;
Samandar ne pyasa chhoda jin maikash ko,
Teri ek nazar ka intezar karte hain.
.
Saaki koste h husn wale ko,
Baadakash ishare pe jaam chhodte hain,
Dilbar, khol de ye darwaze,
Teri dahleez pe sare aam dum todte hain.
.
Teri inayat deewane par ho jaye;
Ek pal deedar mayassar ho jaye;
Mar k hi uthega gar ye naqab,
Hum kehte h muqarrar ho jaye.
Translation
Those who lived in the darkest night
Await dawn’s first light,
Thirst that a sea could not drown
Awaits your eyes to alight.
.
Cup bearers hate your lure;
On your cue, the drunk left his cup behind,
Love, open your door;
Dying at your doorway for the world to deride.
.
A favour he begs, besotted as is he,
To see you just a moment for;
If only death can take off your veil;
Ready to die forever more.
Context:
Hidden behind veil, muslim women have long inspired Urdu Poetry–lover’s first sight being worth more than one’s life.
Overtly, Urdu poets consider Allah as the most beautiful love, hidden behind the veil that will be lifted only after death, making death not an ending but a beginning of forever instead.
Parda | Urdu | Poetry
Parda hilne ki aahat se jhoomte hain,
Uske wujood se behtar koi nasha nahi.
Translation:
Drunk at the sound of curtains stirring,
No wine tastes better than the hope you exist.
Context: Urdu poetry stems from a culture where shyness is the greatest virtue of a woman. Here stirring curtains stand for a shy beloved hiding just out of sight.
Nazar | Urdu | Poetry
Mere mehboob ki nazaro se bach ke rehna,
Wo janta hai dil kaha chhupa rakha hai.
Uski palko ke uthne aur girne ke beech;
Deewano ne afsana bana rakha hai.
Translation:
Beware of the eyes
of my beloved who
will find your heart
no matter where it hides.
Tales of love are told
mid the moment
she gazes at you
till she drops her eyes.
Context:
Urdu poetry developed in a culture where women did not speak to unrelated men at all. Poets have filled countless pages describing the language of eyes that existed between lovers; how just raising gaze to look at one could incite a love story told and retold around the fire.
Nadaan | Urdu poetry
Naadan sanam ki masoomiyat se haar jate hain.
Salaam kar ke milte hain, seena chaak kar ke jate hain.
Translated into a Lantern poetry
Naive
Stony heart;
Blessed my life;
And left, ripping me
apart!
Context: This piece points out the irony of “Salam” as greeting between parting lovers (a blessing for a long life).
Yakeenan | Urdu Poetry
Ye Waqt yakeenan meri saut hai.
Tere aane aur chale jane ke beech
Jo mauhalat hai,
Ek lamha hai;
Tere ja kar wapas aane ke darmiyan
Jo fasla hai,
Ek zindagi hai;
Tere ja kar laut ke na aane ka dar
Har pal maut hai.
Ye Waqt bazaahir meri saut hai.
Translation:
Waqt: Time
Saut: A merciless co-wife (translated as rival here since it clarifies the intent)
Time is a ruthless rival.
A second’s respite once you arrive
And then you leave.
A lifetime stretches when you leave…
.
.
.
Until you arrive.
Every moment wondering if you’ll return
To me is death.
Time is a ruthless rival.
Mulaqaat | Sher | Urdu poetry
Milti nahi thi ghadiya jinhe ashique se milne ke liye,
Rote hain ghanto se wahi intezar me dafeene ke liye.
…
In rukhsar ke moti kafan pe chamak chhod jayenge.
Chali ja! Zamaana haazir hai ilzam dene ke liye.
Translation:
Who couldn’t find seconds for love,
Is here crying for hours at my funeral.
…
Pearls from your cheeks will leave a sheen on my shroud.
Go away! For the world will see it and blame you aloud.
Author’s note: Sher in Urdu poetry is a couplet with a central idea that can standalone as a separate piece.
It also requires a certain word balance, somewhat like syllables in English poetry but much more complicated since each letter has its own weight. It is clearly outside my range of abilities. 😊 I just try to balance syllables where I can.
Mooning
Midnight. At the windowsill,
Moon reminds me.
Sprinkling silver pixie dust,
Lighting up the path
For Words to find me.
…
Sleep spreads its blanket
On the neighbouring bed.
Enraged Jealousy urges me
To shake awake
The Sleepyhead.
…
Muse nudges the
Story hiding within.
Spying the pen, she retreats,
Fearful of the ever-
judging Punctuation.
…
Sleep warns Desperation–
Inching towards her patrons
to seek help.
Sense prevails.
Who wants grumbly audience?
…
Responsibility cautions
To wait for the first light.
Unacceptable though,
I watch Moon sitting on the windowsill,
Sprinkling moonlight.
Author’s note: I have not learnt writing poetry, but I dabble with it sometimes.
- I have tried a 1-2, 1-2-3 dancing style here.
- Personification is meant to build a crowd on an otherwise quiet, lonely night.
- I have also tried shape-writing to bring a sense of repetition where you return from where you start.
Please let me know which part of it worked and what sucked. :)
Bijli | Urdu Sher | Poetry
Bijli giri jaha par, us zakhm se barish risti hai.
Teri bewafai mere asman ka dil cheer kar gayi.
Translation:
Rains bleed from the wounds where the lightning struck;
Your betrayal tore through the heart of my sky.
I’ll be along | Poetry
Been too lost to speak;
Been too lost to quiet;
Been too long I could think of what to say besides.
…
Feels like forever;
When you were by my side,
Been too long ever since I felt the pain subside.
…
Wait for me, won’t you?
I will be along
Wait for me, won’t you?
You won’t be alone…
…
Been too far away
On the other side of the sun.
Too long since I touched the fresh earth
and didn’t feel the burn.
…
Lost in space forever,
I didn’t see until you were gone;
Now there’s nothing but to wonder
When I’ll be along…
…
Wait for me
there, my love;
I’ll be along…
Wait for me
won’t you?
I will be along…
_________________________________________________
Author’s note: Not sure where this one came up from. I am not a song writer, but I was singing it as I wrote it. I could hear my brother’s guitar in my mind, strumming a quick beat as I sang it. And for some reason, it feels like a piece of my heart.
Short Stories 