When I pray for her…

Whenever I pray

For her to smile

I light a candle

In my being

 

She says I should pray

But only for myself

Who can be the voice?

For another?

 

And when she left

I felt

My shadow

Being ripped from my body

 

With her I was not ashamed

Of being naked

The shadow of her hair

Turned into a cloak for me to hide

 

Love’s morning

I spent laughing

It was during the evening

That I was moved to tears

 

So now, Look at the stones

And show some reverence

That stone

Could be a god for someone

 

And if you must sin

Hide yourself first

I’ve heard

God sees everything

 

جب وہ میری دعا ہوتا ہے

دل میں روشن دیہ ہوتا ہے

j

آپ  اپنے  لیے  دعا  کریں

کون کس کی صدا ہوتا ہے؟

j

وہ  گیا  تو  ایسا درد  ہوا

جیسے سایہ جدا ہوتا ہے

j

ننگِ بدن کی فکرنا تھی

سایہِ  زلف  قبا  ہوتا ہے

j

صبحِ عشق مسکرا گزری

شام  گئے  رونا  ہوتا ہے

j

عزت سے دیکھ سنگ کو

یہ  کسی  کا خدا ہوتا ہے

j

گناہ کر چھپ کے استاد

سنا  رب  دیکھتا  ہوتا ہے

A Lamp by a Window

It is quite interesting that in times of despair, we sometimes ask questions of ourselves which quite possibly have no answer or have obvious answers that we refuse to admit to. I have indulged in that exercise in narcissism more than I would care to admit and on the same note, a poor ghazal came to mind as follows:

کوئی چراغ کہیں جلتا نہیں، کیا کروں؟

اس مشکل کا حل ملتا نہیں، کیا کروں؟

j

مانا کے شہر میں ہیں کاریگر بہت

پر چاکِ دل  سلتا نہیں،  کیا کروں؟

j

خطرہ ہے کے پھر عشق نہ ہو جائے

یہ  خطرہ  اب  ٹلتا  نہیں،  کیا کروں؟

j

ہزار سجدے، ہزار چوکھٹ، ہزار بار

پر  یوں  خدا  ملتا  نہیں،  کیا  کروں؟

j

دیکھ  استاد  اسے  پہلوِ  غیر  میں

اب  دل  تیرا  جلتا نہیں، کیا کروں؟

j

No window offers a light

What should I do?

A path to follow in this darkness

Where would I find it?

 

And I know this city

Has many people who repair things

Who mends a broken heart?

Where would I find him?

 

And to fear to fall in love again?

Is a curse indeed

Do I dare?

Do I dare not?

 

I prayed a thousand times

At a thousand holy sites

That was not the way to find God

That was not the way to find her

 

And now you see your love

Dancing with one more pious than you

Does that not

Make your heart smolder?

Courage…

A close friend of mine recently engaged with me on a discussion on courage and changing things by taking control of matters. I must admit that often in my life I have been paralyzed by indecision since apparently I think too much about things. Particularly where my decisions involve other individuals who may be impacted by those decisions. The thoughts on courage did however lead me to a reflection on the idea of courage as it relates to theology, spirituality and courage in the face of life itself. On those notions I present a poor ghazal that formed in my mind.

جو  کام   ہم   کرے   ہیں،   تیرے    لیے    کرے   ہیں

کبھی مر کے جی اٹھے ہیں، جی جی کے پھر مرے ہیں

j

کیا ہے  بندے  کی  شان؟  جا  دیکھ  میری  جان

جو مصر میں بکے ہیں، یاں طور پے جلے ہیں

j

نا   بھائی   آرائشِ   دین،   وہ    قصرِ    سلاطین

حق پے مر مٹے ہیں، باطل سے کب ڈرے ہیں؟

j

کوئی  بڑی بات نا تھی  وہ  چار دن کی  فرقت

جدا ہو کے جو جیے ہیں، آخر میں تو ملے ہیں

j

یہ  حالِ غضب  ہے یاں پشیمانی استاد؟

ہاتھ کانپتے ہیں، انکھ میں قطرے میں

My endeavors were all

Directed towards Her

I lived again after I had died

And gladly accepted death after being given life

 

So what is the glory of man?

Go, Take a look

He has been sold proudly in Egypt

He was burnt on Sinai

 

The trappings of faith

Never attracted those courageous people

They died for the truth

They Never feared falsehood

 

Death is but a short parting

For our spirits

Will be united

At the end of it all

 

So now, is it courageous rage

Or is this sorrow?

My hands tremble

My eyes well up