Poetry (English)

In The Mid Of This Road

I sit in the mid of this road,
I sit.

Knees hugging the chest
And arms wrapped around,
Neck bent backwards, eyes up,
I look towards the sky,
The vast spread sky,
With no beginnings no ends.
It is of the colour I like,
Blue, dark blue,
Which at times seems to be black.
I just look at it,
Gaze, blankly stare.
Keeping the thoughts from my mind,
Away, far away,
I try to count the blemished stars
And the ones shining bright.

I sit in the mid of this road,
I sit.

From the shrubbery at the sides,
Comes a beautiful voice.
The crickets I can identify,
But many others, subdued, are there,
Their share I cannot deny.
Together they are playing a tune,
A tune I love, I feel.
The tranquil music of nature,
This peace I need, I need.
In the silence are many voices,
One of them is my breath.
Now that I hear it,
I hear,
The harmonious symphony
Of my warm breaths and cool air.

This stillness, inactivity,
This state of doing nothing.
Just breathing, slowly breathing …
How heavenly it is !

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Poetry (English)

Setting Sun

Setting sun splintered into rubies and carnelians,
Splattering across the vast spread ground.
The hues seep in slowly deep down
The surface of earth,
Colouring the crevices in its colour.
Cracks filled with blood
Beneath the land expand,
Forming roots to little flowers,
Blooming beside the rail tracks.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Poetry (Hindi-Urdu)

फिर हवाओं में

फिर हवाओं में वही आवाज़ सुनाई देती है
वही आवाज़ जो भीड़ में भी तन्हाई देती है

जैसे बुझने से पहले लौ कुछ तेज़ दहकती है
कि ज़मीं पर गिरती पत्तियां अंगड़ाई लेती हैं

निकहत तो आती है‌ हवा के हल्के झोंकों से
आंधी बस चमन-ओ-बाग़ तबाह कर देती है

चमकते सूरज की गर्मी से उसका क्या लेना
वो तो लाश-सी किसी मदफ़न में लेटी है

सुनसान गलियां डरा देती हैं आज भी उसे
हर चीख़ में उसे अपनी चीख़ सुनाई देती है

پھر ہواؤں میں وہی آواز سنائی دیتی ہے
وہی آواز جو بھیڑ میں بھی تنہائی دیتی ہے

جیسے بجھنے سے پہلے لو کچھ تیز دہکتی ہے
کی زمیں پر گرتی پتیاں انگڑائی لیتی ہیں

نکہت تو آتی ہے ہوا کے ہلکے جھونکوں سے
آندھی بس چمن-او-باغ تباہ کر دیتی ہے

چمکتے سورج کی گرمی سے اسکا کیا لینا
وہ تو لاش-سی کسی مدفن میں لیتی ہے

سنسان گلیاں ڈرا دیتی ہیں آج بھی اسے
ہر چیخ میں اس اپنی چیخ سنائی دیتی ہے

© Muntazir
Picture Credit

Poetry (English)

In The Yards

If purity, serenity, peace were a face,
What visage would all the brushes paint?
A little girl smiling,
At the edge of forests
Or a lady at the horizon,
Rising with the sun or the
Old woman with wrinkled face, who
Sits in the backyard with her grandson,
Telling him to feed the birds
When she will be no more.

Purity, Serenity, Peace.
Peace. Peace.
Close your eyes for a moment,
Forget where you are
And imagine a white cloud –
Hanging there, there, up there –
Far away from your reach,
But still you raise your hands
And stand taller on your feet,
Try to catch it, touch it.

The little girl, the lady,
The wrinkled old woman.
Are they three or one?
Who knows! Who knows…
But, all eyes stop to see the cloud
Which floats so high, so heavenly.
All eyes witness the sunrise
At the horizon, so heavenly
And birds chirp each dawn,
In the yards.

© Muntazir
Picture Credit