Writings

Translation — my English rendering of Mirza Ghalib’s original. Mirza Ghalib was the one of the greatest Urdu poet from 19th century. I translated this poem for a school project. I look at the joys of this world, as I look at the dust. Crying used to give me pleasure but now my eyes have gone dry. When I am dead, wind might take my dust to my destination. ...

Who is that is I Still lost in my mind. Trying to find my purpose, When there might not be one. The first thing was writing Can words truly change anything? Why should I write, When there is so much noise Are you in that house, Or are you out here. I will give up now, This desert is just too vast. My voice will not reach you, Is this even a language. ...

Translation — my English rendering of Mir Taqi Mir’s original. Stop crying, this is just the beginning of love. Hold on and see what will be next. In the morning, there were voices in the caravan. Let’s move on and let the sleeper sleep. On this ground nothing can grow. Please stop planting seeds of hopes in your heart. These are marks of true love, they remain forever. It is not possible to wash them away from your heart. ...

Translation — my English rendering of Mir Dard’s original. It was a school or temple, or was it Makkah or a church. We were all guests, only you were the host. Oh! How sad it is. I found just before death. It was only a dream, what I saw. It was only a fairy tale, what I heard. How sad it is that autumn is in the garden. There was some grass, which was my friend. ...

Translation — my English rendering of Allama Iqbal’s original. You are neither for earth nor for the heavens. The world is for you; you are not for the world. This garden is the place for pain and prayer. Not for picking flowers or building a nest. How long will you stay in the rivers of Ravi, Nile, and Farat? Your ship was built for infinite oceans. It was nothing, what we have exaggerated. ...

Translation — my English rendering of Josh Malihabadi’s original. O my friend, a heart does not need hate. All love good but do not even hate bad. Who does not want the softness of flowers? But do not be afraid of sharpness of thorns. There is same blood in the veins of the thorn. It is brought up by same evening breeze of the spring. Do not throw away dying flowers. Yesterday, they were the glamor of the garden. Once they were also part of the world of perfumes. O passerby! Do not kick dust on their leaves. Though they are no longer in the feast. They were raised in the laps of same morning breeze. ...

Feeling so empty, and hollow inside, Cannot believe I am writing a poem to a cigarette, but I feel so unsatisfied, unfulfilled, like this poem, half-finished.

In this hot desert heat, you were a cool breeze gone in a moment just as you came, left me behind to wonder if you will ever return to mess up my hair, to touch my thirsty lips softly you were a sweet dream, vanished with the stars in the morning leaving me to wake up in the blinding sunlight, to look for a shade where there are no trees ...

Translation — my English rendering of Allama Iqbal’s original. This poem was written by my favorite poet Allama Iqbal. I translated it for my English class during my freshman year. “The view up here is the same as ever. We are tired of shining and shining. Our work is to walk, day and night. Walk and walk and walk forever. Everything in this universe is anxious. Peace, whatever it is, does not exist. ...

Translation — my English rendering of Allama Iqbal’s original. I translated this poem in my freshman year for my English class. This is a world of miracles for you. But for me, this is the world of randomness. The world of fantasies is poor, But poorer is the world of births and deaths. It is no wonder that your gaze will change it all, The world of possibilities is calling you. ...