aabarqi.blogspot.com

as well as his Facebook account.
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Dr. Saleem Wahid Saleem- a glimpse

By Dr. Shahzad Rizvi

It is high time that the poetry of Dr. Saleem Wahid Saleem get its due. It is now well-known that Dr. Saleem Wahid Saleem (distinguished father of Mr. Muslim Saleem, a prominent journalist and litterateur) worked in obscurity and isolation in Pakistan toward the end of his life. His democratic and liberal views came head to head with dictatorial regimes and extremist tendencies.

His ideal was that the peoples of the world belonging to various religions and ethnic groups pursue their faith according to the dictates of their conscience and live in harmony with one other.

On a personal and micro level, he valued human values more than worldly grandeur. Dr. Saleem has expressed in his Urdu ghazal, "DASTE TALAB NA KAR DARAAZ JAAHO HASHAM NA KAR QUBOOL," what a person should strive for in life. It is a universal truth that poetry in one language does not lend itself well to translation into another language; something unique to its linguistic and poetic tradition is always lost in the transformation. However, I have made an effort at its translation as follows:

Neither ask for, nor accept, the vainglory of this world

Refuse to stoop to begging for coins

Know that your dignity should not be debased

Do not accept the comforts of life for which you must degrade yourself

If you have no gold, silver, pearls or diamonds to give away

Then it is shameful to accept them

Do not complain endlessly of tyranny

Nor shake your fist at Heaven, nor accept an agony of pain

Life is short; hence do not suffer during the lovely Spring

Enjoy the pleasure of the morn and do not accept the sadness of the night

Better to sacrifice the grandeur of a king for dignified poverty,

Choose the simplicity of Arabia and reject the pomp of Persia

O Saleem, bring into your heart a mother's love, not your own ego,

As you love God, refrain from wasting yourself on earthly desires.

Dr. Syeda Imrana Nashtar pays tribute to late brother Syed Irshad Ahmad Rizvi in Urdu & English poems

نظم

دَرد کا رِشتہ

)اپنے مرحوم بھائ سیّد اِرشاد احمد رضوی

کے سوگ میں سو گوار بہن(

ڈاکٹر سیّدہ عمِرانہ نشتر خیرابادی

رات ہے میرے غم کی پر چھایئں

دِن دِل کے   زخموں کا اُ جالاہے

پھِر بھی میں نہیں ہوں تنہا

کا یئنات کی ہر شے   مِرے ساتھ سو گوار ہے

شریِک غم ہے یہ اُداس اُداس چاند

سِتاروں کی رنگت بھی زرد ہو گئ ہے

بادلوں کا دِل بھرا بھرا ہے

زمیں کی آنکھ میں بھی نمی ہے

پہاڑوں کے چہرے سانولا گئے ہیں

آبشارں کی چال میں بے کلی ہے

بِجلیوں کے   سینے میں تڑپ بھر گئ ہے

ہوا کی سانس میں وحشت بج رہی ہے

قلبِ سمندر میں ہے شور بپا

مو جیں سر پٹکتی ہوئ بے حال ہو گیئں ہیں

شجر سر گو شیاں کر رہے ہیں

’’ یہی شخص کیوں نِگاہ میں آیا؟

اِسے ہی فلک نے کیوں نِشانہ بنایا؟

یہ عشق و محبّت کی باتیں ہیں

ہم کو تُم کو معلوم نہیں

رب جِس کو زیادہ چاہتا ہے

درد   اُسی کو دیتا ہےــــ”

-0-

TRUE EMPATHY

(Dadicated to my dear brother late Syed Irshad Ahmad Rizvi)

Dr. Syeda Imrana Nashtar Khairabadi

The night is the shadow of my sorrow

The day is the light of my burning wounds

Even then I am not lonely

The whole universe is sharing in my grief

The moon is sad

The stars have turned pale with agony

The eyes of the earth filled with tears

The face of mountain is darken with grief

The waterfalls are restless

There is pain and pang in the lightening

There is shuddering in the breath of wind

And turbulence in the bosom of ocean

The waves thrashing frenzy become distraught

The trees are whispering

“Why did this JOB came into sight?

Why this is made target by the cruel destiny?

This is a matter of higher and super love

What do we mortals know of this?

Whom He loveth best, gives the suffering most

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Tribute to Salahuddin Pervez

Noted Urdu poet and writer Salahuddin Pervez has died. He was a good friend of Muslim Saleem. Here is a poetic tribute to him by Amhad Ali Barqi Azami. (Posted by Muslim Saleem on October 28, 2011)

Naheen rahe ab Mansha Yaad by Barqi Azami

Noted Urdu poets Mansha Yaad has passed away. Here is a poetic tribute to him by Amhad Ali Barqi Azami. (Posted by Muslim Saleem on October 16, 2011).

Famous qawwal Maqbool Sabri passes away

Noted qawwal Maqbool Ahmed Sabri (Who paired with Ghulam Fareed Sabri to become best qawwal pair in the sub-continent) passed away at Lahore on September 21 due to heart problem in South Africa on Wednesday. He was 66. He was suffering from heart disease and was under treatment at a hospital there. Maqbool was born on Oct 12, 1945 in Kalyana.Here is a tribute by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi to Maqbool Sabri.

Nazr-e-makhdoom mohiuddin by ahmad ali barqi azmi

Posted by: urdunewsblog on: June 21, 2011

Topical Poem on father’s Day یومِ پدر: ایک موضوعاتی نظم

AHMAD ALI BARQI AZMI

AAJ HAI YAUM E PEDAR JIS KO MANATE HAIN PESAR

HAIN NAII QADRON KE AB AASAAR HAR SOO JALWA GAR

HAIN HAMESHA WAJEBUL TAZEEM MADAR AUR PEDAR

FARZ HAI HUM PAR KAREIN TAZEEM UN KI UMR BHAR

KAR O BAAR E ZINDAGI HAI YAUM E MADAR AUR PEDAR

YAAD RAHTE HAIN UNHEIN YEH AALAMI MAKHSOOS DIN

ZINDAGI BHAR JO NAHIN RAKHTE KABHI UN KI KHABAR

JAARI O SAARI RAHE GA YEH MAKAFAAT E AMAL

YAAD RAKHEIn YEH PESAR HONGE KABHI WOH BHI PEDAR

KARTE HAIN AULAD KI KHOON E JIGAR SE PARWARISH

KYON NAHIN RAKHTI HAI YEH AULAD PHIR UN KI KHABAR

HAZRAT E YAAQOOB NE KHO DI THI APNI ROSHNI

IS SE YEH SABIT HUA AULAD HAI NOOR E NAZR

MAAN LEIN AHMAD ALI BARQI KA HAI YEH MASHWARA

JAISA JO BOTA HAI MILMARTA HAI USE WAISA SA

Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi - ghazal 'na mein, na tu'

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Khalid Ahmad turns 68Khalid Ahmed, the composer of this world-famous she’r

~Tark-e-Talluqat pay roya na tu na mein~

~laikin ye kia k chain say soya na tu na mein ~~

Has turned 68. At Alhamra Adabi Baithak Lahore, the 68th birthday of Khalid Ahmed (Noted poet and column writer of Pakistan) was celeberated.

A large number of poets , column writers and literarry writers attended the ceremony.including Amjad Islam Amjad , Najeeb Ahmed , Khawaja Muhammad Zikrya ,Ali Asghar Abbas , Hafeez Tahir, Sarwar Hussain Naqsh bandi, Saad-Ullah Shah, Atif Javed Atif , Arshad Shaheen, Qaim Naqvi and many others. (posted by Muslim Saleem on June 10, 2011)

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MF Husain - poetic tribute by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi

Maqbool Fida Husain, 95, the renowned contemporary and progressive artist who put India on the world's art map, died today in London's Royal Brompton hospital, after a month of illness. Husain died of a heart attack at the Royal Brompton Hospital in London.

Considered to be the pioneer of Indian avant garde, Husain has been both adulated and hated. A Padma Shree, Padma Bhushan and Padma Vibhushan awardee, Husain first came into controversy when his first 'anti-Hindu' work, nude depictions of Indian goddesses, was published in 1996. Death threats by Hindu fanatics resulted, as did legal petitions by BJP and RSS and vandalism of Husain's art exhibitions. Husain finally had to leave the country in self-imposed exile after the controversial Bharatmata painting of 2006.. Here is a poetic tribute to MF Husain by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi. (Posted by Muslim Saleem on June 9, 2011)

The Battle of Life – a poem by Dr. Shahzad Rizvi

I was hung over this morning
From life’s assault.
I could hardly move an emotion, a thought.
Lovers, beasts, spouses came and tried
To rid me of this affliction
But nothing helped.
Like a stifled desire
I lay there motionless
While the world criss-crossed me,
Sneering, jeering,
Branding me misguided, misanthrope, misfit.
Invective missiles flew around me
My shameless body repelled most of them
But one managed to puncture my fragile skin
My heart splattered all over the universe
Creating Rorschach blots of pain and frustration.
I had thought my reason for being was my own happiness,
My life was a gift to me from Nature,
I could do whatever I wished with this precious possession.
But that is not what the self-appointed life-planners believed.
They went to work, and when they were done,
Nothing but a speck of dust was left.

(Posted on June 5, 2011 by muslim saleem)

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Article on Atif Javed Atif’s collection of poems ‘Darr Lagta Hai”Published in Daily Pakistan news on May 30 (posted by Muslim Saleem)

Little Bird - a poem by Dr. Syeda Suhela Nashtar Khairabadi

Little Bird

Dr. Syeda Suhela Nashtar Khairabadi

I am a little bird

I sing lovely songs

I wake up early

I go to sleep early

I am a little bird

My melodies wake up the world

And fill the hearts with joy

I have discovered the secreat of life

" Be happy and keep others happy

And fill the world with your melodies"

This is my message to the world.

OOOOOO

TUBE BABY – a short story by Dr. Shahzad Rizvi

Samantha, popularly called Sam, was very curious about her father—or more accurately, about the donor of the sperm which became responsible for her existence. She would lie in bed late into the night, wondering about him—what kind of man he was, what he did, what he looked like. She, herself, had a tall and statuesque figure, alabaster skin and gazelle-like eyes. Obviously, she had inherited all of this from him. Her mother had been bestowed many gifts by nature, but looks and figure were not among them. Often, Sam would stand in front of a full-length mirror, gazing at her reflection, trying to picture how he must look, trying to imagine being face to face with him. But it was an exercise in futility which always ended in frustration. How can I know? she thought.

She tried to quiz her mother about him, but never got very far. The most she got out of her was, “My requirement for the donor was that he should be handsome, intelligent, educated, and ideally free from any hereditary illnesses, and they said he fulfilled all the requirements. Now, I have a beautiful, smart daughter, and I’m quite satisfied.” It was well and good for her as a highly ambitious career woman—having a child without the entanglements of a marriage—but, with the passage of time, being fatherless became more and more of an emotional problem for Sam.

She found refuge in communicating with like-minded members of the Tube Baby Association. Much to her joy, she friended a member named Richard on Facebook and they planned to text message each other that night. Though only their common quest for paternal identity brought them together, she discovered that they had lots in common. They both liked nature, Indian food, and creative writing. Oh yes—and poetry, too. They exchanged numbers and they soon began to finish each other’s thoughts, as they texted.

One day, in a rather stirred emotional state, she arranged the pictures that she had of herself and of Richard side by side, realizing how much they looked like a couple. The time had come for them to see each other in person. It could wait no longer. Many a night she would lie awake, thinking of him, fantasizing about him. But, there was a problem. A whole continent lay between them; she lived in Washington D.C. and he in San Francisco. They often talked about getting together, but something always got in the way. Finally, he made arrangements to fly to the East Coast, so they could meet in person.

Sam was excited, looking forward to sharing the news with Richard that she was finally getting somewhere in her search for, as she called him, her test-tube dad. She’d been able to track down the SDA, short for Sperm Donor Agency. Everyone there was sympathetic and wanted to help, but cautioned, “Privacy laws on donation are in flux. We can’t give you the donor’s information, but we can try to contact him. Then it’ll be up to him to get in touch with you. No guarantees.” Time hung heavy on Sam’s heart as she waited. Every time the phone rang, her pulse would race and she would rush to the phone, only to be disappointed when she picked it up to find again that it wasn’t him.

At the airport, Sam’s eyes darted from person to person looking for Richard. She had no difficulty in spotting him among the swarm of travelers pouring out of the plane. She threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over. They both laughed. He was exactly like she’d known he would be and they immediately clicked. It was as if they had known each other forever.

As they drove away from Reagan National, a ring came on her cell phone. “Hello?” Sam said into the Bluetooth in a nervous tone.

“Am I speaking to...S-S-a-m-m?” a male voice inquired. Sam’s voice was choked and she couldn’t speak for several seconds. “Hello. Can you hear me?”

Sam composed herself enough to be able to speak. “Yes, I can hear you. This is Sam. I’m driving.”

“So, this doesn’t seem to be good time for you to take my call?”

“No, no, it’s a very good time, sir.”

“The SDA got in touch with me and said you were eager to talk to me.”

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I’m your daughter.” There was silence for a while. She could hear nothing but the sounds of traffic. “Hello?”

“Apparently, I donated sperm to your mother through the SDA. That was a long time ago.”

“You’re my father!”

“I had stipulated that I would remain anonymous as a donor.”

“I want to meet you. Where are you right now?”

There was more silence. “I…I…I…am in a car…on Constitution Avenue.”

“Right here in Washington, D.C?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you please meet me by the Washington Monument? It will be hard to miss. I’m returning from the airport after picking up a friend. I can be there in 20 minutes.” For half a minute, she could hear nothing but his heavy breathing punctuated by noisy cars and blaring sirens. “Please…sir.”

“...All right. If you insist.”

“How will I know you?”

“I’ll be wearing dark-rimmed glasses, a beige suit, and carrying a black case. I use a cane and walk with a limp.”

Hearing about the limp, Sam felt a stab in her heart, but she didn’t let it dampen her excitement. Before she could say anything, he had hung up.

Richard spoke just then. “Now I can tell you that I too have found my donor father and have spoken to him on the phone several times. I didn’t want to tell you before you found yours, so you wouldn’t feel bad.”

But Sam didn’t answer him. She was preoccupied with conjuring up all kinds of images of the upcoming encounter. She was hearing her father’s shaky, jerky voice, with the words stammering out of his mouth.

“He told me that it would not be a good idea for us to meet.” Richard spoke again, but Sam barely heard him, as if he were speaking from the other side of a tunnel. “You’re lucky you’re meeting yours. I’m happy for you.”

As they walked toward the tall monument, she could see men in every imaginable garb—probably all tourists—but not one wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a beige suit was in sight. Richard suggested that they walk around the monument, and they did—twice. Still, they didn’t see any sign of him. With the passage of every moment, Sam was getting more anxious. What if he changed his mind and decided not to see me, she fretted?

“That must be him,” Richard shouted at the same moment that she spotted him in the distance. A figure that fitted the description was limping towards the monument. With quickened steps, Sam rushed forward, leaving Richard behind. Many emotions rose and fell within her tender heart. When he got close, she was startled by the lack of any expression on his face.

“S…s…a…m?” he asked, as if her name set off his stutter.

“Yes, I’m Sam.”

“I’m the donor that you’ve been wanting to meet.”

“I’m so happy to meet you. Shall we go somewhere where we can visit? Talk? Do you mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. You were eager to see me and now you have…but now I must be going.”

“Why won’t you give her a little time?” Richard shouted from behind her.

“Because that wasn’t part of the deal…it wasn’t part of the agreement. All of that happened a long, long, time ago when I was a poor student and needed money to survive. I have a different life now…a wife, children, a home, a respectable job and a position in society. I have a lot to lose, if people come to know about this...” He suddenly became quiet. Staring at Richard, he asked, “And who would you be?”

Sam turned around and said, “I’m sorry. This is Richard. He just arrived from San Francisco. We met through the Tube Baby Association.”

“So, he is also a tube baby?” He paused and looking intently at Richard, said, “You’re not the Richard of San Francisco who has also tracked me down…and has been calling me day and night?”

“Oh, my God! Are you the one? I had no idea. What a coincidence!” Sam was stunned and shouted, “So, you’re Richard’s father, too?”

“No…sperm-donor! Let’s call a spade a spade. Now that you have both seen me, I should be going.” He turned around with quickened steps and limped away. They both stood there looking at his receding figure until it disappeared in the crowd.

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Ghazal with takrar-e-lafzi by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi

Here is a ghazal by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi, in which he has used takrar-e-lafzi (repetition of words) because of which the beauty of ghazal has enhanced (Posted by Muslim Saleem on May 27, 2011).

Maullim Hassan Badr - tribute by Barqi Azmi

Muallim Hassan Badr died in a road accident on May 24, 2011. The death of founder of bhatkally.org has come as a shock to many. Presented below is a poetic tribute by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi (Posted by Muslim Saleem on May 26, 2011).

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Majrooh Sultanpuri death anniversary May 24 - tribute in poem by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi

Majrooh Sultanpuri had died on May 24. Here is a poetic tribute by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi. (See Majrooh Sultanpuri's profile and pictures with Muslim Saleem in "urdu poets and writers of india" on khojkhabarnews.com "Indian poets and writers" on muslimsaleem.wordpress.com) (Posted by Muslim Saleem on May 24, 2011)

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Ghazal by Ahmad Ali Barqi Azmi

(Posted by Muslim Saleem – May 22, 2011

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Nashtar Khairabadi – ghazal ‘nigah=e=kafirana’

Other poets and writers of Urdu