Jahane Rumi In search of the unsearchable: O, my soul! where would you find your house?

15Mar/101

I am a child of love

I profess the religion of love,
Love is my religion and my faith.
My mother is love
My father is love
My prophet is love
My God is love
I am a child of love
I have come only to speak of love

- Jalaluddin Rumi

11Mar/101

the two insomnias

“When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you're not here, I can't go to sleep.
Praise God for those two insomnias!
And the difference between them.”
* Jalal ad-Din Rumi
9Mar/100

Rumi – Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them
all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
26Feb/100

This thirst in our souls

No sound of clapping comes from only one hand.
The thirsty man is moaning, "O delicious water!"
The water is calling, "Where is the one who will drink me?"
This thirst in our souls is the magnetism of the Water:
We are Its, and It is ours.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hich bâng-e kaff zadan na-âyad beh dar
az yeki dast to bi dasti degar
Teshneh mi nâlad keh "Ay âb-e govâr"
âb ham nâlad keh "Ku ân âb khvâr"
Jazb-e âbast in `atash dar jân-e mâ
mâ az ân-e U va U ham ân-e mâ

-- Mathnawi III: 4397-4399
Version by Camille and Kabir Helminski
"Rumi: Jewels of Remembrance"
Threshold Books, 1996
Persian transliteration courtesy of Yahyá Monastra

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25Feb/100

His form has passed away and he has become a mirror (Rumi)

Sunlight has recently offered two versions/translations of Rumi's Mathnawi story of the dervish Bayazid Bestami
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
BESTAMI
That magnificent dervish, Bayazid Bestami,
came to his disciples and said,
"I am God."
It was night, and he was drunk with his ecstasy.
20Feb/100

Ask us about the lion of God

This caravan is not bringing our baggage -- it has

none of the fire of our Friend.

Though the trees have all turned green, they

have caught no scent of our spring.

Your spirit may be a rosegarden, but its heart

has not been wounded by our thorn.

Your heart may be an ocean of realities, but its

boiling does not compare with that of our shore.

Although the mountains are very steady -- by

God, they do not have our steadiness.

The spirit drunk with the morning wine has not

even caught a scent of our winesickness.

Venus herself, the minstrel of heaven, has not

the capacity for our work.

Ask us about the lion of God -- every lion has

not our backbone.

Show not Shams-I Tabrizi's coin to him who

has not our fineness!

-- Ghazal (Ode) 695

Translation by William C. Chittick

"The Sufi Path of Love"

SUNY Press, Albany, 1983

14Feb/1015

Mazhub – a voice for peaceful South Asia

In 2006, I read this brilliant poem by Brijinder"Sagar (found here on Adnan's brilliant site). I had kept it with me for an adequate translation. I have been unable to do justice and therefore I will rework my draft to post here. In the meantime, this poem will be accessible to Urdu-Hindustani speakers. This poem is about bigotry and extremism in the name of religion that has overtaken India as well as other South Asian countries. Pakistan is no exception and Bangladesh is also witnessing the rise of Islamism, though not as alarming as India and Pakistan. Sri Lanka has also seen ethnic warfare, different in its manifestation but akin to the violence and death that comes in its wake. In such a charged environment, voices for peace are delightful.

Mazhub
Har haath main mazhub kay parcham
Har aaNkh main wehshat ka junooN
Lub pay haiN nafratoN kay sholay
KhyaaloN pay ik aawaaraa fusooN
Ik zehar ka baadal fazaa pay chaayaa hai
Khumaar-e-ghaphlat phir zehanoN pay aayaa hai
Har nighaah main bus ik swaal ki bu
Hindu ki aulaad hai ya muslim hai tu
Tarak subnay kiyay viraasat kay khazaanay
Woh Nanak ki wehdat Kabir kay taraanay
KahiN talwaaraiN to kahiN trishool aayaay
SadioN ki pehchaanaiN sub bhool aayaay
Bhai ko bhai kay qatl ki pyaas
NamooN har samt yahi ghurbat-e-ahsaas
Lahu phir apnay hi lahu say laraa hai
Waqt phir sehmaa saa ik aur ja kharaa hai
Abhi to bhray bhi na thay Zakhm tam_ddun kay
Abhi to bhoolay bhi na thay woh aleel ayaam
DariNda insaaN main uthaa tha yeh abhi kal ki baat hai
Aadam khud bika tha yeh abhi kal ki baat hai
Aur aaj phir utraa hai afreet-e-wehshat
Aur phir say lagaayay hai chehraa mazhub ka
Phir say hai hujoomoN pay ik shauq-e-bekaar
Phir say banaa mazhub bahaanaa nafrat ka
Kab talak paighaMbar yooN neelaam karogay?
Kab talak latkaingay masihay saleeb-e-yaas par?
Kab talak pinhaaN insaaN qattl hogaa?
Kab talak pashymaaN karogay apnaa wazood?
Kab talak?
11Feb/105

Baba Najmi’s little poem

Iko Tera mera payu (You and I share the same father)

Iko teri meri maan (We share the same mother)

Iko saadi janam bhon (one is our birth place)

Tu Sardar tey mein kammi kiyon? (why are you the chief and I a slave)

30Jan/100

A poem by Sarmad

A special friend sent this poem via Facebook. I have read it again and again..hope the readers like it too

Along the road, you were my companion
Seeking the path, you were my guide

No matter to whom I spoke, it was you who answered
When Sun called Moon to Sky, it was you who shined

In the Night of aloneness, you
were my comforter

When I laughed, you were the smile on my lips
When I cried, you were the tears on my face

When I wrote, you were the verse
When I sang, you were the song

Rarely did my heart desire another lover
Then when it did, you came to me in the other.

6Jan/101

Bulleh Shah’s admission

Bulleh-a aashiq hoyiyon Rabb da,
Hoai Malamat Lakh Tenon Kafir Kafir aakhdey,
toon aaho aaho aakh

(Bulleh Shah)

Bulleh lover of G-d, a million blames occur
Your title is apostate, answer yes, yes, so it is.
(translation by JH)

2Oct/09Off

Parveen Shakir – ‘coins of my truthfulness’

Parveen Shakir with her mentor Qasimi whom she called Ammu

Young Shakir at a mushaira

Fifteen years later Shakir remains intensely popular. Her poetry has been reinterpreted and critics who dismissed her as a poetic lightweight have realized that there was much more to Parveen's poetic vision than just henna-dyed hands

Parveen Shakir (1952-1994) has defined the sensibilities of several generations and beyond. At the relatively young age of 42 years, Parveen Shakir died on an empty Islamabad boulevard, as if this was an essential part of her romantic persona. But she had lived a full life where poetry and tragedy intersected each other and became inseparable from her being.

As a young student in high school, I was introduced to Shakir’s romantic poetry, which was best represented by her first collection of poetry ‘Khushbu’. I had won an essay writing competition in Urdu and a delightful award came in the form of this tender volume of poetry. Since then I have always returned to bits and pieces of Khushbu. It may not be according to the cannons of literary theory, but it is spontaneous, fresh and almost dreamlike. Shakir was bearly 24 years old when Khushbu was published and since its first edition, this book has been a best seller wherever Urdu poetry is read or appreciated.

Khushbu turned Shakir into a celebrity. Aside from mushairas, newspapers and public fora, she was ever-present on the Pakistan television, perhaps as its only saving grace during the rigid years of Zia-ul-Haq’s Martial Law. Shakir had a natural talent for public speaking, reciting poetry and just being herself. I remember one monsoon evening in Murree when we were hooked to her presentation on Pakistan’s Independence Day. There was a distinct tenderness in her voice that was in sharp contrast to the platitudes being churned out. Above all she was beautiful. I remember she would read verses from her own work and from the great masters of Urdu poetry with complete ease and immense refinement. In the short period of time that she lived as a poet, Parveen did rather well and was quite prolific. Her later collections comprised Sad Barg (marsh merrygold), Khud Kalami (conversing with one’self), Inkaar (refusal), Maah-e-Tamaam (full moon) and Kaf-e-Aaina (edge of the mirror).

Her raw romanticism runs through her poetry. For instance, yay haseen shaam apni is a love poem of rare beauty; and has always been a favourite of mine. It is composite, taut and melodic; and here is my translation.

This melting evening of ours

Where everything dissolves

The scent of your clothes

The blossoming sprouts of my dreams

A deferred vision, this is

In a little while,

A star will emerge on the horizon

To gaze at you meaningfully…!

Your heart shall then reminisce

The echo of a memory

The tale of a separation,

Of an unfinished moment

Of un-blossomed dreams, things unsaid

We ought to have met

In times, considerate

In pursuit of attainable dreams

On a different sky

On a different earth

We ought to have met

1Oct/090

On Rumi’s birthday

I am addicted to the translations of Rumi that appear on the Sunlight group's website. My evening became quite delightful when I found out the new post on Rumi's birthday. I am therefore posting all these translations here, thanks to Sunlight.
Mawlana Jalal-ad-Din Muhammad Rumi was born on September 30, 1207
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In memory of the birth of Maulaana Jalalludin Balkhi, known as Rumi, Sunlight has published the first verses from his Mathnawi, the story of The Song of the Reed, in an interpretive version by Jonathan Star, in translation by Dr. Franklin Lewis, and in translation by Dr.
Ibrahim Gamard, accompanied by a Persian transliteration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Song of the Reed
Listen to the song of the reed,
How it wails with the pain of separation:
"Ever since I was taken from my reed bed
My woeful song has caused men and women to weep.
29Sep/091

Journey in yourself, journey out of self

Sunlight has compiled a several version of Ghazal (Ode) 1142, from Rumi's "Diwan-e-Shams-e Tabrizi"*, in a version by Star, a translation by Schimmel, a version by Barks, and a translation by Nicholson (from which the Barks version is derived).
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If a tree could run or fly
it would not suffer from the teeth of a saw
or the blows of an axe.
If the Sun did not run across the sky
the world would not see
the colors of morning.
If water did not rise from the sea
plants would not be quickened
by rivers or rain.
26Sep/091

Take simplicity as your companion

O, how often have knowledge and wit
become as deadly to the wayfarer as any demon or bandit!
Most of those destined for Paradise are simple-minded,
so that they escape from the mischief of philosophy.
Strip yourself of useless learning and vanity,
so that every moment Divine mercy may descend upon you.
23Sep/096

A TRIBUTE TO KAIFI AZMI

Dr. Visho Sharma has been kind enough to send me this guest post that pays tribute to a legendary poet of the subcontinent who was committed to his principles and ideology throughout his life. RR

Jo bejaan khilonon se bahel jaati haiy

Tapti saanson ki haraarat se pighul jaati haiy
Paaon jis raah mein rakhti hai phisul jaati haiy
Bunkey seemaab hur ek zurf mein dhul jaati haiy
Zindagi jihad main hay sabar kay qabu main nahin.
Jannat ek aur hay jo murd kay pahloo main naheen.
Uski azaad ravish pur bhi machalna hay tujhey
Zeest key aahni saanchey main dhulna hai tujhey
Uth meri jaan mere saath hi chalna hai tujhey.”

These verses are from the Urdu poem “Aurat” (Woman) written by the famous Urdu poet from India , Kaifi Azmi. What is remarkable is that Kaifi wrote this poem in the 1940s before the independence of India . In that era when the Indian society was very traditional and very much a man’s world, such thoughts were almost unheard of. But then Kaifi was always decades ahead of his time.

22Sep/090

W H Auden on Partition

A poem by WH Auden (published in 1966) about Radcliffe - I am grateful to KA for this contribution:
Partition
Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
“Time,” they had briefed him in London, “is short. It’s too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we’ve arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you.”
Shut up in a lonely mansion, with police night and day
Patrolling the gardens to keep the assassins away,
He got down to work, to the task of settling the fate
Of millions. The maps at his disposal were out of date
And the Census Returns almost certainly incorrect,
But there was no time to check them, no time to inspect
Contested areas. The weather was frightfully hot,
And a bout of dysentery kept him constantly on the trot,
But in seven weeks it was done, the frontiers decided,
A continent for better or worse divided.
The next day he sailed for England, where he could quickly forget
The case, as a good lawyer must. Return he would not,
Afraid, as he told his Club, that he might get shot.
22Sep/090

Ramadan came to the heart’s temple

Rumi on Eid

Ramadan came, but Bairam is with us.
The lock came, but the key is with us.

Mouth is closed. Eyes are opened.
That brilliance that the eyes see is with us.

15Sep/091

What a fine, broad kingdom

Another fine poem by Rumi - translation followed by the original

In the world there are invisible ladders,

leading step by step to the summit of heaven.

There is a different ladder for every group,

a different heaven for every path.

Each one is ignorant of the other's condition in this wide kingdom which

has no end or beginning.

7Aug/092

Majeed Amjad and chopped trees

In response to my article on Lahore's vanishing trees, a reader reminded me of one of my favourite poems in Urdu composed by the lesser known genius, Majeed Amjad. I am posting this poem though I am not sure if everyone will be able to read the Urdu script. I am taking a chance at translating the opening lines:

For twenty years, these trees stood at the doorstep of a singing canal

Gallant guards at the borders of swaying fields

Shady, enticing, blossoming chatnars

All were sold for a mere twenty thousand rupees

In the last stanza, after all the trees have been chopped, the poet cries

Now I stand by the singing canal and muse

In this murderous environment, only my thought sways

Adam's descendants ought to chop me, why not?

27Jun/090

“The Blocked Road”

I wish I knew what you wanted.
You block the road and won't give me rest.
You pull my lead-rope one way, then the other.
You act cold, my darling!
Do you hear what I say?

22Jun/0917

KHUDKUSH BAMBAAR LARKAY SAY – a poem

I am posting a new poem of Neelam Ahmed Basheer that addresses a young suicide bomber and raises some pertinet questions concerning humanity and life.
I am grateful to Ms Basheer for her contributions to my website. In fact, meeting Neelam Bashir in the recent months has been a remarkable experience. She is an extraordinary writer and a sensitive poet. Above all, she is hospitable, engaging and extremely lively. Her deep, ingrained humanism - under the influence of Ahmad Basheer, a leading intellectual of our times - is a rare commodity in these times of conflict, hatreds and violence. The reason that Pakistani society has not exploded and fissured is due to the presence of its writers, poets, literati and artists who continue to struggle for a better, hope-inducing world.
 
surkh saibon jaisay gaalon waalay khoobsurat larkay   
tumhara naam kya hai?  
 kya kaha abdulqayyum?    
 aray meray munnay ka bhi to yehi naam hai 
wohi jo subah isi raastay say school gaya hai
jis pay tum jacket pehnay jaray ho
tumhain kaheen mila to nahi   
shukar hai iss waqt tak tou woh school pohunch gaya ho ga
uss ke abu isshi sarak ki
ek police chauki pe pehra de rahay hein
Abdul Qayyum un se roz galay mil ke jaata hai
tum ne unhein dekha tou nahi?
Khudara unhein apna naam na bata dena
kaheen woh tumhei bhee galay se na laga lein
                                                
12Jun/090

All the precious words

all the precious words
you and I have exchanged
have found their way
into the heart of the universe
one day they'll pour on us
like whispering rain
helping us arise
from our roots again

-- Quatrain 1112
Translation by Nader Khalili
Rumi, Dancing the Flame
Cal-Earth Press, 2001

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10Jun/090

Thou art wine and I am water

Before such spirit-bestowing Beauty, how should
I not die? How should I not go mad and seize hold of Thy
chainlike tresses?
When I drink Thy wine, how should I not be
obliterated? Thou art wine and I am water, Thou art honey
and I am milk.

6Jun/093

His Sun always shines within me

You call him a moon,
yet moonlight fades.
You call him a king,
yet kingdoms fall.

How often you say,
Wake up, you'll miss the sunrise.
But His Sun always shines within me.
How can I miss the sunrise?

-- Version by Jonathan Star and Shahram Shiva
A Garden Beyond Paradise
Bantam Books, 1992

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28May/091

Two new poems by Kishwar Naheed

My Nation, Listen to My Entreaty / Aey Meri Qom! Meri Binti Sun!

My country came into being through a law,
the law of the British
British – whichever line they drew
and gave it the name of two countries,
we just accepted it.

Our nation accepts every thing and every person
This nation accepted tyrants
it accepted lackeys, accepted impostors
If it did not accept,
it did not accept maulvis
it did not accept vampires and wolves,
did not accept declarations and fatwas.
O my nation
Your ancestors also had not accepted them
Your courts also had not defended them
Your flag also had not worn their amulets.
O my nation,
beware of those people
saluting them
defending them
wearing their amulets.
They hate woman,
as if they hate their own mother and their own daughter
In every shape of woman they see lust
and decorate their dreams as such
May any disaster fall upon the world,
they will not speak
May all the officers of all the country
become corrupt, drunk, venal,
they will not speak
On each and every step throats are slit,
people are bought and sold,
they will not speak.
Yes, but if any woman emerges with a banner in hand –
instantly they will speak
instantly delete her from the sphere of Islam,
from every reward of life.
O my nation!
Seek shelter from these merchants of Islam
Else in the harems of tribal leaders and landlords
our futures will be nurtured
These people will not issue fatwas against them
And when our future children
won’t be able to tell the names of their father
then even flocks of swallows will not come to their help.

A Solemn Conversation with the Taliban / Taliban se Qibla-ru Guftagu

Those who were frightened even of girls
Those even averse to knowledge,
they speak of the great Lord
He who commands of knowledge
Unrelated to His command,
they announce these declarations:
That no book be in any hand
Nor a pen between fingers
No place remain for writing a name
That women become nameless
Those who were even frightened of girls
announce in every city:
That the budding contours of a young girl
be veiled
That to the query of every heart
answer this –
There is no need
that these girls
soar like birds
There’s also no need
that these girls
head to any schools, any offices
If there be some blazing beauty, some one pious
then only within the walls
is her place
This is the Decree
This Written.
Those who were frightened even of girls
they are here, somewhere nearby –
See them, know them
Expect anything from them
in the fallen city
Keep courage, believe this
that those who were frightened even of girls
what pygmies they are
Announce in every city:
Keep courage, believe this
That those who were frightened even by girls
they are such pygmies.

27May/091

Ghalib: Heart is a Mirror and Mirror a Heart

Ghalib: Heart is a Mirror and Mirror a Heart

I am absolutely mesmerised by this post and the verse that I only read after ten years at Mehr-i-Niimroz blog. Am just too tempted to cross post it here.

az mihr taa bah-;zarrah dil-o-dil hai aa))inah
:tuu:tii ko shash jihat se muqaabil hai aa))inah

1) from sun to sand-grain-- heart; and heart is a mirror
2) {from / by means of} the six directions, a mirror confronts the parrot

Translation and commentary on Desertful of Roses. Parallel commentary on The South Asian Idea.

27May/092

THE IMMIGRANT WOMAN

A poem by Dr. Carole Fontaine

She's surrounded by people
She can't understand,
And every signs says
"This is not your land".
She stands in line after line—
If she's legal and lucky;
She lies down on bed after bed
If she's not.
They are the women
Their countries forgot:
the nanny, the maid, the meatpacker,
the prostitute, the sweatshop woman
Starting over again,
Surviving once more.
The Immigrant Woman

21May/098

mujhay koray na maaro – a poem by Neelum Basheer

Neelum Basheer has shared this poem for publication at this website. It is written in the context of atrocities that have been committed by the extremists in Swat and elsewhere in north-western parts of Pakistan. I will be translating this soon for the benefit of those who cannot read Urdu. (RR)
mujhay koray na maaro
 
phool say nazuk badan main dard hota hai
 
ragon main behnay wal khoon jum kar sard hota hai
mujhay koray na maaro
tumharay bagh  ki nanhi kali hoon
 
abhi to adh khili hoon
 
na hi bahar na haryaali main nay dekhi hai
bus ik bhook aur budhaali mai nay dekhi hai
na gurya na khilonay ,sahelion ki hansi
mai nay kuch dekha nahi
tumharay khainchay huay daairay main rehti hoon
jo tum khilao wohi khaati aur pehenti hoon
jaisay bay bus tana ho lakri ka
jiss taraf tum bahao behti hoon
dil mai khamosh samandar meray
jisay mai aur bhi chup, chup hi kara daiti hoon
mere school jalaye tum nay
maut kay charkh chalaye tum nay
mere sub khwab sulaai tum nay
kabhi kutton kay aagay daal diya
kabhi zinda zameen main gaar diya
meri har cheekh dafan kartay ho
mera malboos kafan kartay ho
aankh say dekho zameen ki gohar nikaltay hain
khaak say roz nai surkh phool khiltay hain
 
NEELUM AHMAD BASHEER, Lahore
19May/091

Kuch tu Hawa bhi serd thi

Kuch tu Hawa bhi serd thi, kuch tha tera khayal bhi
Dil ku kushi ke saath saath, hota raha malal bhi

Baat wu aadhi raat ki, raat wu pure Chand ki
Chand bhi ain Chait ka, uss pur tera Jamal bhi

Sub se Nazer bacha ke wu, Mujh ku tha aese dekhta
Aik bar tu ruk gayi, Gardish e Mah o Saal bhi...

6May/091

W.H. Auden’s poem – Partition

My friend IK has reminded me of W.H. Auden's poem “Partition,” published in 1966. These moving verses  highlight the absurdity of the way the border was created sixty two years ago: 

Unbiased at least he was when he arrived on his mission,
Having never set eyes on the land he was called to partition
Between two peoples fanatically at odds,
With their different diets and incompatible gods.
“Time,” they had briefed him in London, “is short. It’s too late
For mutual reconciliation or rational debate:
The only solution now lies in separation.
The Viceroy thinks, as you will see from his letter,
That the less you are seen in his company the better,
So we’ve arranged to provide you with other accommodation.
We can give you four judges, two Moslem and two Hindu,
To consult with, but the final decision must rest with you.”