Kalam e Faiz

Hum parwarish-e-lauh-o-qalam karte rahenge
Jo dil pe guzarti hai raqam karte rahenge

We will continue to nurture the pen and ink,
Continue to write about the travails of the heart

Asbaab-e-gham-e-ishq baham karte rahenge
Viraani-e-dauraan pe karam karte rahenge

Continue to bear the cause of the anguish of love
Continue to be kind to these desolate times

Haan talkhi-e-ayyaam abhi aur barhe gi
Haan ahl-e-sitam mashq-e-sitam karte rahenge

I know the bitterness of time is yet to increase
I know tyrants will continue their acts of tyranny

Manzur yeh talkhi yeh sitam hum ko gawaara
Dam hai to madaawa-e-alam karte rahenge

We accept this bitterness, even this tyranny we will bear
But till our last breath we will not stop caring for this world

Maikhana salaamat hai to hum surkhi-e-mai se
Tazzain-e-dar-o-baam-e-haram karte rahenge

Till the tavern exists we will use the red wine
To paint the walls and terraces of our sanctuary

Baqi hai lahu dil mein to har ashk se paida
Rang-e-lab-o-rukhsar-e-sanam karte rahenge

Till there is blood in our hearts with each each tear
Will we colour the lips and cheeks of our beloved

Ek tarz-e-taghaaful hai so woh unko mubaarak
Ek arz-e-tamanna hai so hum karte rahenge

They are welcome to their attitude of callousness
We will continue to express that which our hearts desire

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz, translation by Dr. Taimur Rahman

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

-- by Charles Bukowski

From A German War Primer

Who built the seven gates of Thebes? 
The books are filled with names of kings. 
Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone? 
And Babylon, so many times destroyed. 
Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima's houses, 
That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it? 
In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished 
Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome 
Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom 
Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song. 
Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend 
The night the seas rushed in, 
The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves. 

Young Alexander conquered India. 
He alone? 
Caesar beat the Gauls. 
Was there not even a cook in his army? 
Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet 
was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears? 
Frederick the Greek triumphed in the Seven Years War. 
Who triumphed with him? 

Each page a victory 
At whose expense the victory ball? 
Every ten years a great man, 
Who paid the piper? 

So many particulars. 
So many questions.

- By Bertolt Brecht

Love After Love

E-Books

The time will come,
When with elation,

you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

- Derek Walcott

Pity the nation...

“Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.
Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave
and eats a bread it does not harvest.

Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero,
and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.

Pity a nation that despises a passion in its dream,
yet submits in its awakening.

Pity the nation that raises not its voice
save when it walks in a funeral,
boasts not except among its ruins,
and will rebel not save when its neck is laid
between the sword and the block.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox,
whose philosopher is a juggler,
and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking

Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpeting,
and farewells him with hooting,
only to welcome another with trumpeting again.

Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years
and whose strongmen are yet in the cradle.

Pity the nation divided into fragments,
each fragment deeming itself a nation.”

- Kahlil Gibran, The Garden  Of The Prophet

Almost 30

'But time...how time first grounds us and then confounds us. We thought we were being mature when we were only being safe. We imagined we were being responsible but were only being cowardly. What we called realism turned out to be a way of avoiding things rather than facing them. Time...give us enough time and our best-supported decisions will seem wobbly, our certainties whimsical.'

- Julian Barnes, The Sense Of An Ending