Tag Archives: Thought

Lost memories…

تیرا خیال اڑھا کے، سلا گئیں یادیں

سلا کے خواب میں، ملا گئیں یادیں


پھر یاد آ گئی، وہی تیری بے رخی

اسی یاد سے ہم کو، جلا گئیں یادیں


جو دن بھولے تھے، بڑی مشکل سے

وہ وقت پھر ہمیں، دیکھا گئیں یادیں


وہ ہم سے پوچھیں، آپ  کیوں ہیں روتے؟

ہم  خود  نہیں  روتے، بس رلا گئیں یادیں


استاد  کا طریقہ؟  بس سفر کا سلیقہ

چلا پھر واں جہاں،  بلا گئیں یادیں

I use your remembrance

As a blanket

So when I sleep

I can meet you in my dreams


And so I am reminded

Of you turning away

That memory

Burns bright


I forgot that day

With a lot of effort

Yet my memory

Reminds me of that time


And they ask

Why do you weep so

I say I do not weep

My memory makes me do so


So what is his way?

Nothing more than

Walking the middle path

He goes wherever his thoughts take him


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Filed under Ghazal, Poetry

When I Sleep

My grandmother taught me a lot of things and amongst them was the idea of dream interpretation. I must confess that I was (and still am) skeptical about dream interpretation but I do admit it has been of use in my life. It was always kind of fun to look up a symbol from books such as The Interpretation of Dreams, Tabeer-ar-Royaa or even Kashaf-ul-majoob and connect them to the dates of the moon and other planets to see their influence.

Yes, before the naysayers crucify me with citations from research papers saying dreams have no valid interpretation etc. etc. let me assure them that I take a scientific perspective on dreams. As for their esoteric interpretation and symbolic/psychological value; I freely admit that such ideas are closer to art than an exacting science. On the notion of dreams, a poor ghazal came to mind.

تیرا خیال مجھے لے جاتا خواب میں

لوگ کہتے میں چلتا پھرتا خواب میں

Your thoughts

Take me to dreams

People say

I am always in a dreamworld


ہوا تھا پھر ان سے ملنا خواب میں

کاش کے میں سدا رہتا خواب میں

And I met her in a dream

I wish I could

Stay there



اس کی بات سے آگے چلوں کیسے؟

دن کا بھولا ہوا پھر آتا خواب میں

And how do I forget her?

I may make myself busy

During the day

Yet at night I always dream of her


سوتے ہوۓ بھی مجمعے کا سامنا

یا رب کبھی تو ہو سناٹا خواب میں

And sometimes in my dreams

I face down armies

Of warriors

Even there I find no silence


دن میں تو دست با کار و دل با یار

رات حشر ہوتا ہے برپا خواب میں

During the day

My hands are at work

My heart leans towards my lover

At night there is madness in my dreams


عجب  روپ بدلتا ہے  دن و رات میں

جو دن میں رلاتا وہ ہنساتا خواب میں

And there is such a contrast between

His night and day

He makes me cry during the day

And tickles me to laughter at night


حرفِ اولین  سنے  ہم نے وقتِ فجر

کون کہتا یہ اقوالِ عمدہ خواب میں

I heard the first words

At the first dawn

Who said

Those beautiful words



Filed under Ghazal, Poetry

Why do we realize that we exist?

A friend of mine with whom I often discuss things such as philosophy and art brought to my attention a lecture on Descartes. It got me thinking about the essential points concerning existence and that led to a consideration of the words of other thinkers such as Voltaire and Sartre (Aside: What’s with the French and thinking so hard about existence?). In all that thinking and between cups of coffee, I wondered why do I realize that I have an existence? I do not seek an answer for why we exist or what we are supposed to do since we exist. I asked why do we realize that we exist?

I did not find an answer (no shame there considering that the answer has eluded minds far greater than mine for centuries). However, I did form a rather useless ghazal (unsurprisingly composed mostly of questions) that I present below:


سوچتا ہوں کے میری ہستی کیوں ہے؟

ہستی تو چلو خیر، یہ مستی کیوں ہے؟

I wonder

Why I know about my existence?

Even if that may be as it is

Why am I intoxicated?


میں اپنی سوچ ہوں؟ کسی کا خیال ہوں؟

یہ بات اسی بات میں پھنستی کیوں ہے؟

Am I in my own mind?

Or a thought in someone else’s?

Why do I get tangled

In that thought?


وہ ہیں مائل با کرم اور توں بے زار؟

کارِ خیر میں تیری سستی کیوں ہے؟

She wants you

And you are not there?

Why do you hesitate

In what is good for you?


یا خدا یکلخت کیوں نہیں جاتی یاد اس کی؟

قطرہ قطرہ رگِ جان سے رستی کیوں ہے؟

Lord why can I not forget her?

In an instant

Her thoughts drip away from me

As life drips away slowly


کیا شہیدوں کے لہو سے یہ شہر بسایا؟

آج جائے اجاڑ پے یہ بستی کیوں ہے؟

Was this city founded with

miraculous blood?

Where once there was nothing

Is a bustling town


ہر  لحظہ توں  کمر بستہِ  سفرِ میخانہ؟

ایسے کاموں میں اتنی چستی کیوں ہے؟

Always ready aye?

To go to the tavern?

You seem quite eager

To engage in such activities?


کیا  راز ہے اس طرزِ ستم میں استاد؟

تیری بیوفائی پے وہ ہنستی کیوں ہے؟

And what secret

Is behind this new method of torture?

She laughs

At your infidelities?


Filed under Ghazal, Poetry