Of souls and a flame.


Laa hasab o nasab
Laa guroor Laa takabbur
Laa deen Laa mafaad.
Sutoon-e-Eshq.manrowingboat copy-m.b.m


I, Lalla and Raqs.


gwaran vo’nam kunuy vatsum
Neybra doupanam anndaray atsun;
Suy gav Lali mey vaakh ta vatsun,
Tavay mey hyotum nagay natsun.

My mentor gave me but one percept:
From without withdraw yourself to within and fix it on the Innermost Self.
Taking to heart this one percept,
Naked I began to roam.


All that you are thinking has already been locked somewhere by the raqs of qalam on paper. Most of the times, poets do that. They are prophetic.

In a calm tsk, slowly and gradually nature always throws a time upon its creation, when the fabricated curtains of false hood are pulled apart and reeky truth of apparent paradise is revealed. The truth of loneliness. It’s like being in a street full of hip-hop, buzzing honks, jolly-go-people and with a blink of eye, you find yourself in a center of a deserted and banished street. All alone.  Where there is no boat to come you across, no earth beneath your feet to hold you upright, no sky to shelter you, no hands left to cradle and pat your back, no healer with the hands of Messaih and with no chunk of hope. But with every pain comes a reward. At this moment in time, mother nature also open visions of creator to your eyes. For it’s the creator, who piles the events in your life in a way that you get a chance to hark and see, for the first time in your life, that how close, closer than your breath is your creator. It’s this very time, aloof from the glittering world of logic and numbers, with a heart full of love and tears that you prostrate before the creator and you feel his blessings caressing you.

In this quagmire, when the truth of life is being bestowed upon a man and a transcendence from an immature lurk under earth to a falcon above the skies occurs, man becomes reverend.

As I look back at life with no regrets, but lessons worth treasures, I find that there is no one with you but the creator. People are there only for their own ends and they take your leave with no remorse. In this thought, I come across Lalla, and Raqs on her narration of the same in her verse. And I prostrate before Allah.


aayas vate gayas naa vate
suman satha lusum dho
vuchum chandas har no atha
Yath nav taras dim kyha bha

From a way I came,
by that way I did not return.
And I find myself in midst of enbankment,
not having gone even half the way,
And the day is done, the light has failed.
I search my pockets but not a cowry find:
What shall I pay for the ferry ?

da’mi dithu’m nad pakevu’ni
da’mi dyuthum suum na’th tar
da’mi dithu’m thar fuwalwani
da’mi dyuthum gul na’th khaar

I saw a stream flowing;
Now neither a bank nor a bridge I see.
I saw a bush in bloom;
Now neither a rose nor a thorn I see.

da’mii dhitthu’m ga’j dazu’vu’nii
da’mii dyuthum dh’ha na’th naar
da’mii dhitthu’m Pandavan hu’unz ma’ji
da’mii dhitthu’m kraji mass

I saw the hearth ablaze,
Now neither fire nor smoke I see.
I saw a Pandava Mother,
Now a potters’ wife I see.

Ami pana so’dras nAvi ches lamAn
Kati bozi Day myon meyti diyi tAr
Ameyn tAkeyn poniy zan shemAn
Zuv chum bramAn gara gatshaha.

With a rope of loose-spun thread am I towing
my boat upon the sea.
Would that God hear my prayer
and bring me safe across!
Like water in cups of unbaked clay
I run to waste.
Would God, I were to reach my home!

Lal Ded. Lalla Arifa. Lalleswari. Lalla Ded. A 14th century  saint  poetess of Kashmir.


Doves and hearts.

شریکِ جرم نہ ہوتے تو مخبری کرتے​
ہمیں خبر ہے لٹیروں کے ہر ٹھکانے کی​


Some things come to your heart ‘to stay’. Like a revelation. Surprising! and extraordinarily rare.  After things got the knack of betrayal-hood from people, nothing comes to stay in the heart. Just to touch it, give a burp of fake love and to dismantle the loose sand finally.

This wondrous poem by Azhar Durrani is one such example of something true in its being, that comes to stay, tugged to weary surface of world-ravaged heart. Eternally.

Har che baad a baad’

مرا نصیب ہوئیں تلخیاں زمانے کی​
کسی نے خوب سزا دی ہے مسکرانے کی​

mera naseeb hoyi talkhiyaan zamane ki.
kissi ne Khoob saza di hay muskurane ki.

مرے خدا مجھے طارق کا حوصلہ ہو عطا​
ضرورت آن پڑی کشتیاں جلانے کی​

mere khuda mujhe tariq ka hosla ho atta.
zaroorat aan parrhi kishtiyaan jalaane ki.

میں دیکھتا ہوں ہر اک سمت پنچھیوں کا ہجوم​
الٰہی خیر ہو صیاد کے گھرانے کی​

main dekta hon har ek simt panchio ke hajoom.
Illaahi khair ho sayyaad k gharaaney ki.

قدم قدم پہ صلیبوں کے جال پھیلا دو​
کہ سرکشی کو تو عادت ہے سر اُٹھانے کی​

qadam qadam pe salibon ke jaal phela do.
ke sarkashoon ko tu aadat hay sar uthane ki.

شریکِ جرم نہ ہوتے تو مخبری کرتے​
ہمیں خبر ہے لٹیروں کے ہر ٹھکانے کی​

shareek-e-jurm na hotey tu mukhbari karte.
hamein khabar hay luteroon k har tikhane ki.

ہزار ہاتھ گریباں تک آ گئے ازہر​
ابھی تو بات چلی بھی نہ تھی زمانے کی​

hazaar haath gareebaan tak agaye ‘Azhar’
abhi tu baat chali bhi na thi zamaaney ki

Supplication in Nothingness.


There comes a time when a man realizes that nothing is truth and absolute except for God, the merciful. When there is no sky above the head, no earth beneath the feet, and no hands left to cradle. All alone, left to shambles, in a ruthless mare’s nest. With all the certainty, this time comes in every person’s life, but alas! when this realization strikes most people tend to run over it, dump it to unseen, so they can escape this blue truth of life. Intoxicated with the pleasures of this ephemeral world. 

In such a state of nothingness, on a dusty and weary shelf, I caught hold of an old book co-edited by my grandfather. Flying through the first few pages, I came across a supplication by Hazrat Mulla Moin Kashifi (R.a), which is often recited in mosques and Khanaqah’s of Kashmir. I knew a few lines but to recite it in its totality was a blessing. Specially, coming to know about its author and the fact that Hazrat Mulla Moin Kashifi (R.a) would recite it every day till his transcendence to the world of truth made it even more reverend.

Due to untimely and politically-orchestrated death of Persian in Kashmir, it’s shameful that we remember some of it, recite it, yet are totally blind to the meaning of this Manajaat. With my limited knowledge of Persian, I attempt to translate it..

Chu man pur jurm wa ‘isyaan nam,
Tui’ee Ghaffar yaa Allah,

Encumbered with sins I am,
Yet oh Allah, you are the Merciful.

Chu man baa ‘aib wa nuqsaanam
Tui’ee Sattar Yaa Allah,

Flawed and vanquished I am,
Yet oh Allah, You are the Concealer.

Ba khwab e masti o gaflat,
Ze sartapaa giriftaram,

In a deep slumber of misdeed,
Ambushed, head over heels I am,

Ba Zikr o taaate khud kun,
Mara beydaar Ya allah.

Wake me up to a realm of obedience,
and your remembrance, Oh Allah.

Chunaan kun az karam bar man,
bina’ tauba mustakham

Oh Allah, Bestow upon me
An eternal repentance,

Ke Khwaanam Har zabaan har lahza,
istaghfaar yaa Allah,

That in every dialect, every sigh,
I chant a rosary of forgiveness.

Chu jaure tirah-wa-tar wahshat
numaayad bar man mujrim

When in the darkness of grave,
my soul will trembles with fear,

Bashama’ maghfirat gardaan
pur az anwaar yaa Allah

Illuminate my grave,
with a candle of forgiveness, Oh Allah.

Chunaan kun az karam aasan ,
bahaq e Ahmad e Mursal

Bestow your mercy upon me,
For your love of Muhammad (PBUH),

Azaab -e- qabr chun gardad
mara dushwaar yaa Allah

Mercy that will ease,
the torment of grave, Oh Allah.

Moinudin aasera ki ,
mi naalad basad zaari,

Moinudin, A flawed devotee of you,
Screams with unabated tears,

Gunaham baksh wa imaan ra
Salamat daar ya Allah!

Forgive my sins,
And bestow a strong everlasting faith upon me.


(Manajat by Hazrat Mulla Moin Kashifi R.A)