mansoor afaq poetry
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Transcript of mansoor afaq poetry
(Page No.2)
O,What a stab of pain has forced thy minstrel
To burst out into elegy
Instead of singing a hymn
It’s an elegy to bemourn
Those who are being massacred in Karbala
By the cruel hand of time
Perhaps Karbala is fated
To be the perpetual source of elegy
Why does the The blood of Hussain continue to flow
Over centuries
I undertake to dig up the history of Karbala
And see why this land has ever been blood thirsty
Why every Yazid chooses this land
To fight his wars
(Page No.3)
Why is it the place
Where fathers are seen picking up
The bits of their sons’ bodies
Why is it here that we always see
Mothers bewailing the death of their sons?
Why don’t things change here
As they do everywhere else
Inspire my despairing heart
To burst out into an elegy
Alas! Thy followers have lost
Even the courage to bewail
The death of their loved ones
Our poets have lost their voice
Is it fear or hope of some gain
That holds them silent?
My Benefactor, let me say
That they are dirty hypocrites
I wish the fingers with which they hold the pen
Were chopped off
Why are the mourners of Hussain silent
Now that a new cast is enacting
The tragedy of Karbala
On the same stage
Someone must write an elegy
Of burning houses, bleeding heads
Someone must write that Karbala
Cannot avow loyalty to a usurper
That bombs cannot destroy the spirit
Of fighting for the right
(Page No.4)
He ought to write of blood soaked doves
Of bombs tied to olive boughs
He ought to write a cry for peace on earth
The red light lingering in the West
Forebodes another night of woe
My Master, my Saviour, be witness
I call upon those who write
About the sacredness of human life
Who claim to be torch-bearers
Of humanism and love for all
Who cannot bear to see a cat in pain
I call upon them to write
Of the weird civilization that has come up
From the darkest ditch of hell
With tanks and bombers all around
Destroying innocent human life
To get at the wells of oil
Which are my source of living
I call upon Nobel laureates
Whose work for peace is lauded
And richly paid in medals and in cash
Why don’t they cry for peace
Why don’t they write about Iraq
And Palestine, Afghanistan and Kashmir
Perhaps they can not challenge Bush
I salute those brave tribes
That have rebelled against the unjust rule
Of Hitler of the day
(Page No.5)I call upon those
Who sing of love
Who claim to be the sons of Christ
Yes, Christ who brought dead people back to life
Sure his faith does not permit massacre
He was the man who sacrified his life
For the love of mankind
He preached forbearance and forgiveness
Why are his followers mum
At what they see in Iraq, Afghanistan and Kashmir
Perhaps they take gunfire for light
Bomb blasts for ceremonial fireworks
I call upon those who say
That love greets torture with a smile
It can make water burn as oil
It can embrace the blazing flames
If put to it like Ibrahim , the Prophet
Come, all you lovers of mankind
Shed tears if not water on these flames
(Page No.7)
Everybody in the world
Has the right to live as he likes
None should enslave
The sons of mothers born free
I also pray for perfect peace
I wish the muzzles of guns
Should serve as nests
For birds of peace
I wish the landmines
To sprout into olive trees
Impossible though it seems
It is not so for God
For God is God
HE can make all this happen
I only need thy voice to plead my case
(Page-8)
My arms have been cut off
By enemies of thy faith
I was not armed because I had not come to fight
I came to sue for peace
They laughed at me
Then fell on me
And hacked off both my arms
And then they gouged my eyes
And then they left me to my fate
(Page No.9)
The cities are asleep
The dark night is
Bespangled with sparks
The gunpowder crust thickens on the broken walls
And on the ground, littered with broken bodies,
The wounded don’t groan
Their throats are choked by dust and smoke
The air is thick with dust and smoke and smell of blood
(Page No.10)
Help, O Saviour of the helpless
The pirates of oil have come to plunder
The land of thy devotees
To syphon every drop of oil
And ship it to their land
We’re a prey to conspiracies,
Frauds and blackmailing, and shattering blows
By Lethal arms and lethal media
Help us O’Saviour, with thy grace
Ask Allah give us courage and foresight
For that is what we need
(Page No.11)
When I hear of the torture cells
In Guatenamo Bay
Of Muslim captives on the grill
Of clanging chains on bleeding hands and legs
Then I remember Abid,
Son of Hussain, a prisoner
Subject to similar torment
Just because he did not say his father was a traitor
How could he say that. when he knew
His father was not wrong
He was a righteous rebel, not a traitor
Abid : Eldest son of the Prophet’s grandson, Imam Hussain.
(Page No.12)
A shock of horror threw me off my feet
When I heard of the death warrant
Of someone who refused to vow
Allegiance to the usurper
A replay of the tragedy
That was enacted in Karbala
Some fourteen centuries ago
A camp’s again ablaze
The inmates are no soldiers
They are bereaved wives and kids
Of those who had rebelled
Against the tyrant’s rule
But this time it is not a clash of swords
(Page-13)
Tears from Baghdad
The wind brought the clouds of grief
Made of tears
There was a shower followed by dark right
Seeing the city sunk in darkness,
I trembled, and cried out:
(Page-14)
My mind is lacerated
With harsh noises
My body is scalded from head to foot
The lines of fortune on my hands
He been erased by burns
The morning of oppression
Has brought a flood of Muslim blood
Which sweeps across the desert
This sunless morning has no light
Except that of the flames
Which rise from bursting bombs
Warplanes hovering overhead
Are distributing lethal light
The whisperings on the banks
Of Euphrates, that
Are now resounding in the streets
The armed forces of Yazid
Are patrolling the empty roads
Amid the torn and mangled bodies
Of thy devotees
The scene reminds me of Muharram
(Page-15)
Tear from Palestine
The city
Is hostage to a night of horror
The eyes are blinded by the darkness
But ears catch the sounds
Of sobbing mothers and wives and kids
Who mourn the dead that lie around
(Page-16)
The red carpet of blood
Is meant to greet new life
The bodies buried in the ground
Are seeds for the crop
That is to grow in spring
And spring is on its way
(Page No.-17)
With showers of fire from clouds of hatred
On blood-soaked earth,
Bomb blasts, brutal onslaughts
Hunger, disease and injustice
These are the gifts new century brings
For those to whom was promised
By those who reign the earth
A century of prosperity,
Of peace and justice, rule of law
And every blessing they could think of
Alas! It never happened
Nor it will, in a man-ruled world.
(Page-18)
It was thy command, my Prophet
That wages should be paid
Before the sweat on worker’s brow
Dries up
A pity that our employers
Who claim to be thy devotees
Have paid us nothing for our blood
Which we have lost
By working day and night
Now destitute, depleted
We stand
(Page No.19)
Taking it as the will of God
The Third World lives in poverty
Hoping to be rich in Hereafter
Because they hold some coins of pious deeds
Which they think are sufficient
To buy a life of luxury
In paradise
And so the rich in this world
Go on amassing wealth
(Page No.20)
DUROOD
I salute thee my Benefactor
Thou raised the clay of earth
To the height of Heaven
I salute thee for it was thou
Who introduced what now we call democracy
I salute thee for it was thou
Who challenged feudalism
And I salute thee for it was thou who said
That honest living is what you earn
As wages for some sort of work
I salute thee for it was thou who said
That all the sons of Adam
Are equal
(Page No.21)
The mountains have put on a green attire
Dead branches of the trees have burst into blossoms
Time has learnt the art of changing death to life
The centuries old chasms
Are bridged in moments
Morning rises from the west
The sky is ready to embrace the earth
The minds have been liberated
From darkness of oppression
All the windows on the west horizon
Have opened up to let the tearful eyes see
What they have all along been waiting for
(Page No.22)
O’ cloud of blessings
Send us a shower or we die of thirst
O’ Saviour, we trust in thee for salvation
Be thou our guide through present crisis
Amid the brutal bloodshed that goes on
Under various flimsy pretexts
We remember thy words
“ Murder of one man is murder of all mankind”
(Page No.23)
No more of the elegies we’ve been singing
We’ve had enough of talk of death
Let someone talk of life
Yes, life that comes with death
It is a higher kind of life.
For instance see that head atop a spear
It has no body, yet the eyes shine brightly
There is a smile on that noble face
It seems to say, “
“They never die who die for noble cause
Look, am I not alive?”
(Page No.24)
It is a fact, not fiction
That Zamzam, the everlasting source of water,
A spring near Kaaba, the House of Allah,
Burst out of mountainside
Where a thirsty baby, crying for water,
Rubbed his tiny heels
While the helpless mother ran about
To find some water for her baby
(Page No.25)
How could death enter the city of life
Thought every resident of the place
This city glorified life
It came to be the fountain-head of revolution
This city graceful like a bride
It comes out every morning
Clad in bright red bridal dress
O’ Yazid of the age, thou canst not kill Baghdad
It was not made for extinction
(Page 26)
My Benefactor,
We were born to follow this perilous road of love
Slaking thirst of every thorn along the way
And now we stand
Where the road divides into two
The road on the right is the road of love
The one to the left is that of hate
O’ priests who just churn out rhetoric
To glorify Hussain
It was for us to do what he did
This land calls for another coat of paint
A glossy layer of blood
And then another stamp of bleeding forehead
To make it an authentic version
Of Hussain’s example
(Page No.27)
Dogs go for Bones
Christmas night in Baghdad
Tank’s headlights for Christmas candles
Bush disguised as Santa Claus
Goes round with a bag of explosives
The wakeful kids get death for toys
and cookies
Page No.28
Dogs go for Bones
Shreds of bodies flying around
Like Chaff out of a thresher
Like windblown pollen
They stick to the eyelashes of civilization
The world is silent witness of this ghastly scene
Those who promised a new world order
Do not believe in sanctity of human life
They kill us not for sport
But for what we have________the oil
Page No.29
To the Arab Rulers
Those labouring through the darkness of the night
Brought in a rosy morning
Light oozed out of the darkness
As sight comes out from dark eyes
The bright sun rose from Hira, the cave
In a mountain near Makkah
The bright sun rose at midnight
And was in no time at the zenith
Where galaxies across the sky
Came round to kiss his feet
And then he passed along
Soared upwards, upwards till he reached
The court of his Creator
And then he came back to his closet
To tell the people where he went
And what he saw and heard
(Page 30)
His reverent devotees once made
A sort of podium for him in the mosque yard
It was a mark of distinction, they said
To let the visiting people know
Who was the chief among them
The Prophet was not pleased
“What’s this”, he asked
“O’Prophet of Allah,” said one of them
“NOW that you are the ruler of this land
It is a mark of distinction
To point you out among us
For visiting delegations from abroad
“No” said the Prophet with disgust
I don’t believe in distinctions
Rather, I was expressly enjoined
To do away with distinctions
A ruler is a human being
Like those who are his subjects
Why should he be placed higher than those people
(Page No.31)
Then with a kick he dismantled
That mark of difference and distinction
And said to his devotees:
“This elevated seat, that you had made for me
Would justify a ruler’s claim to eminence
And thrones made of gold
And all the pomp and show
And even arrogance and hubris
“Don’t you see what would happen
If my successors live like kings
A life of sinful luxury
Just eating, drinking, making merry
They would become indifferent to their duties
As servants of the people
Their love of comfort, indolence and pomp
Would make them cowardly and mean”
Alas, his successors forgot
What he had said that day
They live a sinful life of luxury
Mindful only of their wealth and power
Page No.32
It is a cruel night
Thy devotees are in distress
They are besieged and plagued
By those who rule the world today
The leaders of thy followers
Are mostly hollow, insincere
And cowardly and selfish, mean and callous
They have betrayed thy Ummah
They are intolerant of resistance
To their servile policies
They kill those who revolt against their masters
They call them terrorists
And join the so-called war on terror
As frontline soldiers on the side of Bush
That enemy of Muslims and Islam
Who loves to drink the Muslim blood(
(Page No.33)
O, my Prophet of Peace
Of tolerance and goodwill
The clouds of war are looming large
Over the region known as Muslim World
It looks more Hiroshimas are to go up in flames
Our enemies call it a crusade
The Crescent and the Cross stand poised
For a deadly clash
The outcome would be horrible
Because thy followers are weak and disunited
A pity that some of their rulers are
In conspiracy with the enemy
(Page No.34)
The blood of sons of olive-land
Will no longer flow silently
Revenge blazes in the tearful eyes of the Ummah
The dawn in the form of an immortal martyr
Will shortly step out of the night
The game of death is like the struggle
Between the night and dawn
The autumn of the hypocritic civilization
Will soon defuse the explosive device
Planted in the dove’s nest
The gunpowder dust on olive branches
Will soon be washed out
This clash between the Crescent and the Cross
Will end in death of neocon eraze
(Page No.35)
Kashmir
The soft sunshine of ice-clad December
Had added to the beauty of the pines
That stand upright atop the lofty mountains
On either side of Neelum Valley
Apples on the trees on mountainside
Were getting rosier by the day
The sunlight had turned the air orange
A flock of birds was flying silently
Suddenly and agonized cry rent the atmosphere
A brown bear had stepped on a landmine
The earth spouted out a violent death
A dove’s feathers scattered in the air A tree fell martyr
The whole valley resounded with slogans
Which expressed eagerness for martyrdom
(Page 37)
A PRAYER FOR THE CITY OF LOVE
O’ Allah I beg Thee in this time of distress
With faith in Thy promise of infinite mercy
To those who repent and try to make amends
Have mercy on my house
I beg Thee in the name of Prophet
Who is my last resort in every crisis
For I believe Thou madest him Savior
Of all mankind
My Allah, save my house
The dark night has stayed too long
And all the night there has been
Heavy bombing all around
The compound wall of my little house is gone
The kitchen has crumbled to the ground
The bedroom roof and walls are cracked
My wife and five kids sit upright
With fingers in their ears, eyes shut
Waiting for imminent stroke of death
All the houses around our house
Are heaps of debris
The inmates crushed to death
Agonized cries of survivors, all injured
Are adding to our misery
There comes a tank spouting fire
Mercy, my Allah
My country has been occupied
And we are now enslaved
By those who challenge Thy Omnipotence
Page No.38
Morning on the Altar
The dawn of revolution marches on the night
I hear the sobs of the last dark moments of
The night
This night is the last night of injustice
History will bear out my assertion
I hear the night breathing its last
The dawn awaits the signal from above
Time is breathless with eager anticipation
O’ Allah, help Thy believers
They rise against thine enemy
(Page No.39)
The blood of the martyrs
Gleams triumphantly on the barbed wire fence
That the enemy had built around Baghdad
The martyrs have paid in blood
The ransom of their land
Not just in Baghdad
The mountains in Afghanistan
Are also painted red
The blasted landmines were extinguished
By spray of Muslim blood
The price is paid
Who can withhold freedom now?
(Page No.40)
Thy devotees all over the world
Uphold thy honour, come what may,
Whatever the cost
Life is no more precious to them
Thou camest to establish
The place of man as Chief
Among all the animate beings
If he has faith and follows it
By observing all do’s and don’ls
So now a new generation of thy devotees
Is in the field to rouse the Ummah
Which has long, too long been subjected
To slavery by their rulers, also Muslims,
Though too worldly to merit the name
Help these rebels against hypocrisy
And cowardice , O Benefactor,
Help them to bring a blessed revolution
Which is the only way to save thy Faith
(Page 41)
My Prophet
(About 700000 Iraqi’s killed as a result
of US led attack and occupation)
The weight of 700000 bereavements smothers me
And 300000 injuries are bleeding my soul to death
I wade through blood on the dark desert
I can’t help bursting out into questions
Addressed to thee
“O, how many more dead bodies do I have to carry
How many more wounds has my soul to bear
How many wailing voices have I still to hear
How many elegies have I still to write
O’ help me with thy blessing, Benefactor
Get me the courage and the strength
To take revenge for all that I have suffered.
(Page No.42)
The black spot of the fall of Baghdad
Smoulders on the brow of every devout Muslim
Baghdad has been a bleeding wound for centuries
Today the stink of burning human flash prevails
The atmosphere of the city.
The very name of Baghdad
Tastes bitter on my tongue
And I spit out all this bitterness
In words upon the paper
Even in dreams I bear the ominous drone
Of bombers targeting Baghdad
My merciful Prophet, thou art my only succour
Pull me out of this hell before I fall.
Page No.43
Live naked electric wires
Ring across my soul
Incessantly
My wounded fingers have grown septic
Because my nails were plucked out
And the bleeding fingers were not dressed
My empty stomach makes me feel
The throes of death more than usual
(Page No.44)
I feel ashamed of my nakedness
And in this shameful state
They stub cigarettes against my flesh
My hands are tied behind me
My feet are shackled
As I lie on the red hot iron floor
Caged in a chamber made of iron
They say it was a hienous crime
To follow the Prophet of peace
To act upon the code of nice behavior
Thy Prophet gave to us
O’ Allah, Lord of the universe
Look at what I have got for faith in Thee
(Page No.45)
O’ Allah, save the warrior
Who stands upright against the lethal powers
Don’t let Thy earth now shrink on him
Like bloodhounds they draw close
They want to kill him for defying Bush
That Pharaoh of today for whom
This warrior is the Moses of the day
He stands for Thy cause, not his own
(Page No.46)
Third World War
Only we will not be ruined
Your own cities too will be reduced to ashes
We know your bombs will burn down even water
In our wells
But your own reservoirs will also be poisoned
O’ bloody evening, don’t paint the horizon red
In blood
O’don’t don’t start a crusade on the East
We’re peace loving followers of Muhammad,
Guardians of the dawn of the peace
We love to wear blood when driven to it
We are slaves to our Prophet, so
We ca’nt be slaves to anyone else.
(Page No.47)
Doves have bled a red cross on their wings
In keeping with the colour all around
He used to play colours
On the guitar of fragrance
He used to create music by the riverside
He used to paint the fluffy wings of Butterflies
With colours of the evening
He used to write the songs of drizzling
That sounded like a drizzle
He cooled the burning chest of earth
With trees
He used to shatter the dark glass sheet of night
With a stroke of the day
(Page No.48)
He used to enjoy listening to dreamlike voices
But then something happened
And he forgot all about beauty
And his mystic experience
For how could he ignore the bombing all around
How could anybody compose songs
About the beauty of Basra
It is impossible
(Page 49)
My Prophet – My Love
May I always be singing out thy name
May this love make me forget all else
May I never see those tearful eyes around
And the burning Basra, Karbala and Baghdad
May I always feel the freshening taste of Kausar
Need nothing else to drink
May I always be in ecstasy
Inspired by Thy love
No pain, no trouble, no Palestine
No Basra, no Baghdad
Should haunt me as they do
May my lips feel the kiss of thy love
May I have no thirst except this yearning
For thy love, and the urge to see thee
May life prosper, amid showers of light
May hunger poverty and war
Be laid to rest for ever
(Page No.50)
Thy land was never so deeply soaked in blood
There have been wars in past
But the death toll was never so fast and high
Millions were killed, no doubt
But life survived
Cities were set ablaze
But fire never rained from clouds
We used to be afraid of beasts
Not of the human beings
(Page No.51)
Why is a new war threatening every moment
Why does man indulge in brutality
Why has Beirut to be a heap of rubble
Why Lebanon sinks in darkness once again
Why do the lands of invaders bloom into Paradise
Why are our cities (full of life) laid waste
Why are those brambles full of roses
Why is this broken vase all that we have
Why is the law of jungle forced on us
Why is the wolf allowed to rule the city
(Page No.52)
Even though turned to dust
The city shows what happened
The ashes still have some warmth left
Fire showered down all night
The houses were charred
Although the city was wrapped in icy night
See how graceful that man looks
Though walking on a heap of rubble
And clad in rags
The lamp smothered under the darkness of the night
Is still alight underground
Let my red grief sprout
Into a green morning
(Page No.53)
To Ali
Around the Altar
I live somewhere
Around the altar
For everything in my flat
Smells of blood
A nauseating stink comes from my dress
A dozen perfume bottles couldn’t subdue it.
I’ve washed my hands repeatedly
But the smell of warm blood, cold flesh
Stays on
I’ve washed every plate in the kitchen
Countless times
Still every dish tastes of flesh and blood
Sometimes I see
The roses of bullet holes in women’s breasts
And sometimes I find
Shreds of abdomen on my breakfast tray.
(Page No.55)
Man’s Proclamation
O’ sand, open thy mouth
And burst into a storm
Blow out this uncharitable season
Smash all the white elephants
Chew up the ugly necks of dinosaurs
O’ sand, stir up sky-scrapping whirlwinds
open the eye of the mad whirlpool
Bury these black iron birds under the dunes
Swallow up all tracks
O’ sand, it’s Man’s edict for thee
Which thou must obey
So open thy mouth
And burst into a storm
( Page No.56)
Madam Broken Heart
The whole house was in deep mourning
For India, their cat, that was crushed to death
By a passing vehicle
Condolence calls and messages kept pouring in
A whole week
Visitors recorded their grief
In a fat red paged book on a table in the hall
Just a page or two remained unfilled
Mourning was stamped on everything around
Black curtains and cushions
And servants in black
The broken-hearted Madam ABC
Was miserable with grief
(Page No.57)
She cursed the uncertainty of life
And all that went with it
Then suddenly the phone bell rang
It was a call from Madam’s son,
A colonel, posted at a war front
He told her he had got a medal
For killing thousands more of enemies
Then the whole house got busy
To celebrate the glorious deed
(Page No.58)
What brings you here?
Did the valley of Qandhar call you in
To defend it in place of bold mountains
Which have defended it for centuries?
Did the desert of Karbala call you in
To keep the coming spring at bay?
Were you called in by Aqsa Mosque
To silence the cries for independence
Or were you called in by the Basrans and Faloogans
As substitute for their kins
Speak, why don’t you?
Were you called in by the musical heart
To tune its chords?
No answer to these questions?
Then why did you come hither?
(Page No.61)
Rule of Allah
The yearning for a morning on thy horizon
Will always linger in my eyes
For I believe
A fountain of light will burst out
From that lake coloured red with dusk
The darkened pathways will glow
The chains of gold will melt
The captives all will be at large
The season of my days of glory will come back
The world will sing a smiling song of peace
(Page No.62)
The spirit to shake off poverty will rise
As a red war flag
The oppressed nations will no longer writhe
In cages made of gold
The dawn of Allah’s rule shall come
All hearts will throb with joy
All eyes will see before them
What they had wished to see
Even watchful water lilies
Will be blessed with sight
The poets will no longer sing out empty dreams
They will sing of new themes
No verses soaked in wine, blurred and awkward
Sincere, clear, full of love and life
Their words will sing of dawn
And all that goes with it
( Page No.63)
Lebanon
The injured soldier still stands firm
He did not ask for substitute
He is determined to pass on to Heaven
By fighting till he falls
His finger on the trigger
Is slowly going numb for loss of blood
A fire-spouting tank is coming up
With all his fading strength he kneels
And lies down on a bomb
He rolls the bomb with bleeding hands
Up under his chest
The tank that is now running over him
Is blown to pieces
The soldier’s soul flies up
A group of angels welcomes it
And leads it to a palace made of gold
On the bank of Kausar
To live there an eternal life
The reward of a martyr
(Page No.64)
Kashmir
The valley of matchless green fertility
Has been weeping for centuries
Restless water gushes down the lofty peak of Halmat
The centuries old forest of Kail
Has been blasted with gunpowder
The image of Buddha in the courtyard of Sharda
Is smeared with blood
(Page No.65)
An ages long wait
The red pines behind Shanshabari
The altar behind the fountain
The gently flowing Mahal alongside the garden
The razor sharp edge of history
Fruit, leaves and flowers
Flying around in streets of Dhirkot
Civilization back in the Ice Age
Rawlakot bathed in dew
Is like an eye aglow with tears
Banjusa, a basin of water
Edged by trees
A quiet call
(Page No.67)
O’ Prophet of the poor!
The frugal dowry of thy loved daughter
Included a grindstone
Our present age demands flourmills
Thou gavest her earthenware for the kitchen
This age demands gorgeous Chinaware
What use are all these fertile lands to us
From which we produce heavy crops
That bring in loads of money
A bare subsistence is all that comes to us
The landlord gets the lion’s share
What future can our daughters dream of
Except a lingering spinster life
Crawling quietly to their graves
(Page No.71)
Give my frenzy the hands
That pull down the crowns
And tear up the gowns
And wash their sins away
With water for ablution
As thou’ dst prefer to have a house
Built of mud instead of marble
Let me build Thee a house of mud
Turn me into a flame
That I may devour
The system of man-made economy
This unholy alliance of the tycoons
And this cartel of the feudal lords
Let me burn up these wheat fields
That yield nothing to the peasant
Stand by me, so that I wake up
These starving masses almost dead.
(Page No.72)
One Man in Two Scenes
(Scene 1)
The eyes and the soul were refreshed
With the sight of glittering sands awash with dew
The colourful track left by a snake
Held me spell bound
Though fatal, the snake looks beautiful
At least it is less fatal
Than beastly human beings
Who have killed millions of my kin
(Page No.73)
(Scene 2)
On the desert darkened by the night
Glow two red eyes like burning coals
These are the eyes of a leopard
The beast looks charming though a foe
His bloodshot eyes are less fearful
Than the bloodshot eyes of civilization
That has devoured millions of people
Mercy O’ Allah, O’ Prophet
(Page No.74)
Change of Business
Till the end of 20th Century we made school desks
But now coffins are in hot demand
(Page No.75)
O’ power worshipping priest come hither
With all thy acts of worship
See, I’ve brought some wounds as words for Na’at
They are words soaked in Hussains’ blood
Some of them are pieces of flesh
There are some miracles smoking out of smouldering tents
Some words that ring like a prisoner’s fetters
I have brought some new secrets too
From the land of the Prophet (Peace be upon him)
I’ve brought all these wares
From the bazars of Baghdad
Bring hither the darkness of thy lazy rituals
I’ve brought some tearful words of Na’at
(Page No.76)
Thou dependst on soulless rituals for salvation
For me truth is the soul of worship
For thee Tasawuf is the goal
For me the trance of whirling Sarmad is the real thing
Page No.76
Thou lovest the house of thy beloved
For me love is the object in itself
Bring those uncertain miracles of thy worship
Against my luminous ideas
And see my Na’at outweighs thy worship
Page No.77
These words will illuminate my being
These Na’ats are the soul of my worship
These bleeding words will make my verses luminous
The tears in my eyes are all the piety I can afford
The city of Na’at will celebrate the victory of the killed.
My words of praise are clad in red
Being all thy noble deeds and acts of worship
Compare them with this handful of dust
From the Prophet’s doorstep
Let thy poverty work a miracle
My words of devotion, bleeding, tearful
Will sure outshine thy miracles.
Page No.78
Who are you?
A demon made of gunpowder
Descending slowly from the clouds?
A ghost from an ancient grave
Or a recycled carribal?
Who are you anyway?
Seated on a pyramid of human skulls
Are you a witch performing some new feat
Or the contractor of a crematorium
Or the owner of an ordinance factory,
Or a hired killer
Just till me who the d______’l are you?
Page No. 79
Wrapped up in a shawl made of infant’s hair
With shoes of human hide on feet
Grinning with teeth like daggers
Carrying a basket full of bombs
You walk along the road into the town
O’ till me who the d_______’l are you?
Page No.80
Shelter me in Thy Black Shawl
A dreadful light before the dawn
Resounding thunders all around
Birds are started awake
The air is filled with smoke
Ashes fall from burning trees
And cover the ground below
A half-burnt dove’s head
A smouldering branch of olive
Stink of roasting human flesh
Comes from the kitchen of civilization
Two broken legs of a plastic doll
A shattered toy
Burnt lips
A nursling breast blown off an Eve’s body
Page No.81
Bricks black as right
Burnt broken shutters
A hideous debris heap
My Saviour, save me from this day
That comes with death and demolition
From across the sea
Hid me in thy black shawl
Page No.82
The Courage to Die
Thy devotees who embrace martyric death
Are dubbed as terrorists
Those who strive for a brighter morning
Are called agents of death
By butcher Bush
And the world is foolishly echoing him
From Jaddah to Islamabad
Our rulers say,”yes, Boss”
Page No.84
A Dream
No Traffic stirs on motorways of Europe
Bus stops too are deserted
The clash of civilization goes on
And the Arabs have stopped selling oil
Page No.85
You have blindfolded me
But you cannot kill my eyesight
A pity, hearts have lost all pity
Somebody has banned spring
By spraying acid on the garden
+
Page No.86
11 th September
The blood from the altar of 9/11
Is dripping from eyes
On to the page of history
Alas! To be a human being
The blood of the killers and the killed
Is the same colour
Then why do they kill each other
I also mourn those tube passengers
Whose journally ended in the valley of death
They were killed for another’s fault
I pray may Christ reward them
For their loss of life.
Page No.87
But for me every day in the calendar
Is a day of mourning
For massacre goes on unchecked
The victims are my relatives, every one
For they are human beings
I have to mourn everyday
Crying, I have to pack the body-bags
Crying, to console those who are bereaved
I share the grief of each bereaved mother
Who clings to the body of her son
What else should I do?
Why has the world become an altar
Why are you planting bodies like seeds
I’m afraid of the coming season
When the seeds will grow
I’m afraid of the kids of martyrs
Lest every day be 9/11
Page No.88
I salute the morning of creation
Of mankind, and the Prophet
For whom all was created
I salute the mud-house
Where the owner of Paradise lived on earth
I salute the palm-leaf mat
On which the ruler of Arabia slept
And the cool earth pitcher
From which he drank water
I salute the feet that moved with care
Lest a stray out should be crushed to death
I salute the poverty that was the Prohet’s pride
And the fugality that revolutionized economy.