urdu-language-poets

"India's population is over one billion and Pakistan's population is 18 crore. In the event of a nuclear war, even if you inflict four times more casualties on India, there would be more than 20 crore people living in India. But, by then Pakistan will be finished."

"We have a bevy of uneducated people here in Pakistan. They don't know what is [an] atom bomb."

"We have an insane horde in Pakistan. These are strange people, who celebrate their own ruin."

"The current ways of life will soon depart from earth, New culture, new modes of life will now take their birth. The beauty will adore itself in a new style, The coiling locks and curling hair will now fall in dearth. The women will discard the robes that confine and bind, No longer the beauteous main behind the veil shall lurk. The wind that blows indicates the birth of seasons new, New flowers will bloom on earth, nightingales forget their mirth. Imitators of Western music will reign supreme, Their songs will be out of tune, a cacophonous burst. Past glories will fine a mention nowhere on earth, Glorious tales of name and fame inside the books will rust. But why are you perturbed, Akbar, about the changing times? You and I will cease to be, and mingle with the dust."

"The philosopher deep in debate cannot find God, He is untangling the string but cannot find where to begin!"

"فلسفی کو بحث کے اندر خدا ملتا نہیں ڈور کو سلجھا رہا ہے، پر سِرا ملتا نہیں"

"While we slave for food as clerks. Our hearts bleed for Persians and Turks."

"If Yogi becomes the chief minister again, then I will assume that the state is no longer fit for Muslims to live and I will have to migrate to some other place."

"When you talk about Valmiki, you have to talk about his past also. He was a writer, and you made him a God."

"Owaisi and Bharatiya Janata Party are the two sides of the same coin. The BJP and Owaisi indulge in shadow boxing to mislead the people. The fact remains that they both polarize the voters and then reap electoral dividends and the major share goes to the BJP."

"Munawwar Rana has made Urdu poetry accessible to a wide range of audience by his use of Magadhi and Hindi words in ghazals."

"Muslims have eight children so that even if the police pick up two children as terrorists and two children die of coronavirus, then four children would be present in their house to take care of the parents and later perform their last rites in the graveyard."

"The way Muslim youth are being implicated in false cases of terror with pressure cookers to be associated with Al-Qaeda, I am afraid that the ATS may pick me up tomorrow and brand me as a terrorist. I also keep going to Pakistan to participate in mushairas."

"Whither has gone the superiority of the Muslims, In wealth, wisdom and learning? Whither has gone that fixity of purpose, That knew no barrier of land or sea? Whither has gone that vigour and where are those sturdy arms?"

"Like many of the north-Indian ashraf classes, Hali too considered Muslims to be the descendants of foreign conquerors... 'We were fire O Hind', he exclaimed, 'you've turned us into ash.'..."

"Just as the army of Alexander marched back after reaching your border, I wish we also had returned unsuccessful from your gates."

"Farewell, Hindusthan, land of eternal spring, for long have we, as foreign guests, stayed here and enjoyed your hospitality."

"Those who couldn't bear the weight of precious pearls and jades, Those whom a gold jhoomar seemed a weary weight, Those who couldn't carry the mantle, though of muslin made, Those who found the gauze veil hard to keep in place, These delicate dames, alas, are made to carry loads, They trudge along a few steps, then founder on the road. Those who felt irked with garlands, so slim they were and frail, Those who couldn't sleep at night with hands henna-laved; Those who whould lose their sleep at the slightest cause, If their sheet was slightly ruffled, couldn't sleep at all; Even the luxury of a pillow is to them denied, With a stone beneath their head, they would spend the night. Thus demented and dismayed, I'm forced to seek the wilds, With a stone to break my head, to beat my breast and die. Why shouldn't Azurda wander in the raging wilds. When he finds Sahbai the poet, without a fault, crucified!"

"Ah, what wondrous joys the rainy season presents, Waving green grasses, gardens scattering scents; Dulcet sounding drizzle, rain drops agleam, Everything attractive, winsome every scene, Ah! the rainy season gladdening in extreme. The clouds drunk with joy are flirting with the breeze, And with thunder blasts fill the land and lea; "Water, water, everywhere," the land looks a lake, Gardens stand drenched, verdure water-bathed, Ah, the rainy season, how it exhilarates! Undulating grasses, drunken clouds on high, The sky specked with cloudlets, mosses red and white; Everything is getting drenched, from the moon to the minnows lithe, Who but you, O God, can such colors provide! Ah, the rainy season, bursting with delight!"

"“The sudden swelling of the rivers, and the absence of the King with his army, gave Venkutputty leisure to muster the whole of his forces, which amounted to one hundred thousand men. The leaders were Yeltumraj, Goolrung Setty, and Munoopraj, who marched to recover Gundicota from the hands of Sunjur Khan. Here the enemy were daily opposed by sallies from the garrison, but they perservered in the siege; when they heard that Moortuza Khan, with the main army of the Mahomedans, had pentrated as far as the city of Krupa, the most famous city of that country, wherein was a large temple. This edifice the Mahomedans destroyed as far as practicable, broke the idol, and sacked the city…”"

"I am drunk in your love, Lala; give me the cup to drink from your lips. I am drunk with your love, and that love gives me excitement."

"The spot on your forehead is a sign of great good fortune. The pearl in your ear is the light of Venus and Jupiter."

"“The King determined to spare neither men nor money to carry on the war against the Hindoos: he accordingly directed Etibar Khan Yezdy, the Hawaldar of Condbeer (henceforth called Moortuza Nuggur), to collect all the troops under his command, with orders to march towards Beejanuggur, and to lay in ashes all the enemy’s towns in his route… Etibar Khan now proceeded to the town of Calistry, which he reached after a month’s march from Golconda. Here he destroyed the Hindoo idols, and ordered prayers to be read in the temples. These edifices may well he compared in magnificence with the buildings and paintings of China, with which they vie in beauty and workmanship. Having given a signal example of the Mahomedan power in that distant country, the Hindoos did not dare to interrupt his return…”"

"Without my love, I have no taste for wine. Without my love, what use this life of mine?"

"O Farid ! Friend is not hidden; everywhere He is openly manifest. Darkness is all pervaise Light. Only it has been named differently."

"Leave aside craving for other than God: anything else is pseudo thought. Except the Real One, all things are perishable. Each instant concentrate on the Real; undoubtedly this is the committed way."

"Whoever found the beloved in the temple of the heart, got purged of all affliction and sin, by meditation attained permanence. Farid subsists without individuality."

"From the hand of the cup-bearer I drank the goblet of love. Oneness became overpowering, forget infidelity and Islam."

"Beauty and ugliness are manifestations of the self-The lovely colorless is in each color."

"The mysteries of Oneness of Being are remarkable. They are known by the dealers of unity who behold the real Sinai Flash in each and every existent."

"On one side is the call of Christ, on the other is death, We are caught in a conflict, hard to resolve. Having received many a wound, for more of wounds he craves, Mark the courage of helpless Bismil, how he suffers unfazed!"

"Shedding tears we spend the night in this deepening dark, Our day is but a long struggle against an uphill path, Not a single moment goes when we don't bewail our lot, Lo! we cast a lingering look on these doors and walls. Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are going afar! We wish you well, O friends, leave you to His care, And entrust our Qaiser Bagh to the blowing air, While we give our tender heart to terror and despair. Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are going afar! I am betrayed by my friends, whom should I excuse? Except God the gracious, I have no refuge, I can't escape exile, under any excuse. Lo, we cast a lingering look on the doors and wells, Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are going afar! I have been told this much too, ah! the scourage of time! The servant calls his master 'mad,' a travesty of the mind. As for me, I cannoy help, but rot in alien climes. Lo, we cast a lingering look on these doors and walls, Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are gong afar! This is the cause of my regret, to whom should I complain? What wondrous goods of mine are subjected to disdain, My exile has raised a storm in the whole domain. Lo we cast a lingering look on the doors and walls, Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are going afar! You cannot help but suffer, O heart, the sharp strings of grief, They didn't spare even the things essential for the mourning meets, In the scorching summer heat, I've no cover or sheet. Akhtar now departs from all his friends and mates, There is little time or need to dwell upon my fate, Save, O God, my countrymen from the dangers lying in wait! Lo, we cast a lingering look on these doors and walls, Fare thee well, my countrymen, we are going afar!"

"Nor at present, nor in the past, we have ever denied, That your sense of justice is trumpeted far and wide. Whatever has been happening, we also accept Fell within the limits of law, with justice as your guide. Even when you ordered firing on the helpless multitude, You didn't even by a hair-breadth the law of land defied. But this truth too cannot be lightly brushed aside, Thay your act unleashed a deluge of death in the twinkling of an eye, The handsome youth when they fell before your deadly [[fire], Wondered if it was the doom, or the stars shooting from the sky. The arch and pulpit of the mosque were left riddled with bullets, But the mosque needs perhaps such patterns on its front and sides. Fast-fettered did they watch, the convicts and the passers-by, And the police took the stand: How can we, the servants, the sovereign's fiat defy? But let's state the fact, you may or may not like, We are the oppressed folk, you are not the oppressor, right!"

"O custodians of civilization, may we ask how long Will you perpetrate horror, commit wrong on wrong? Conceded that you want to test the sharpness of your swords, But how long will you try them on our pliant throats? You want to see the assembly with rhetoric hot ablaze, How long can our sighs and wails satisfy your craze? True that the tales of woe titillate your heart, But how long can we relate the tales of grief and loss? We know that you grudge the drought caused by the heavens high, How long can our tears of blood your withering crops revive> You require glimmering stars to brighten up your fate, How far can these grains of dust emblazon your face? Knowing we are faded leaves of a fallen tree, How long will you continue to crush us out complete?"

"We are now raring to die for our country's sake Let's see how much of strength the assassin can display! O traveller on the path of love, do not drop mid-way, It is the distance of the goal that glorifies the chase. It is the distance of the goal that glorifies the chase. Standing by the gallows the hangman makes a call, Come, if there be any, by the martyr's zeal enthralled. We'll tell you all, O sky, wait till he time arrives, How can we at this stage, our secret plans unveil? O martyrs in the nation's cause, kudos to your sacrifice, Even in the enemy they talk of you with praise. Fired by patriotic fervour, many a maddened youth. Has gathered at the crossing, itching for the cross. Why are they mute and silent? no whisper, no talk, Everyone that I see has got his lips locked."

"For years have I held converse with someone in my thoughts, For long has a pictured visage lodged within my heart. I had held it all through as dear as life, My desire will weep for me for years in the burial yard. I too once drank the draughts from the fount of life, I too slept for long in peace, sheltered by the flask. For long did I stroll about in gardens and groves, For long could I smell my rose in the roses of the park. Such a sensitive being am I, it will cause my death, For years shall that shrew regret having hurt my heart. Even if reduced to ashes, like the wind-borne dust, For years I'll eddy around questing someone lost."

"A responsibility of great art is to capture the zeitgeist in words with such expertise that you cannot understand that period without ignoring it. In the West, T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Wasteland’ is the best example of this. If anyone made migration a civilizational experience in Urdu poetry, it was no one except Kazmi. Surprisingly, an acclaimed scholar like Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, ignoring this aspect, spoke his mind by labelling Nasir as merely a poet of the tragic tone of love and passion. The nostalgia of Nasir is not personal, but civilisational. Sample a few verses of a ghazal from his diwan (collection) and Barg-e-Nai (‘Melody of the Flute’). Does this attitude feel like it springs from the failure of personal love."

"Ever centred in my thoughts, I resemble you alot. O, partner of the yesteryear, This year, I'm alone, alas! All day long in your lane, I, the hurtful stones amass. Who can look me in the face? I'm but your looking glass. You are the bustling street of life, I, the lonesome jungle path. The coming season shall weep for me, I'm the season's dying draught. In my wave lies my bane, I'm a river, athirst withal."

"فانی ؔ ہم تو جیتے جی وہ میت ہیں بے گور و کفن غربت جس کو راس نہ آئی اور وطن بھی چُھوٹ گیا"

"Frustration-foiled, all desires quit the lane of heart, Depression drowned my mind and soul, hope stood dissolved. Who has arrived, spring or death? Why do they open the prison gate? Has a manic made to the cage, or a prisoner jumped the wall? How to inquire about my hem, or talk about my frantic hand? Long past I lost control of the reins of my heart. Alone I reached the goal of love, denuded of desire, Every comrade fell en route, worn out at last. Fani, I'm a living corpse, untombed, undraped, Unwelcome in the alien land, exiled from home and hearth."

"Beauty, which the mirror of creation was beautifying, with a hundred thousand suns each atom caressing, despite its great glory was behind the unseen's veil... it did not know itself until humanity was blossoming."

"In this sea where rise up storms of 'me' and 'we', some of the population find escaping not so easy. No one's should be burdened by carrying another, every wave is a bridge, to be crossing over...'me'."

"It's in your nature to accept advice readily so don't fail in reaping benefit through me, This collection of our thought is open to all: so, read it and satisfy yourself completely."

"I had to listen when my friends told me to wash my eyes with blood Everything at once was tangled in blood — each face, each idol, red everywhere. Blood swept over the sun, washing away its gold. The moon erupted with blood, its silver extinguished."

"Faiz’s verses were deeply subversive. And they seemed directed not only at Zia the oppressor but also at those who proclaimed themselves the guardians of sacred places: the Saudis. There were screams of Inqilab zindabad at the concert: long live the revolution, in Urdu, long live the fight against Zia. A live recording of the song was smuggled out, and copies made on cassette tapes were passed around secretly and copied again until they had traveled well beyond the country’s borders. The Pakistan that Faiz had known was dying. So was the Beirut he had loved and left. The Lebanon of Musa Sadr and Hussein al-Husseini was no more."

"Faiz’s revolutionary poetry was still banned by the regime, but one woman, a singer, defied Zia. It was always the women of Pakistan who gave the dictator the most grief. A year after the poet’s death, Iqbal Bano, a national icon, obtained rare permission to hold a concert in Lahore. There were some things even Zia couldn’t refuse. And there was a way of getting around the ban of singing and dancing: asking for permission to hold a “cultural event.” Bano wore a sari, a dress forbidden under Zia both because it was associated with enemy India and because it showed a woman’s midriff. And then she lent her voice, powerful but melodious, controlled but emotional, to the most defiant of all of Faiz’s verses, written in 1979 in protest at Zia’s authoritarian Islam. Hum dekhenge, she sang, we shall witness. For ten long minutes she sang the verses as the emotions of the crowd of fifty thousand Pakistanis rose and swelled with her, applause punctuating every pause."

"One of Pakistan’s greatest Urdu poets of the twentieth century, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, had spent the first few years of Zia’s time in power in prison and then in exile in Beirut, preferring the chaos of Lebanon’s civil war to the darkness of repression. An uncle and mentor of Taseer, the leftist poet of love and revolution had embraced the intellectual effervescence of Lebanon and found kindred spirits among the Palestinian revolutionaries sitting on café terraces during cease-fires. But the Palestinians kept attracting worse and worse Israeli retaliation and, in the summer of 1982, Israeli tanks reached Beirut. Faiz and his wife were forced to flee and return to Pakistan. He died in his home country a month before Zia’s referendum, perhaps in anticipation of the unbearable realization that the general had found a way, yet again, to stay in power."

"If ink and pen are snatched from me, shall I Who have dipped my finger in my heart's blood complain— Of if they seal my tongue, when I have made A mouth of every round link of my chain?"

"Love, do not ask me for that love again. Once I thought life, because you lived, a prize— The time's pain nothing, you alone were pain; Your beauty kept earth's springtime's from decay, My universe held only your bright eyes— If I won you, fate would be at my feet. It was not true, all this, but only wishing; Our world knows other torments than of love, And other happiness than a fond embrace. Dark curse of countless ages, savagery."

"Last night your lost memory so came into the heart As spring comes in the wilderness quietly, As the zephyr moves slowly in deserts, As rest comes without cause to a sick man."