Tere Baghair

 تیرے بغیر

Poetry for my beloved wife

یوں گزر رہے ہیں 

تیرے بغیر رات کے پل

جیسے اندھیروں میں 

طاق کا دیا جائے جل

خود کلامی میں میں یہ کہوں

اے دل ان کی یاد سے بہل

خامشی نے شب کی پوچھا ہے

کب آو گی تم ہو گی چہل

کب جائے گی رت خزاں کی

آئے گی بہار کی فصل

کر کے وعدے ملاقاتوں کے

کبھی تو ہو تنہائی میں مخل

صبح کا سپیدہ یہ بولے گا

ہوا ہے کیسے ارمانوں کا قتل

جو نہ آئے تم اس بار بھی

کریں گے تیری یاد سے وصل

وفا کے بدلے یوں جفا دے کر

کب تک کرو گے تم ایسے عدل

تم جو چاہو یہ آسماں کے تارے

دکھا دیں گے راستہ آ ہم سے مل

شاہد یقیں ہے ہمیں جنوں یہ ہمارا 

کر دے گا کبھی ہماری قسمت بدل

Banam Kashmir

ہر کسی کی راہ میں انگارے نہیں ہوتے
سب لوگ یہاں غم کے مارے نہیں ہوتے
ہر شب کی جواہش ہے جگمگانے کی
ہر رات کی قسمت میں ستارے نہیں ہوتے
کہنے لگی ہے وادی کی ہر بیٹی صبح و شام
بزدل یہاں کسی کے سہارے نہیں ہوتے کوئی ہے جو ان آنسوؤں کو مول لے گا
اشک خون آرزو کے استعارے نہیں ہوتے
مقفل تھے جو لوگ وہ یہ سمجھ گئے
روزن زنداں سے امید کے اجالے نہیں ہوتے
عزت نفس، آبرو، تکریم، ناموس و ارجمند
کیا مظلوموں کو یہ وصف پیارے نہیں ہوتے تاریک سیاہ رات کے بعد صبح آزادی ہے
خزاں کے بعد موسم بہار آنے نہیں ہوتے
شاہد تیری ہر ایک جہد پہ خالق کی نظر ہے
شہداء کے خون سے انقلاب فسانے نہیں ہوتے (First two shear are from anonymous poet, rest of the poem is written by me)

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

We went to Shadi wala ghar where family's girls/females were singing traditional shadi songs. My 2.5 year old son interrupted and shouted...No! Don't sing this song...only sing "Baba Black Sheep"...Rest is history...Lately people experienced first ever baba black sheep dholki version on Shadi occasion.

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
And one for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane

Koucha-e-janaan mie ajab masti hai

Fart-e-heerat hoon ki tere dard ne

Kitaboon mie likha lafzoon ka kaha suna hi nahin

Shahid o hamraaz thaey jo tere dil ke

Unhien tu ne apna samjha hi nahin

Kis se karte biyan dard ki shidat

Samaey hai jo aisa ki samjha hi nahin

Ho chuka qutal jub mere zaat ka

Ab kya karien ge gawah jub mudda hi nahin

Youn tu dasht mi tha samandar dekhta

Bus naseeb mie tha pani hi nahin

Mehfil mie yaar ki sub kuch tu hai

Kya howa faqat jo pehlu hi nahin

Koucha-e-janaan mie ajab masti hai

Bikney ko hoon tayar gahak hi nahin

Pathar bhi hota tu moum ho jata

Tere takallum mie halawat hi nahin

Pathar jo parey mujh ko phol hi lagey

Majnoon hoon nae dhaab ka ashiq hi nahin

Lahu aya hai mere ankhon se ashk nahin

Shahid kyoun ho koi jub aarzoo hi nahin
 

Note:

After a very long time I managed to break a writer's block. This blog is based on friend’s facebook status which reads in urdu as:

ﻧﮧ ﻟﻔﻈﻮﮞ ﮐﺎ ﻟﮩﻮ ﻧﮑﻠﺘﺎ ﮨﮯ ﻧﮧ ﮐﺘﺎﺑﯿﮟ ﺑﻮﻝ ﭘﺎﺗﯽ ﮨﯿﮟ
ﻣﯿﺮﮮ ﺩﺭﺩ ﮐﮯ ﺩﻭ ﮔﻮﺍﮦ ﺗﮭﮯ ﺩﻭﻧﻮﮞ ﮨﯽ ﺑﮯ ﺯﺑﺎﮞ ﻧﮑﻠﮯ

 

 

Chanda ki Nagri

This jingle is based and inspired by the instrumental performance “Lough Erin Shore” by Irish band the CORRS which was recorded live on October 5,1999 as a part of MTV’s Unplugged series.

Chanda ki Nagri

Ki hain

Ye Sitarey

Dekhu jo in ko

Lagtey hain pyarey

Bikhray howe hain

Falak mie aise

Jaise ho Gulshan

Mie Jugnu

Ye sarey

Chu lo agar tu

Asman ko

Mil jayien ge

Tum ko

Hian ye Sitarey

Ghum na karo tum

Khatam hoge douri

Mill jayien gay

Naddia ki

Sung kinarey

Gur raat ho

Jitney bhi gehri

Pereshan na hona

Kur dain ge ujaley

Subh ki nazarey

Jeet lou ju tu

Bazi ye hari

Honge khushian hursu

Mitt jayien ge

Ghum ye sarey

This blog is dedicated to my younger sisters

Thank God, I am not pregnant! (Shikwah)

Note: In this blog I tried to amalgamate style of Manto with Iqbal’s “Shikwah”. This blog contains some bold ideas so reader discretion is advised.

Sir, we deal in all types of chemicals and coating additives. We are a responsible care company and concerned with the well being of customers, suppliers and stakeholders. Followed by introduction she replied some of the queries of the customer and suggested workable options. Then conversation concluded with notes of typical greetings. Mouthpiece returned to its designated rest area with crisp sound.

For a moment everything was calmed down like deep sea water. After a pause she tried to figure out what she was doing earlier. Ahan! Akhbar-e-Jahan...She resumed skimming with renewed looks on cover girl from top to bottom. She closely observed the colour scheme being used in fabric and the new stitched neck design. For a moment she realized how she will look like wearing this cover girl outfit. From halat-e-hazra to cut piece and In light of Quran & Sunnah to Filmi Dunia every page turner was an aimless attempt to kill time. She was feeling heavy.

It was a dull deserted office of a local importer firm at a second floor of an unsuccessful plaza who remained under-occupied since the year of inauguration. She was a sales girl cum secretary of Malik Sahib – the owner of a firm. Besides her a firm comprises of one dozen marketing executives who had a very high turnover for switch-overs.  

Marketing guys may loose a chance to hunt a prospective client but they never miss a chance of flirting with her though they were well aware that she is heart throb of Malik Sahib. Every passerby marketer was admirer of her smart fit appealing attire. Indeed she was a perfect candle with surround moths. Time had told her how to remain inflammable. However she was realistic enough to know that ultimately candle lastly sparks, burn out and finally ends up with grey coloured upsurge one liner smoke…after which dark & gloom prevails.

Her dullness started getting heavier that day with cramps, head ache and back pain. For now there was no more charm in page turner of magazine. She put a magazine aside and geared up for her visit to Malik Sahib’s chamber. She entered in chamber without knocking the door. Chamber was full of cigarette’s smoke. Silence broke up with her extended rousing “Sir!”. Malik Sahib faced up from newspaper and looked at her. The visual delight of her was more charming than picture of Katrina Kaif in the newspaper. “Whats up?”

Malik Sahib! Should I leave, I am not feeling well, she said demandingly.

With a flip of finger Malik sahib shed ash on the tip of cigarette to ash-tray, took another puff and with locked looks said, “It’s ok, take good care of yourself.” She gave a thankful smile and returned back. She wore veil as if she was a nymph on her way to holy pilgrimage and came out of office. Even she came out earlier it took one hour to reach home.

After entering home she paid soul-less salams to Amman ji and went to her room. She spent next 15 minutes lying over her bed. Then she moved up to bath room for change over. She looked herself in a bathroom mirror and tried to recognize herself. Her bleak and unconscious face had a lot of complaints with existence. Finally, she thrown away the sanitary napkin in a litter-bucket and murmured “Thank God, I am not pregnant!” 

P.S: The story of this blog is inspired by thesis work of an art student.

New Year's Resolution

Neither I know Rumi nor Behlol

I know myself and know my goal

Mysticism of death

Can not dead my soul

Like a beacon of moth

My life has to play a role

If not understood for meaning

Verses & stanzas are just black of coal

Shahid come out of beloved’s deceit

You are not a traveler of a boat with hole