Mere naseeb me baqi jara gumaan bhi nahi

Mere naseeb me baqi jara gumaan bhi nahi

Agar zameen bhi nahi meri asmaan bhi nahi


Jise shumaar kiya karta tha sitaaron me

Raha ab uska to baaqi nishaan bhi nahi


Tu lot aa me karunga gila na sikwa kuch

Jo fasle the kabhi ab wo darmiyaan bhi nahi


Me kar raha hoon ata muft me ye dil apna

Ata ye mol karega tumhe jahaan bhi nahi


Naya naya sa lage aisa kya likhoon azhar

Ke mere paas koi aisi dastaan bhi nahi

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Azhar Sabri (born January 10, 1990) is known for Urdu language poet, literary critic, writer and Shayar from India. Although he was born in Gaya, Bihar in India, Sabri attended school in public high school Raniganj, and was later sent to Mirza ghalib college Gaya, than completed degree with english (hons) from Magadh University

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Journal Book



She cries heavy, his death is the storm. Nice thought for a revolution?

Peacekeepers weather blackened raindrops. The blood of revolution


The neo-KKK is Kops Killing Kids, Kops Killing Kids, Kops Killing Kids

Protect-me-not – dear officer – S.W.A.T-light vigil. Mothers of revolution


Hard blasts in the ear, sound of life and blood. You swore oath to God

Out of window’s lips, stood still the night that calls for this revolution


“Fuck twelve!” Sweat together – move the line – make it continue

Bullet… down, bullet… down, bullet… down, bullet…. down. Revolution!


The Silver-line in that kiss is the breath of love – spotlight the busted glass

And we will hold dear that child that the future will never have. Revolution

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is a Ghazal about the events going on Ferguson. On the eight day I spent two hours in the fray taking notes. This is what I wrote. 


The social gathering was quite unfamiliar,
But even you, behaved like a stranger,
The goal I sought was in front of me,
But, ah, my sight was so blinded by tears!

I wanted happiness and true love,
But got just heartaches and a false vow,
My undoing sin is falling in love,
With a pretty woman... a heart hollow!

To see you being admired by ogling eyes,
And you being carried away by lies,
Is unbearable for my heart and mind,
A strain which can shame the night's sighs!

Your gaze is lost in false lights' glare,
The love you had is now nowhere,
You have chosen to be the party's life,
How can you and I then our life share?

Love is a flower, which grows not in flames,
Those who play with fire, must themselves blame,
Can my love save you from odious lust and praise,
When you choose to 'burn' like a 'star' of fame?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This ghazal was composed by me not so long ago. I 'rediscovered' it while flipping the pages of a collector's edition of "The Dolls House" -- a play written by Henrik Ibsen.

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The sun has gone down, O saqi,
Please pour out the wine, O saqi!

Either fill all the cups for me,
Or unveil your eyes, O saqi!

Empty your goblets for sinners here,
That too is a good deed, O saqi!

Where should the likes of me go?
The world is not for us, O saqi!

Let me drink and keep on drinking,
Do be so generous, O saqi!

If it had not been for your tavern,
I would have gone mad, O saqi!

It is God who has sent me here,
To settle all the dues, O saqi!!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

*SAQI: An Arabic/Persian/Urdu word used for a person who gives water or drinks to the thirsty. However, after it was romanticized by several poets, especially Omar Khayyam, Ghalib, Meer Taqi Meer along with the tavern, it is refers to an extraordinary charming and beautiful veiled woman, who serves drinks and wine to the lovelorn, the heartbroken ones, who frequent taverns in Iran, Pakistan and India.

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It is my heart, not a rock of stone,
Why should it not cringe with pain?
Weep I shall for a thousand times,
Why grieve me again and again?

It is not a motel nor a sacred place,
Nor a doorstep or house of a beloved,
I am resting at a thoroughfare where,
What's the need for praise, disgrace?

Yes, I am not a devout or holy man,
Yes, I am known as unfaithful,
Why then should those with faith and hearts,
Care to even mention my name?

Be it such living or chains of sorrow,
Both are the same: imprisonment;
Why then should I be free to borrow,
A respite from all the punishment?

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Soon it will be a moon full of grace,
People will watch it and admire,
Some will say: ah, the full moon!
Some will compare it with your face!

I 'll just smile, I 'll remain speechless,
While the folks will ask me about you,
How can I share with them your mystique?
Silence will be like gold to my quietness.

Your beauty and love have made me a loner,
No more do I find joy in gatherings,
The inquisitive curiosity of men and women,
Talking about you, add to my loneliness...

They also talk about a romantic poet,
Whose love for 'you' made him famous,
Ah, just to keep you safe and just mine,
And me yours forever...ah, love arduous!

So when the full moon will be resplendent,
And folks will once again be chatting on love,
Definining your loveliness, belittling the moon,
In my passion I will be consumed and spent.

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O Love! How your arrows have destroyed lovers!
I don't know why but it does make my sad heart bleed.
Even though each evening brings with it a hope,
Yet each twilight, as it withdraws, heightens my fears.

Cursing fate at times and sometimes blaming the world,
At each thresh-hold of joy lurking sadness steals my cheer.
When the talk of love spreads around at gatherings,
I find myself weeping quietly, gulping down 'the' tear'!

Ah, the presence which would have made women envious!
Ah, how I wish, she --the prettiest of them all -- had been here!
Let today also turn into tonight like the nights before,
Let me withdraw and hide and let none know where I disappear.

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O my companion! O my buddy!
Deceive me not so artfully.
I am brimful with the aches of love,
That I may live long...pray not for me!

In the scars of the heart shines my light,
And this light is the secret of my existence,
I fear O my friend, you may kill the essence.
Why not leave me alone to my destiny,

What is the big deal O my faithful buddy,
The price of true love I would love to pay,
So pray not, please, for my longevity,
And add more to my days of misery!

My passion's flame is at its highest high,
No windstorm can ever make it die,
My deep fear is hidden in a flower's spark,
That it may ignite the entire garden ablaze.

Why pine for me O my trusted friend!
Why shed sad tears for the way I end?
To perish in the fire of an eternal love,
p*ss what that may take me to her again!

The cup-bearer has risen once more,
O Emmenay! Whither lost are you?
What if your pal steals away your drink,
While you are keen on your drowining!

The sips that are only meant for you,
Don't let anyone steal those away...
And miss the time to bid adieu,
To all those who for you do pray!

Lose not the chance of a lifetime,
Don't let others extend their hand,
Ah! the regret you will have to bear,
Ah! the gambles you will have to play!

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In every nook and corner of the world the talk of love spread,
Like subtle fragrance did my beloved's praises my passion led...

Ah, the soothing comfort which embalmed my soul:
As my 'messiah', with his healing palm, touched my forehead!

May his lap too, remain filled with romance... just like his heart,
May he never undergo the agony of a lonely night's dread!

How to say that my 'worshiper' has bid adieu to me now,
Though not a lie.. yet ah. the world's scorns will leave me dead!

The love of her lone beloved did Parveen Shakir crave,
Till the last breath which led her to a lonely grave!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is also a GHAZAL and one of the most well known ever written by Pakistan's leading Urdu poetess (My friend/admirer), late Parveen Shakir way back in the 1980s.
The original title of the ghazal is "KHUSHBOO" which means fragrance/perfume in the Urdu language.
This ghazal was sung and achieved international recognition by late Mehdi Hasan of Pakistan.
It was Parveen Shakir's ardent desire that I translate the ghazal into English not literally but its essence and in my own here is a version of several translations. I hope poetry lovers and lovers of ghazal poetry will like it...the EPITAPH is my own inspired verse depicting the poetess' deep desire.

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