یارِ فقیراں ز خود رفتہ سفر وست نداد
سیرِ صحرائے جنوں حیف کہ تنہا کردم
When companions left, no hand to guide my journey to its brink,
A pity, in the desert of madness, alone, I’m left to think.
The winter season always brings plenty of joy for me. Before stars disappear, when I sit near my stove watching the fire and writing my thoughts on paper, the satisfaction I obtain leaves me free of the worries of any other form of helplessness.
دل کہ جمع ست، غمِ بے سر و سامانی نیست
فکرِ جمعیت اگر نیست، پریشانی نیست
A heart that’s gathered knows no grief, lacks no worldly wares,
If there are no worries of inner peace, then there’s no need for cares.
However, when I sat before my stove on November 27th (1988) morning to kindle the fire, I found my inner world of feelings empty of this enjoyment. The silent fire started talking as I gave it a spark with a matchstick, but the sound that could match its rhythm from my heart could only be described as a song describing the gushing of blood. Where’s this warmth in the hellfire’s depth?
آتش دوزخ میں یہ گرمی کہاں؟
سوز غم ہائے نہانی اور ہے
The burning sorrow,
It knows no end.
When we start the journey of life, we meet many companions on the way. These companions make plenty of pledges and commitments. To see those pledges transform into reality, we establish plenty of expectations from them, believing their verbal statements. Within no time, we see those pledges of allegiance fall like a house of cards, and the world of expectations turns into the deserted barren land of the Najd Desert.
At the start of the journey, we cannot imagine how hard the realities can turn out, but when their poison enters the veins, the inner side of a human is revealed, and the people recognize each other. If an individual tries to stay loyal, the only reward he gets is the pain of faithfulness and loyalty. Those who decide to leave do so eagerly, while the unfortunate people see off their most beloved people from the station, watching the train move out of the station and standing alone.
نہ گلہ ہے دوستوں سے نہ شکایت زمانہ
No complaint against friends,
no grievance with time.
About nine days ago on November 27th 1988 I had said goodbye to some of my dearest friends The day comes every year but I never felt the burden of memories accumulating on my heart and mind so much Will I ever get another larger-than-life companion As I sat before the heater I unknowingly started repeating the poetic verses I wrote in memory of those companions
مقام شرح جنوں یہ وہی سرور و حضور
نفس نفس وہی تنہا سرود نیم شبی
In the abode of explaining frenzy’s presence majesty does adorn
Breath upon breath sings the solitary a half-uttered song forlorn
مری نگاہ سرابوں کی آرزو کا وجود
کہاں سے آئے ندیموں میں ذوق تشنہ لبی
My gaze yearns for mirages an existence it desires to meet
From whence shall it find the quench amid rivers in thirst so sweet
اسی خطا پہ گرزاں ہیں ہم سفر میرے
کہ میری طبع رواں مصلحت شناس نہیں
Upon this very fault my fellow traveler we diverge you see
My essence flows freely not a pragmatic sojourner like thee
وہ ہم سفر کہ زمانے میں جن کی دھوم ہوئی
مثالِ ماہ تھی تیرہ شبوں میں جن کی جبیں
They, my fellow travelers, whose might had ruled the ages past,
Like the moon of the in thirteen nights, their foreheads’ glory cast.
مرے وجود میں پنہاں وجود کا حاصل
زبانِ شعر میں اپنے معلقات کہوں
The essence of a concealed existence found within my being’s core,
In the language of verse, I express my suspended lore.
مری نواؤں سے اب وہ بھی آشنا نہ رہے
مرے ندیم، میں شہرِ جنوں میں تنہا ہوں
Even the familiar now estranged from my echoing voice’s ring,
Oh, my confidant, I wander alone in the city of frenzy, a solitary king.
مجھے رفیقِ صبوحی کی جستجو ہی رہی
مرے سبو کی حقیقت تہِ سبو ہی رہی
I seek the company of drink mates; that pursuit is my pursuit solely,
Truth of my goblet remains hidden, concealed, and wholly.
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH BY
ABID MEHMOOD HASHMI