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Posts Tagged ‘poverty

Wearing hunger on faces  starving cute children

Wander in lanes selling balloons, hungry children!

The poisonous gunpowder smell is in atmosphere

This perilous atmosphere will kill all lovely children

Enraged ocean is erratic; May Almighty has mercy

To collect sea-shells, gone to beach all my children

The merciless skies now are at peace and tranquil

 Died of thirst on the beach; all beautiful children

…………………….

bhuuk chehroñ pe liye chāñd se pyāre bachche

bechte phirte haiñ galiyoñ meñ ġhubbāre bachche

in havāoñ se to bārūd kī bū aatī hai

in fazāoñ meñ to mar jā.eñge saare bachche

kyā bharosa hai samundar kā ḳhudā ḳhair kare

sīpiyāñ chunñe ga.e haiñ mire saare bachche

ho gayā charḳh-e-sitamgar kā kaleja ThanDā

mar ga.e pyaas se dariyā ke kināre bachche

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The melodious songs I created in thy love

Placed them for public in bazaar in thy love

Today they’ll be auctioned openly in store

The lyrics you had once cast a look of allure

Everything be weighed today in silver scale

My acumen, poetry, stance be mused in scale

The loving poetry I had composed in your love

Poverty bound thy love, to be a product; not love

Hunger has tainted your love in exchange of need

To pacify hunger and to collect my things of need

In this mortal theatre of war of labor and wealth

I can’t keep with me my poetry and insight wealth

Your glamour may be of an affluent man’s legacy

Your sketches I made are not anymore is my legacy

…………………

Fankaar 
 Sahir Ludhianvi 

mai.n ne jo giit tere pyaar kii Khaatir likkhe 
aaj un giito.n ko baazaar me.n le aayaa huu.N

aaj dukaan pe niilaam uThegaa un kaa 
tuune jin giito.n pe rakkhii thii muhabbat kii asaas 

aaj un giito.n ko baazaar me.n le aayaa huu.N 
mai.n ne jo giit tere pyaar kii Khaatir likkhe


aaj chaa.Ndii kii taraazuu me.n tulegii har chiiz 
mere afakaar merii shaayarii meraa ehasaas

dekh is arsaagah-e-mehanat-o-sarmaayaa me.n 
mere naGme.n bhii mere paas nahii.n rah sakate 


tere jalve kisii zaradaar kii miiraas sahii 
tere Khaake bhii mere paas nahii.n rah sakate

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He’s very concerned of poor children

Starving, fading and dying children

Thus he travels far and wide for them

Then takes images of their melancholy

To display in most expensive hotels

To sell those photos to fine art lovers

Who consume food like monsters!
عظیم فن کار
ہ ہ ہ ہ ہ ہ ہ
اسے بھوک سے مرتے
مریل بچوں کا
بہت خیال رہتا ہے
طویل سفر کرکے
ان کی تصویریں بناتا ہے
مہنگے ترین ہوٹلوں میں
نمائش کا اہتمام کرتا ہے
جہاں وہ اور اس کے
فن کے قدر دان
حیوانوں کی طرح
خوراک نگلتے ہیں.

baloons

In fact these souls who sell balloons

In reality sell their breaths to breathe

 3263053830

Targeted Operation

They came—- they searched my home

And they found a love letter

From one of my very old books

And torn to shreds, rose flower!

That got crushed under a long boot

A list of household things

from my old diary

of the last days of the month

that couldn’t be bought;

this list was ironically laughed at

and torn into pieces;

my genuine brilliant dated prose

was taken into custody!

I’m imprisoned now

For the crime of not having

Any ammo for self defense

My children are witnesses against me

And so are my neighbors

Shabeer Soomro

Translated by Tanveer Rauf

 

 

3childrenhazara_kidz
It’s good, they died—–
If they lived, what would they see?
—burning hunger?
—rising poverty?
—homicide everywhere?
–putrefying dead bodies?
dignity and pride being disgraced?
It’s good they died!
If, lived, what would they see?
Immoral and callous conduct
helplessness and despair
inhumanity, hurting humanity
corruption and agitating?
Blessed, not seeing, this
It’s good, they died
If, lived, what would they see?
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Photo0316

My son often saw this old lady picking weeds, dried and withered branches and conked out brooms form the roadside or from someone’s garden. The scorching sun or the icy weather or rains never hindered her way.

Whenever he saw her near his home, he gave her food and some cash. He asked her about her whereabouts and why does she collect useless things. But the language she spoke was French for my son. But they exchanged friendly smiles seeing each other.

One day my son saw her on the roadside plucking flowers and weeds. Fortunately I can speak and comprehend some regional languages of my homeland so he brought her home.

She is a Pathan. What she told me was painful. She said; “I’m a widow. My son is a cobbler. He has six children. All of them are under ten years of age. Her daughter in law is paralyzed. One child is epileptic.”

“Why do you collect grass and weeds?”  I asked in Pashto. “We cook weeds as we can’t afford to buy veggies, leave aside meat.” She said.

“What do you gather torn brooms.” she replied; “I remake brooms and sell them.”I hate begging.  Life is to be lived and cherished! She said chuckling.

One doesn’t have to be educated to be wise, patient and gratified to the Creator. Her gleaming eyes and skeptical smile said so much to me.

Life itself is a living book of knowledge that teaches something unique and new every moment. May we learn and practice what it teaches us. amen


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