Posts Tagged ‘memory’
Shedding tears day and night is fresh memory
That time of passionate love is fresh memory
Feeling nearby to you and spick and span with
Your blushing and biting finger’s fresh memory
My dragging your veiling wrap all of a sudden
Then hiding thy face with thy veil is fresh mind
Seeing you and no-one else, I formally talked
Opened my heart to you; is yet fresh in mind
Glancing at me with searching eyes repeatedly
Got heated after babying you, is fresh in mind
Coming bare footed in sizzling summer day
On the rooftop to call me, is fresh in memory
Chupky chupky raat din Aansu bahana yaad he
Hum ko ab tak aashki ka wo zamana yaad he
Tujh Se kuch milty hi wo bebaak ho jana mera
Or tera danto me wo ungli dabana yaad he
Khanch leta wo mera Pardy Ka kona dafatan
Or dupaty se tera wo muh chupana yaad he
Tujh ko tanha jab kabhi paana to az rah lihaz
Hale dill baton hi baton me jatana yaad he
Dekhna mujh ko jo bar guzrashta to so so naaz se
Jab mna lena to phir khud roth jaana yaad he
Dopehr ki dhop me mujh ko bulanay k liye
Wo tera kothy pe naangy paaon aana yaad he
All the night long where a sad lamp flickers
Is such a dwelling on the way of blowy airs;
She would ardently love me; so to leave later
I was well aware of this skillfulness of hers
She has deserted me at a situation where
When I forget her, her memory appears
So Mohsin, I could’t sleep calmly any night
As she sometimes comes on roof at night
Tamam shab jahan jalta hai ik udas diya
Hawa ki rahon main ik aaisa ghar bhi aata hai
Woh mujhe toot ke chahay ga chor jaye ga
Mujhe khabar thi usay yeh hunar bhi aata hai
Wafa ki konsi manzil pe choda hai us ne
Ke woh yaad hamain bhool ker bhi aata hai
Isi liye main kisi shab na so saka “MOHSIN”
Woh maahtab kabhi baam per bhi tu aata hai
(By Mohsin Naqvi)
Even if we break the tradition
For being getting forlorn
Refrain from loving; then–?
Will there be no rain again??
Weathers won’t transform?
No funfair no amusement ever again?
Will the rain never downpour again ?
Missing someone madly
Will love come to an end?
Will the birds never chant again?
The butterflies will never flutter
On blossoming flowers again
Won’t kids chase butterflies again?
The partridge, to reach the moon
Will fail to remember its direction
Stars will not twinkle in the sky to show
Gentle wind will not enliven the garden
Rising sun rays won’t caress flowers
The sunrays that sang melody on sea shore
Will no longer hum, thus travelers will mislay
Live and stride aimlessly astray losing their way,
Will fade away unnamed, no one to moan
No one to shed tears in memory, No one to groan
Will the eyes gaze into environs?
After that afar beyond the horizon
Or to search for the hidden away fortune
What if we break the tradition?
For being getting forlorn
Refrain from loving; then–?
We breathe life the way we like
Or breathe our very last breath
Is no one’s apprehension then!
محبت چھوڑ بھی دیں ہم
چلو گر تنگ آ کر اک روایت توڑ بھی دیں ہم
محبت چھوڑ بھی دیں یم
تو کیا ہوگا۔۔۔۔۔؟
زمیں پر مومسموں کا
پھر کبھی میلہ نہیں ہوگا
نہ برکھا ویسے برسے گی
کہ دل تڑپے کسی کو یا د کرکے پھر
محبت ختم ہوگی کیا۔۔۔۔۔۔؟
گُل و بُلبُل کے قصے
پھر نہیں دۃُرائے گا کوئی
نہ تتلی پھول پر رقصاں کبھی ہوگی
نہ بچے صحن گُلشن میں
بس اک تتلی پکڑنےکےلئے
بے چین یوں ہونگے
چکوری چاند کی چاہت میں
رستہ بھول جائے گی
نہ تارے جھلملا ئیں گے
فلک پر راہبر بن کر
صبا پھر کیا کرے گی آ کے گُلشن میں
طلوُع ہوگا جو سورج
اُس کی کرنیں گُل نہ چومیں گی
لب دریا ہوا جو قصہ مہرو وفا کا
گایا کرتی تھی نہ گائے گی
مُسافر راہ چلتے راہ سے بھٹکیں گے گم ہونگے
جئیں گے پھر یونہیں
بے نام سی اک زندگی
شاید مریں گے تو بھی
کوئی آنکھ نہ آنسو بہائےگی
محبت ہی نہ ہوگی
جب بھلا آنسو بہیں گے کیوں
مگر آنسو بہیں نہ پھر
بھلا آنکھیں کریں گی کیا ۔۔۔؟
محظ تکتے ہی رہنا دُور تک
خالی خلا میں کیا مقدر میں لکھا ہوگا ۔۔۔۔؟
روایت توڑ بھی دیں ہم
محبت چھوڑ بھی دیں ہم
جئیں پھر ہم کسی کو کیا۔۔۔؟
مریں گے تو بھی کیا ہوگا۔۔۔؟
Posted by: Tanveer Rauf on: November 19, 2011
• In: Food for thought | parent
Every father is a guard, a support, a provider and a caretaker of his family. So was my father Syed Fazle Ali. He was very good-humoured, intellectual with beyond belief memory, but, he was an utter honest, affectionate and straightforward down to earth man. He was a self made. He being very intelligent, qualified all his exams with flying colors. After completing his education he joined Indian Railways as Station Master
After Independence he was transferred to Lalamusa.
He moved to Karachi after retirement , where most of his relatives had settled after migration from India.
My father (we called him Babuji) being straightforward and service man was oblivious of business tactics. Some of his friends asked him to buy shops out of his provident fund rent out the shops to enjoy his retired life.
Babuji rented out two shops and opened a cloth shop to run it himself. He had no previous experience of business. He had two hobbies. One was to increase his English vocabulary. For that he loved to read thesaurus and second hobby was to read Ibn e Safi’s detective Imran series. During this activity if any one came to buy cloth he used to get very angry for being disturbed. Refusing he asked them to buy from shops but not to disturb him
since he was so absorbed in reading that didLadies knew very well how simple he was. They would hide stuff from his sight and take away free of cost. My father was least concernedn’t even bother while other shopkeepers smiled at my father’s simplicity and carefree attitude towards business.
He thought that he is fair and honest so are all people around him.
He would go out for lunch or tea break leaving the shop open. After returning he found his shoes or coat or other necessary items missing. He would grumble at unseen thieves and again started reading either dictionary or Ibn e safi. Often ladies who knew his nature very well asked him to give fabric according to their requirement on credit. My father being kind and generous always did. He noted dates, names and amount religiously in his register. But no lady ever returned to pay back his money
End result was that his shop was getting empty but his register was getting fewer pages for the credits buyers.
He was very strict in his rules and principles. He never ever gave any piece of cloth free of cost to my brother
My brother always bought on cash payment.
So after some years my brother asked him to wind up his business as he had gained enough business experience and born quite heavy loss
The other shops were sold too. How, why, when and by whom they were sold out is still a mystery
Babuji lived in Karachi where as mother n I lived with brother in Peshawar. Babuji slipped in wash room while taking shower. His hip joint got fractured. My brother and I came from Peshawar. The doctor told my brother that father has astonishing memory. My father told the name the make and the taste of the medicine to the doctor though his eyes were closed and he was not fully conscious after surgical treatment.
He had tasted that medicine some thirty years back in India.
After he got slightly stable my brother asked him to accompany us to Peshawar.
This is part I. If readers like it then I will write more about my Babuji’s first ever flight from Karachi to Peshawar and much more
I am sure my dear Babuji must be smiling high up in the heavens reading all this about him, I have all respect and love for him.
…and I translated this piece of Asad Muhammad Khan in memory of late husband.
Do not think we have forgotten you
This mud was dear to you
Just know, to sleep, we laid you
The flowery years that has long-gone
We cherished every moment
Of you in those flowery years
We missed you every moment
Whom you always remained close to
To them even today, you are close to
People you loved dearly yesterday
You are still loved by them even today
You are father, brother, and son too
So are you a husband too
And a pride for your motherland too
Like the Sun you were yesterday
Like the Sun you are today