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.
Other day on TV, I saw some archaeologist digging up dinosaur bones. It looked so much fun, they are out in sun, in mud, discovering lost history. Archaeologist has to be the best job in the world. Of course, my childhood heroes were all archaeologists, Indiana Jones, Lara Croft. So I might be a bit biased.
Other cool professions, I think, are photographer and writer.
As a photographer, you work when you want, where you want. Not all type of photographers have this freedom. But a travel/adventure photographer can do it.
And as a writer, you can also work when & where you want. Write in a coffee shop, on beach, in pool, while camping. You don’t even need anything more advanced than pen & paper. You can always type it later or have someone else do it for you.
Old Post Migrated from My Old Blog
This poem was written by my favorite poet Alama Iqbal. I translated it for a 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.
Everything is being tortured by time.
Stars, man, trees, rocks, Everything.
Will this journey ever end?
Will we ever see our destination?”
“My friends,” replied the moon,
“O travelers in the field of the night.
Life happens because of the movement.
This is the old culture of this universe.
Time’s horse flies.
Because it is hit by the lash of desires.
On this path, it is not possible to stop.
Because death is hidden within rest.
Those who strived have left us behind.
And those who slept are crushed.
The end of this journey is true beauty.
It begins with true love and ends with true beauty.”
You are neither for this earth nor for that sky.
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 for building a nest.
How long will you stay in the Ravi, Nile, and Farat?
Your ship was built for endless oceans.
It was nothing, what we have made it.
We made it more, just for our fantasies.
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
you were a beautiful song
which I cannot hear anymore in this noise
I tried dancing to you
but there was no floor
a wish which cannot be fulfilled, a desire which will never die
my hope was in vain but I held on to it.
you were a magic happened in a blink of an eye
just as a shooting star disappears in the night sky
you were a poem written with an ink
on paper left in the rain, washed away before I could read.
A sad poem by Mir Taqi:
Stop crying, this is just the beginning of love.
Hold on and see what will be next.
In the morning, voices were in the caravan.
Let’s move on and let the sleeper sleep.
On this ground nothing can grow.
Please stop planting seeds of wishes in your heart.
These are marks of true love, they remain forever.
It is not possible to wash them away from your heart.
Time was more important than anything else in my life.
And Mir, I wasted my time foolishly.
This is an old school project. I translated one of my favorite poem from Urdu.
Poem by Mir Dard
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.
This place is getting chaotic with all these people coming and going.
My heart used to be the place for your peace.
It is useless to remember them, try to be happy.
Dard, it is not important if they remember me or not.
This is one of my favorite song by Junoon. I am not sure if I translated this or copied from somewhere. Google search shows only my site.
As I turn back, my eyes dampen
When I realized my incomplete life
My life became clear to me
Seek time’s tender shade
Yesterday too, was in ruins
Now is deserted as well
Life asks for a moment of support
Won’t let me sleep due to grief
Won’t let me live.
This is one of my favorite poem. It was written in Urdu by Josh Malih Abadi. I translated it for my English class in college.
O my friend, a heart needs no hate.
Everyone loves 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 beauties of the garden.
Once they were also part of the world of scents.
O passerby! Do not kick dust on their leaves.
Though they are no longer in the party.
They were raised in the laps of the morning breeze.
Living or not living, all are basically one.
Earth and heavens, both were made from one.
There are millions of idol, but God is one.
All hearts are different, but feeling is one.
They sell same clothes, but shops are different.
The meanings are the same, but the languages are different.
The lightkeeper is also human.
And the one who is lost in the dark sea is also human.
The best friend is also human.
And the worst enemy is also human.
It doesn’t matter if you run away from death or life.
But, O Human! Never run away from humans.