Friday, December 26, 2008

Faiz on Love - by Abida Parveen


Gul hui jaati hai afsurda sulagti hui shaam
Dhul ke niklay gi abhi chashma-e-mahtab se raat
Aur mushtaaq nigaahon ki suni jaaye gi
Aur un hathon se mas hongay yeh tarse huay haath….

The morose evening is lost in the silhouette of a fading sun
But soon, it will come out bathed in the moonlit night
And those eager eyes will be heard to, one more time
and these longing fingers will be entwined with those fingers again

Un ka aanchal hai ke rukhsaar keh payrahan hai…
Kuch to hai jis se hui jaati hai chilman rangeen…
Jaanay us zulf ki mauhoom ghani chaaoon mein…
Timtimataa hai woh aawayzah abhi tak keh nahi…

Is this the decorated end of your sari, or the colors on your face, or the way you've dressed
There has to be something, that has made the curtains (that hide you) so colorful
I wonder, if in the thick dark tresses of her long hair,
does it(the moon) still twinkle, hanging, suspended, still yearning for thee?

Aaj phir husn-e-dil aaraa ki wohi dhaj hogi…
Wohi khaabeedah si aankhein wohi kaajal ki lakeer…
Rang-e-rukhsaar pe halka sa woh gaazay ka ghubaar…
Sandali haathon pe dhundli si hina ki tehreer…

Tonite, the beauty of my beloved will show itself in the same resplendent glory
Those dreamy eyes, and those black eyelashes
the color of her cheeks flushed with the pink of roses (cosmetics/powder)
and those hands smelling of sandal, decorated with beautiful Hina designs

Apnay afkaar ki ashaar ki duniya hai yehi…
Jaanay mazmoon hai yehi, shahid-e-ma'anaa hai yehi…
Apna mauzoo-e-sukhan inke siva aur nahi
Tabba shayar ka vatan inke siva aur nahin

This is the world of the couplets and my thoughts
Such is the essense of my writings, such is the fate of this doomed poet.
there is no other subject of my conversataions,
The mood of the poet wanders in no other kingdom but that of the beloved

Yeh Khoon Ki mahak hai ki labe yaar ki khushboo
Kis raah ki - Jaanib se saba aati hai dekho
Gulshan mein bahar bahaar aayi ki zinda hua abad
Kis sang se naghmon ki sada aati hai dekho

Is this the warm smell of blood, or the sweet fragrance of beloved's lips
From which direction is this wind blowing, someone go and check
Can you feel, with the arrival of spring, that the estranged have come alive
You must go and check who is the stone-hearted that sings the song of serenade!

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