The Knots of Season

Be cautious!
Do not write poems with the first rain of the season.
Wrapped up in rues
With ash from your cigarette falling about
and surrounded by the aroma of coffee
Do not write tales of woes

It is insulting to the rain just emerging
from the womb of the clouds
She might get annoyed,
As from the crown of Sarfaranga
To the depths of Astola
this incessantly flowing gift from the sky
Brings the same tranquilizing joy

How can the zealots of the city know?
Beyond the sharp blades of the swords
and deafening rhetoric of the lords
Lies a world
Which is the voice of Mansoor and Mureed
Which is the rythem of the verse of Lateef
And which is created by the moonlit seeds

For God’s sake, do not turn love into a scripture of rain
Let it hover with glee beyond every season
Let it flow without any chain and reason
Let it flaunt its grace with the entire blazon

Love is not just a sorrow
It is a childhood friend of the awaiting beloved
Who, under the blue sky, accompanies her
It is the dialect
Of an ardent poet
Who can sing it without rain
As feelings are not confined to seasons

موسم کی گانٹھیں

خیال رکھنا
کہیں بارش ہوتے ہی
نظم لکھنے نہ بیٹھ جانا
اُداس لحاف میں لپٹ کر
تنہا کافی کی مہک
اور سگریٹ کی گرد بکھیرے
ڈائری میں
غم کے نوحے نہ درج کرنے لگنا

ابر کی توہین ہوتی ہے
وہ روٹھ بھی سکتی ہے
کہ آسماں کا یہ آبِ رواں
سرفررنگا کی بلُندیوں سے
استولا کی اُترائیوں تک
یکساں تاثیرِ دلُربائی لئے آتا ہے

شہرِ بت پرستاں کے
جنون خیزوں کو کیا خبر
اونچے گال اور تلوار کی دھار سے
آگے ہے اک حسِ آشنا
جو مریُد و منصور کی آواز ہے
جو لطیف کے شعر کا ساز ہے
جس نے ماہتاب سے جنم لیا ہے

خُدارا ! عشق کو بارش کا کلام نہ بناو
اسے بے موسم رہنے دو
اسے بے موسم بہنے دو
اسے بے لباس رہنے دو

عشق فقط اُداسی نہیں
یہ ہم جولی ہے
اُس مُنتظر معشوقہ کی
جو نیلے آسماں تلے
اُس کے ہمراہ چلتی ہے
یہ ماں بولی ہے
اُس دیوانے شاعر کی
جو بارش کے بغیر بھی
اسے بول سکتا ہے
کہ جذبے موسم کے مُحتاج تو نہیں-

The Labour Pain

It is creeping into your blood.
It is hammering on your ribs.
It is bursting through your chest.
Are you ready to give birth?

Hush!
Hush!
Hush!

Lies a dark shadow
Between the announcement of death
And the first scream.
Lies death
Between the first scream
And the announcement of birth.

Thud!
Thud!
Thud!

Slam your head against the wall.
‘’Coward! You cannot do it.”
It laughed.
Pay ransom
For every word you ever believed.
Why would you never get tired of surviving
for someone you had never been???

How many more years you could stand it?
How many dreams of fall you could awake from?
“This is how it should be,”
He texted back.

Cut the umbilical cord / tighten the rope.
Where lies the difference?
Or embrace the white liquid silence
The creation of poems
Between you and me.

دردزہ

تُمھارے لہو میں رینگ رہا ہے
تُمھاری پسلیوں کو توڑ رہا ہے
اور تمُھارے سینے کو چیر رہا ہے
کیا تُم جنم دینے کو تیار ہو؟

خاموش
خاموش
خاموش

ایک تاریک سایہ بستا ہے
موت کے اعلان اور پہلی چیخ کے مابین
موت بستی ہے
پہلی چیخ اور زندگی کی نوید کے مابین

دھم
دھم
دھم

اپنا سر دیوار پہ مارو
” بُزدل! تم سے نہ ہوپائے گا”
دیوار ہنسی
خراج دینا ہی ہوگا
ہر اُس لفظ کا جس پہ تُم نے اعتبار کیا
تُم جیتے جیتے بھلا تھک کیوں نہیں جاتے
اک ایسی زندگی جو تُمھاری ہے ہی نہیں
اور کتنے ماہ و سال اسکا سامنا کر پاوگے
کتنے خوابوں میں گرتے ہوئے بیدار ہوگے
” جیسا ہے ، ویسا ہی ٹھیک ہے ”
اُس کا پیام آیا

ناف کو کاٹ ڈالو
یا رسیاں تن ڈالو
کیا فرق پڑتا ہے؟
مرمریں سفید خاموشی کا اقرار کرلو
جہاں میرے اور تمھارے درمیاں
نظمیں جنم لئے جاتی ہیں ۔۔

The Legacy

High up on the rugged hills
against the dusky sky
stood two shadows.
They heard an ominous tread.
The woman killed the man and herself.
The hyena, who came to take his share, found nothing
But a wailing child
muffled
under a sheet
of crawing black crows.

مالِ غنیمت

دور کھردری چوٹیوں کے اوپر
مٹیالے آسماں کے پاس
دو سائے کھڑے تھے
کہ انھوں نے
منحوس قدموں کی چاپ سُنی
عورت نے پہلے اُس مرد کو
اور پھر خود کو مار ڈالا
اور وہ بھیڑیا جو اپنا حصہ لینے آیا تھا
اُسے کچھ نہ ملا
بس اک بین کرتا بچہ
جو گھِرا ہوا تھا
اوجھتے کالے کوُوں کے درمیاں۔۔

The Price

From a ship
on high sea
a mariner told,
“To predict her future,an affah
from Egypt would take 450$.”
How ridiculous!
Did not he know?
She came from a place
where her father
sold her as a kid
for 450$.

دام

آزاد پانیوں سے آئے
ایک بحری جہاز کے
مُلاح نے اُسے بتلایا
” ایک مصری نجومی
حالِ مستقبل بتانے کا
450$ لے گا ”
مضحکہ خیز !
لیکن بے خبر نجومی کو کیا پتا
جس دیار سے وہ آئی ہے
اس کے باپ نے بچپن میں
اُسے وہاں $450 ہی میں تو بیچا تھا۔۔

The Quest

Neither
in the coarse hands
of the labourer woman
carrying heavy bricks
high on her head
Nor
in the smile of the mother
kneading love and care
for her hungry children
Standing alone
in a moorland
she found herself
in the eyes of a girl
who, last night, was stoned to death.

تلاش

بھاری اینٹیں سر پہ اُٹھائے
محنت کش عورت کے
کُھردرے ہاتھوں میں نہیں،
اور نہ ہی
بھوک سے بلکتے بچوں کے لئے
ممتا اور مُحبت گوندھتی
ماں کی مُسکراہٹ میں،
اُس نے خود کو پایا
تو تنہا صحرا میں کھڑے
اُس لڑکی کی آنکھوں میں
جسے کل رات سنگسار کردیا گیا تھا۔

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Original Image: Walking the Fish by Christian Schloevery

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Language is a beautiful and unique gift that humans possess. Animals do communicate but their communication mainly comprises of signals and signs. The basic purpose of any language is communication. All human languages are equally productive, rich and highly organized. The idea of a particular language or dialect being prestigious or stigmatized is highly deplorable, though much prevailing. A language spoken by a small community is as fertile and complex as any other language which is used by millions of speakers.

Today, the linguists throughout the world agree on this point that children’s basic education should be in their mother languages. Usually a child of 4 or 5 learns to communicate fully in his mother language. He learns it from his environment and also without much instruction. His mother language shapes his thoughts and he expresses his feelings of fear, happiness, surprise and pain in this language. It links him with his family and friends. It is through the first language that a child expresses his needs, comprehends the world around him and learns the skills and concepts. His connection with his family, relatives, community, customs, history, traditions, beliefs, fine arts, and literature is ensured only through his mother language. Otherwise; he feels himself mentally, socially, and culturally alienated.

We live in a trilingual society. For most of the children in Pakistan, regional languages like Punjabi, Sindhi, Pashto, Saraiki, Putohari, Balochi etc serve as first languages. Not much effort is needed to learn the first language. At early years, most of the communication is oral. Learning and using first language without complex, guilt, fear and shame helps in enhancing the confidence of the early learners. Dear parents, stop yelling at your children. Try to communicate with them in their first language as much as possible. Buy them story books. Watch their favourite cartoons and T.V programmes with them. Motivate them if they use it properly. Once they have gained proficiency in its use, they can learn their second language at school because skills acquired in first language acquisition also help in learning second and in many cases even the third language properly.

Every language in the world is an epitome of certain culture and has its distinctive colour, beauty, rhythm and flavor which make it exotic and unique. Learning a new language other than the mother tongue opens up a whole new world, a whole new vista and horizon. It makes us more receptive, flexible, knowledgeable and open ‑minded. It brings us close to humanity. It not only enhances the academic performance but also multiplies career potentials. In Pakistan, mother languages are already subordinate to national and official languages and with many additional stigmas attached to them, they have started suffering a setback.

A language is like a beautiful plant which grows when people come close to one another and communicate, so a language sprouts, grows, expands, brings fruit when endeared and preserved as an asset by its users. It also withers, shrinks and dies when neglected. Many languages of the worlds are already endangered, because their users have failed to transfer them to the next generation. Our mother languages are at stake. If the recent ignorance-led attitudes are not reversed, many known languages will be found only in history books. Due to the fast growth in the process of globalization and communication, there will only be four to five major languages in the world after almost two centuries, the linguists claim. The languages which will survive and thrive in the race of “The Survival of the Fittest” only depends on their speakers.

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Innovative, colloquial, individualistic, experimental with unusual metaphors and symbols… Imroz’s poetry is everything but traditional. It is the poetry of today. It is the voice of an individual who sees life in relation to himself, his society and the universe he is a part of.

Poetry is basically the expression of the self, and hence subjectivity is very much the essence of his poems and this we find more prominent in his first book,”Khudkhushi ke Mausam me”. But as he moves towards his second book,”Kainaati gard me Urryan Shaam”, his thoughts and feelings become mature and objective. We do not find raw sentimentality in his feelings. His is the love that has stood the test of time, loss, patience and pain. He says:

میں اس سفید پھول کا خدا ہوں
جو میری خود رو محبت میں اگ آیا ہے
پھر بھی آوازوں کے کوکتے جنگل میں
میرے آنسووں کا کوئی گیت نہیں

To describe his feelings, he constantly gets inspiration from nature and draws his images mostly from his immediate physical environment. He also plays freely with Indian mythology. “Achoot khawab ki Brahman aankhien”, “Doosrey gautam ka giyaan”, and “Iss jeewan rutt ki sarhad mei” are replete with Hindi myths. Bold, expressive and blunt… his poems may seem provocative and annoying to some of his readers. His attitude towards love is not something heavenly and otherworldly. It is very much physical and earthly. Even when he finds some solace in it, it is only transitory. Mechanical sweetness of verses and rhyme is not to be found in Imroz’s poems. Mostly written in prose verse, his poetry is intellectual and is more like metaphysical poetry which deals mainly with thoughts, feelings and ideas which grow like weeds on the fertile and adequately equipped plains of his mind. Time and again, the readers can smell his desire to burrow back to the womb of nature offering him comfort in the form of trees, flowers, birds, ants, clouds and many more things.

Human beings in his poems are snared by orthodox social, political and moral dogmas and norms which in the form of traditions threaten their creativity and change them merely into stereotypes and artificial beings with lack of originality and have shattered personalities. Like a liberal humanist, he idealises a society where men can live without hurt, self- pity, guilt and degradation. Differences among social classes are easily traceable in Imroz’s poetry where people try to better their condition but soon find themselves burdened with the futility and heaviness of the toil which becomes all the more purposeless with a sense of constant and unavoidable death and hence makes his poems quite pessimistic. In his poem “Kaumi qaatlo ke liey Spaas naama”, he says:

اور ایک اندھی صبح کے کنارے
بے رنگ دھوئیں میں تیرتے ہوئے
ہم اپنی زندگی سے ہار جائیں گے

Living in a society where terror, insecurity and social injustice have penetrated to every nook, Imroz is very much conscious of the deteriorative effects of foreign interference, international and national political policies and commercialization. “aalmi zaalmo ke naam”, “Parliament” and Sader hummien galey kio nahi lagaatey” give us a clear picture of the world we are living in.

اجلی دنیا تعمیر کرنے کے لیے
مجھے خداوں کے دل چاہیئں
میرے نام لکھے پیغمبروں کے خطوں میں
کہیں نہیں لکھا
کہ اختلاف کا رنگ سُرخ ہے
پھر کیوں ہر روز آلودہ کفن دفنائے جاتے ہیں؟

“Existence itself is a dream”, and when it is combined with the feelings of despair, loneliness and purposelessness, a sensitive heart tries to create a world for himself which is in accordance with his inner self. In this quest, Imroz is on a journey and how much he succeeds in his attempt, only time will prove because “Zindagi aik safar maang rahi hei”.

Image: Duy Huynh

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