O the much sought after Reality! Some time appear in material - TopicsExpress

Syed Yahya Saba

O the much sought after Reality! Some time appear in material form. As innumerable prostrations restless in my humble forehead are. Join the assembly’s celebrations, you are a song, be heard. What good are melodies which veiled in guitar’s frets are. Do not jealously protect them; your mirrors are the mirrors. Which would be dearer in the Maker’s eye if they broken are? During circumambulation the moth exclaimed, “Those past effects. Neither in your story of pathos, nor in my tale of love is”. My wretched sins could not get shelter anywhere except. When they in the shade of Thy Gracious Forgiveness were. Neither Love has that warmth nor does Beauty have that humor. Neither that restlessness in. Neither Ghaznavis nor those curls in the hair locks of Ayz are. Whenever I went into prostration a voice came from the earth. Your heart is in materialism no rewards for your prayers are. Era has come for openness, so Beloved’s Sight will be common. The secret which silence had concealed, will be unveiled now. O Cup-bearer! Time has gone when wine was taken secretly. The whole world will become a wine-seller shop, everyone will be drinking, Those who once wandered insane, will return to habitations, Lovers’ wandering will be the same but deserts will be new, The Hijaz’ silence has proclaimed to the waiting ear at last, The agreements(promises) established with desert’s inhabitants will be re-affirmed, Which coming out of deserts had overturned the Roman Empire, I have heard from the Qudsis (Angels) that the same Lion will be re-awakened, As the cup‐bearer mentioned me in the wine‐drinkers’ assembly, The tavern’s sage said, “He is insolent, he will be disgraced”, O Western world’s inhabitants, God’s world is not a shop!, What you are considering genuine, will be regarded counterfeit(fake), Your civilization will commit suicide with its own dagger(knife), The nest built on the weak branch will not be permanent, stable, The caravan of the feeble ants will make fleet of rose petals, However strong the ocean waves’ tumult(uprising) be, it will cross the ocean, The Lala (a bird), shows its spots to every flower-bud in the garden. Knowing that by doing this it will be among the Love haters, O Sight! That was the One you showed us as a thousand, If this is your state what will be your credibility? As I told the turtledove one day the free of here are treading on dust! The buds started saying that I must be the knower of the garden’s secrets! There are thousands of God’s Lovers, who are roaming in the wilderness, I shall adore the one who will be the lover of God’s people, This is the world’s custom, O Heart! Even winking is a sin, What will our respect be if you will be restless here? In the darkness of the night I shall take out my tired caravan, My sigh will be shedding sparks my breath will be throwing flames, If there is nothing but show in the aim of your life, Your destruction from the world will be in a breath like spark, Do not ask about the condition of Iqbal, he is in the same state, Sitting somewhere by the wayside he must be waiting for oppression! The Portrait of Anguish Why does this custom of silencing exist in your assembly? My tongue is tantalized to talk in this assembly. For our brothers Is this trouble not enough, to ruin one what else should be, if you are some one’s friend then why needs heaven be his enemy? Delve into your soul and there seek our life’s buried tracks;Will you not be mine? Then be not mine, be your own right! The Portrait of Anguish Tasveer-e-Dard: I understand that the world is like play ground as it is looking the game all around the world since a long time I am feeling and teaching and learning for the promotion of Urdu language and literature as world fame poet Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib said that the deserts ruined in heaps of sand, before me the oceans drowned. Never think for you I’ll fade; just see by me your shade. The world is my play ground, always ripped are two halves of myself Goblin pulls me and bars me the Elf. The world is my play ground, Limbs are numb but ram is not, don’t let the gush of tipple drought, the world is my play ground. So that my story is not indebted to the patience of being heard, My silence is my talk, my speechlessness is my speech, Why does this custom of silencing exist in your assembly?, My tongue is tantalized to talk in this assembly , Some leaves were picked up by the tulip, some by the narcissus, some by the rose, My story is scattered around everywhere in the garden , The turtle‐doves, parrots, and nightingales pilfered away, The garden’s denizens jointly robbed away my plaintive way, O Candle! Drip like tears from the eye of the moth, Head to foot pathos I am, full of longing is my story, O God! What is the pleasure of living so in this world?, Neither the eternal life, nor the sudden death is mine, This is not only my wailing, but is that of the entire garden, I am a rose, to me every rose’ autumn is my autumn, “In this grief‐stricken land, in life‐long spell of the caravan’s bell I am, From the palpitating heart’s bounties the silent clamor I have“, In the world’s garden unaware of pleasant company I am, Whom happiness still mourns, that hapless person I am, Speech itself sheds tears at my ill luck, Silent word, longing for an eager ear I am, I am a mere handful of scattered dust but I do not know, Whether Alexander or a mirror or just dust and scum I am, Despite all this my existence is the Divine Purpose, Embodiment of light is whose reality, that darkness I am, I am a treasure, concealed in the wilderness dust, No one knows where I am, or whose wealth I am?, My insight is not obligated to the stroll of existence, That small world I am whose sovereign myself I am, Neither wine, nor cup‐bearer, nor ecstasy, nor goblet I am, But the truth of everything in the existence’ tavern I am, My heart’s mirror shows me both world’s secrets, I relate exactly what I witness before my eyes, I am bestowed with such speech among the elegant speakers, That the birds of the ‘Arsh’s roof are concordant with me, This also is an effect of my tumultuous love, That my heart’s mirrors are Destiny’s confidante, Your spectacle makes me shed tears, O India!, Your tales are admonitory among all the tales, Conferring the wailing on me is like conferring everything, Since eternity Destiny’s pen has put me where all your mourners are, O gardener do not leave even the rose‐petals’ trace in this garden!, By your misfortune war preparations are afoot among the gardeners, The sky has kept thunderbolts concealed up its sleeve, Garden’s nightingales should not slumber in their nests, Listen to my call, O imprudent one! This is something which, The birds in gardens are reciting like the daily prayers, Think of the homeland, O ignorant one! Hard times are coming, Conspiracies for your destruction are afoot in the heavens, Pay attention to what is happening and what is going to happen, What good there is in repeating the tales of the old glories?, How long will you remain silent? Create taste for complaint!, You should be on the earth, so your cries be in the heavens!, You will be annihilated if you do not understand, O people of India!, Even your tales will disappear from the world’s chronicles, This is the law of Nature, this is the order of Nature, Those who tread dynamism’s path, are the darlings of Nature, I will surely exhibit all my hidden wounds today, I will surely change assembly to a garden with blood‐mixed tears, I have to light every heart’s candle with hidden pathos, I will surely create bright illumination in your darkness, So that love‐cognizant hearts be created like rose‐buds, I will surely scatter around my handful of dust in the garden, If stringing these scattered pearls in a single rosary, Is difficult, I will surely make this difficult task easy, O Companion! Leave me alone in the soul-searching effort, As I will surely exhibit this mark of the ardent Love, I will show the world what my eyes have seen, I will surely make you also bewildered like a mirror, The discerning eye sees everything covered in veils, It does see the exigencies of the nature of times, You have not acquainted your heart with pleasure of dignity, You have passed your entire life in humility like foot‐prints, You always remained entangled inside the assembly, but Have not acquainted yourself with the world outside the assembly, You have continued loving the charm of material beauties, But you have never seen your own elegance in this mirror, Give up prejudice O imprudent one! In the world’s glass house, They are your own pictures which you have taken as evil ones, Become embodiment of the wail of tyranny of life’s pathos! You have concealed sound in your pocket like the rue seed, Clarity of heart has nothing to do with external decorations, O imprudent one! You have applied myrtle to mirror’s palm, Not only the earth even the sky is bewailing your imprudence, It is outrageous that you have twisted the Qur’an’s lines!, To what purpose is your claim to monotheism!, You have made the idol of self conceit your deity, What did you see even if you saw Yusuf in the well?, O imprudent one! You have made the Absolute confined, You are greedy of flowery style even at the pulpit, Your advice also is a form of storytelling, Show that universally illuminating Beauty to your weeping eye, Which renders the moth highly agitated, which makes the dew weep like eye, Mere seeing is not its purpose! O greedy one, Some One has made the human eye with some purpose, Even if he viewed the whole world, what did he see?, Jam could not see his own reality in the wine cup , Sectarianism is the tree, prejudice is its fruit, This fruit caused expulsion of Adam from Paradise, Not even a single rose‐petal could rise by sun’s attraction, It is the longing for elegance which raises the dew, Those wounded by Love do not wander in search of cure, These wounded ones themselves create their own cure, The heart gets complete illumination by the spark of Love, The Tur’s flower bed is raised from the Love’s small seed, Every malady’s cure is to remain wounded with Longing’s sword, Wound’s remedy is to remain free from obligation to stitching, With the Bekhudi’s wine up to the celestial world is my flight, From disappearance of color I have learnt to remain fragrance, How can the weeping eye refrain from homeland’s lamentation?, The ‘ibadah for the poet’s eye is to remain constantly with ablution, To what purpose should we make our nest in the rose‐branch, Ah! How can we live with constant disgrace in the garden, If you understand, independence is veiled in Love, Slavery is to remain imprisoned in the net of schism, Contentment is what keeps the cup submerged in water, You should also remain like the bubble in the stream, It is best for you not to remain indifferent to yours own, O apathetic person! If you want to remain alive in the world, Soul‐invigorating wine is the Love of the human race, It has taught me to remain ecstatic without the wine cup and the pitcher, Sick nations have been cured only through Love, Nations have warded off their adversity through Love, The expanse of Love is at once foreign land and homeland, This wilderness is the cage, the nest, as well as the garden, Love is the only stage which is the stage as well as the wilderness, It is the bell, the caravan, the leader as well as the robber, Everybody calls it an illness, but it is such an illness, In which the cure for all ills and misfortunes is concealed, The heart’s pathos in a way is to become embodiment of Light, If this moth burns it is also the assembly’s candle, The Beauty is just one but appears in everything, It is Shirin, the sky, as well as the mountain digger, Distinction of sects and governments has destroyed nations, Is there any concern for the homeland in my compatriot’s hearts?, Prolonging the tale of my woes calls for silence, otherwise, The tongue in my mouth as well as the ability to speak is, “Take not this meaningful tale as related by me is, The story was endless, but related with silence is.” Phool ki Patti Sy Kut Sakta Hai Heeray Ka Jigar, Mard E Nadan Pr Kalam E Narm O Nazuk Bai Asar, The heart of diamond can cut by the leaf of flower, but soft talk is unimpressive for an unwise. Though the mosque was built overnight by the believers, our heart being old sinner for years devout could not be, What a beautiful message did Sanusi give to King Faisal, By descent you Hijazi are, but in heart Hijazi could not be, Though eyes become wet there is no pleasure is in this weeping, If by mixture of affliction’s blood tears pink could not be, Iqbal is a good advisor, fascinates the heart in moments, He did become hero in talk, but one in deeds he could not be. I’ll tell you truth, oh human, if I may make so bold!, These tradition in your minds, these old traditions have grown old, To hate your fellow‐mortals is all they teach you, while, Our God too sets his preachers to scold and to revile; Sickened, from both yours all traditions I have run, Alike our preachers’ sermons and your fond myths I shun. In every graven image you fancied God: I see in each speck of my country’s poor dust, divinity. Come, let us lift suspicion’s thick curtains once again, unite once more the sundered, wipe clean division’s stain. Too long has lain deserted the heart’s warm habitation, Come, build here in our homeland an altar’s new foundation, And rise a spire more lofty than any of this globe, With high pinnacle touching the hem of heaven’s robe! The hearts of all who worship, pouring them wine of love: Firm strength, calm peace, shall blend in the hymns the votary sings— for from love comes salvation to all earth’s living things. India’s Command to India’s Youths: Rise, and from their slumber wake the poor ones of My world!, Shake the walls and windows of the mansions of the great!, Kindle with the fire of faith the slow blood of the slaves!, Make the fearful sparrow bold to meet the falcon’s hate!, Close the hour approaches of the kingdom of the poor—, Every imprint of the past find and annihilate!, Find the field whose harvest is no peasant’s daily bread—, Garner in the furnace every ripening ear of wheat!, Banish from the house of God the mumbling priest whose prayers, Like a veil creation from Created separate!, God by man’s prostrations, by man’s vows idols cheated—, Quench at once My shrine and their fane the sacred light!, Rear for me another temple, build its walls with mud—, Wearied of their columned marbles, sickened is My sight!, All their fine new world a workshop filled with brittle glass—, Go! My poet of the East to madness dedicates.

Posted on: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 11:38:22 +0000

O the much sought after Reality! Some time appear in material - TopicsExpress

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