Sunday, September 25, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Fly To Heaven
This is love: to fly to heaven, every moment to rend a hundred veils;
At first instance, to break away from breath -- first step, to renounce feet;
To disregard this world, to see only that which you yourself have seen.
I said, "Heart, congratulations on entering the circle of lovers,
"On gazing beyond the range of the eye, on running into the alley of the breasts."
Whence came this breath, O heart? Whence came this throbbing, O heart?
Bird, speak the tongue of birds: I can heed your cipher!
The heart said, "I was in the factory whilst the home of water and clay was abaking.
"I was flying from the workshop whilst the workshop was being created.
"When I could no more resist, they dragged me; how shall I
tell the manner of that dragging?"
Rumi
Source: "Mystical Poems of Rumi", A.J. Arberry
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Hum-Nawaee. Na Thi.
Following is a master piece by Naseer Turabi (it was a grave mistake to mention Addam as the poet earlier on, for which I apologize!)
Sung differently, by two distinct voices, the two versions must not be compared, for each has its own flavor. Each bringing forth a newer dimension of heart ache that only the poet could envision. Or a listener might feel.
"Woh hamsafar tha, magar uss say hum-nawaee na thi" is poignant. And many a times, such a true story!
Tark e taulaqaat pe, roya na tu na mein,
Lakin yeh kya keh chain se soya na tu, na mein
Woh humsafar tha magar us say hum-nawaee na thi
keh dhoop chaaon ka alam raha, judaee na thi
Mohabbaton ka safar is tarha bhi guzra tha
Shikasta dil thay musaafir shikasta-paaee na thi
Adawatain theen, taghaful tha, ranjishain theen
Bicharhnay walay main sab kuch tha, bewafaee na thi
Bicharhtay waqt un aankhon main thi humari ghazal
Ghazal bhi woh jo kisi ko abhi sunayi na thi
Kabhi yeh haal keh donon main yakdili thi Naseer
Kabhi yeh marhala jaisay keh aashnaee na thi
Untitled.
Khuda wo waqt na laye kay sogawar ho tu
sukoon ki neend tujhay bhi haram ho jaye
teri musarrat-e-paiham tamam ho jaye
teri hayat tujhay talkh jam ho jaye
ghamon se aina-e-dil gudaz ho tera
Hujoom-e-yas se betaab ho ke reh jaye
wafoor-e-dard se simab ho ke reh jaye
tera shabaab faqat khwaab ho ke reh jaye
ghuroor-e-husn sarapa niyaz ho tera
taweel raton main tu bhi qarar ko tarsay
teri nigah kisi gamgusar ko tarsay
khizaan raseeda tamanna bahaar ko tarse
koi jaeen na teray sang-e-astan pe jhuke
ke jins-e-ijz-o-aqidat se tujh ko shad kare
fareb-e-wada-e-farda pe aetamad kare
Khuda wo waqt na laye ke tujh ko yad aye
wo dil ke tere liye be-qarar ab bhi hai
wo ankh jis ko tera intazar ab bhi hai
Yeh Jalwa-Giri Kis Ki Hai!
Nuktacheen hai gham-e-dil usko sunaye na banay
Kya banay baat jahan baat banaye na banay
Bojh woh sar pe gira hai ke uthaye na uthay
Kaam woh aan paRa hai ke banaye na banay
Ghair phirta hai liye yoon teray khat ko ke agr
koi poochay ke ye kia hai tou chupaey na banay
Keh sakay kaun ke yeh jalwa-giri kis ki hai
Parda choara hai jo uss nay, ke uthaey na banay
Main bhulata tou hoon usko magar ay jazbaa-e-dil
Uspay ban jaaye kuch aesi ke bin aaye na banay
Ishq par zoar nahin hai yeh woh aatish `Ghalib'
Ke lagaye na lagay aur bujhaye na banay
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Three Words: Sculpted, Worshiped & Smashed
Just cherishing the beauty that 'Farsi' is, and celebrating the ecstasy that it brings when coupled with the intensity of experience. You could relate to it too... All you need to do is to find a point of reference with either of the two: Pygmalion or Galatea!
Please have a seat, grab some coffee and make yourself comfortable...
فرزانہ بہ گفتارم دیوانہ بہ کردارم
از بادہ شوق تو ہشیارم و مستم من
Friday, September 16, 2011
She Spoke Of That Night
And as her breath caught the wasp of his freshly lit cigar, the swirl of smoke filled her senses with a sudden rush of realization. Her hands crawled to her sides to hold on to him. He was not there. Not close by to feel her. Her dewy eyes shot open. Panicked, she rose and saw him. Seated right beside the mirror... a stare from behind his spectacles reflected her image just as well as the cold mirror surface.
And in that candid. Plain. Unemotional, reflection. She saw herself.
A brutally blunt reflection it was.
A brutally blunt reflection it was.
She stared. Not able to decide what struck her harder. The icicles that his gaze rode at, or the utter lack of abandon they seemed to mock at!
Her pores broke out in sweat, and this time it was not the heat of passion that had triggered that cold trickle down her body. Her eyes squinted, as her awareness began to drown beneath a surging wave of regret.
'Maybe" ... "just maybe" ... "I was wrong. After all!" was the last thought she remembered before suffocating on that smoke.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Does It Make A Sound?
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
I began writing a tale, but then pressed backspace.
The tale was rich. It steamed with emotions. But it had to ferment. Words, uttered before time, give off the steam and the essence stays back. The saline element of the moisture that floats in the eyes, and cuts through the heart, needs a little simmering to enrich the soul.
Why not hide it away in some forlorn nook of the heart, and let it stay there: unheard, unspoken of... never even whispered of!
Let that tale's symphony keep on meddling with the rhythm of the heart. Always.
Hafiz says:
Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,
My need of You
Absolutely
Clear.
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,
My need of You
Absolutely
Clear.
- Hafiz Shirazi
PS:
If no one is around to hear it, who knows if the tree ever fell or not?
PPS:
And oh yes, by the way, steam contained within, could drive locomotives!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Pygmalion
Pygmalion, in the ancient Greek mythology, is a sculptor who fell in love with the statue of the goddess Aphrodite he had carved.
As per the Mythology,
In time, Venus (Aphrodite)'s festival day came, and Pygmalion made offerings at the altar of Venus. There he quietly wished that his ivory sculpture would be changed to a real woman. When he returned home, he kissed his ivory statue and found that its lips felt warm. He kissed it again and touched her breasts with his hand and found that the ivory lost its hardness. Venus had granted Pygmalion's wish.
Source: wikipedia
Monday, September 12, 2011
Crash
Let me drown into a sea of sounds
Those raging waves,
That crashing force,
Let it devour all the thoughts;
Turn saline, all the sours
Let it turn murky
the realization of reality
Switch of the defogger
Let the rear view mirror never be clear
And for your life, never trust a No Fear!
Never. Be. Clear.
Never.
Stella Benson Says
"Call no man foe, but never love a stranger. "
Sunday, September 11, 2011
And As I Looked At The Crystal Moon...
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
- Pablo Neruda
Friday, September 9, 2011
Finer
Ever wonder why do they put age brackets on children toys?
A child needs to be of a specific age to understand the working of the toy, and enjoy it as such.
Such is the case of finer perfumes, and arts and music!
One needs to have developed senses, an eye, an ear for finery!
And same is the case with humans...
Develop into fine, to deserve to know the finer!
warna sir ko chaRh sakta hai ...
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
REPLUG: Abida - The Delight To Senses
Indulging into old entries, when the matter is Abida, is just kosher! :)
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Simon's Cat = My Chipmunk :)
If,
Simon = leenah;
Then,
Simon's Cat = leenah's Prince
Endloop
Lab-e Darya, Jaan Balab
Mistress in embrace -- mistress-seeking
On the stream-bank, lip dry with thirst.
- Sheikh Saadi Shirazi
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Salvaged To Silence
Have you ever been afraid of some thing?
Obviously, you have been. This is such a lame thing to ask! Okay, lemme rephrase it for you ... hmm ... lets try again:
Have you been afraid of something that doesn't exist outside your mind?
Now this got a bit tricky, aint it?
You bet!
Silence, at times could be such a thing ... Frightening. Haunting.
The usual lovers' discourses that take place between Love and a throbbing chest in silence, begin to shy away from solitude.
One hunts in search of brash sounds to drown into. Like a loser lover heading to a pub for a cheap fix to douse his flame. or Candle.
What an unworthy trade!
Seriously.
Words. Words. Words.
And all devoid of the Purpose.
Meaningless sounds, too many of them.
Wasted momentss that could be spent in communion with the Beloved...
And as my heart grew heavier, burying down deeper under the rubble of the forlorn days... Yes, there has been one pick in these evenings.....
A few couple of moist smiling eyes and a gentle, soft, oh-so-tender whisper (-turned-kiss) "leenah aunty... ap bohat sweet hain... "
At times, a genuine heart felt smile is all you need to get back in touch with your own self. And the silence. And Beloved.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Inteha Iski Kahan Tak Hai
Khuda jane kahan se jalwaye jana kahan tak hai
Wahin tak dekh sakta hai nazar jiski jahan tak hai
Hum itni bhi na samjhe aql khoi dil gawan baithe
Ke husn o ishq ki duniya kahan se hai kahan tak hai
Zameen se aasman tak ek sannate ka aalam hai
Naheen maalum mere dil ki viraani kahaan tak hai
Zameen se aasman tak aasman se la makan tak hai
Khuda jane hamare ishq ki duniya kahan tak hai
Niyaz o naaz ki rudad husn o ishq ka qissa
Ye jo kuchh bhi hai sab unki hamari dastan tak hai
Khayal e yaar ne to aatay hi gum kar diya mujhko
Yahi hai ibteda to inteha iski kahan tak hai
Suna hai sufiyon se hamne aksar khanaqahon mein
Kay yeh rangeen bayani Bedam rangeen bayan tak hai
Thursday, September 1, 2011
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