(Page No.2)

O,What a stab of pain has forced thy minstrel

To burst out into elegy

Instead of singing a hymn

It’s an elegy to bemourn

Those who are being massacred in Karbala

By the cruel hand of time

Perhaps Karbala is fated

To be the perpetual source of elegy

Why does the The blood of Hussain continue to flow

Over centuries

I undertake to dig up the history of Karbala

And see why this land has ever been blood thirsty

Why every Yazid chooses this land

To fight his wars

(Page No.3)

Why is it the place

Where fathers are seen picking up

The bits of their sons’ bodies

Why is it here that we always see

Mothers bewailing the death of their sons?

Why don’t things change here

As they do everywhere else

Inspire my despairing heart

To burst out into an elegy

Alas! Thy followers have lost

Even the courage to bewail

The death of their loved ones

Our poets have lost their voice

Is it fear or hope of some gain

That holds them silent?

My Benefactor, let me say

That they are dirty hypocrites

I wish the fingers with which they hold the pen

Were chopped off

Why are the mourners of Hussain silent

Now that a new cast is enacting

The tragedy of Karbala

On the same stage

Someone must write an elegy

Of burning houses, bleeding heads

Someone must write that Karbala

Cannot avow loyalty to a usurper

That bombs cannot destroy the spirit

Of fighting for the right

(Page No.4)

He ought to write of blood soaked doves

Of bombs tied to olive boughs

He ought to write a cry for peace on earth

The red light lingering in the West

Forebodes another night of woe

My Master, my Saviour, be witness

I call upon those who write

About the sacredness of human life

Who claim to be torch-bearers

Of humanism and love for all

Who cannot bear to see a cat in pain

I call upon them to write

Of the weird civilization that has come up

From the darkest ditch of hell

With tanks and bombers all around

Destroying innocent human life

To get at the wells of oil

Which are my source of living

I call upon Nobel laureates

Whose work for peace is lauded

And richly paid in medals and in cash

Why don’t they cry for peace

Why don’t they write about Iraq

And Palestine, Afghanistan and Kashmir

Perhaps they can not challenge Bush

I salute those brave tribes

That have rebelled against the unjust rule

Of Hitler of the day

(Page No.5)I call upon those

Who sing of love

Who claim to be the sons of Christ

Yes, Christ who brought dead people back to life

Sure his faith does not permit massacre

He was the man who sacrified his life

For the love of mankind

He preached forbearance and forgiveness

Why are his followers mum

At what they see in Iraq, Afghanistan and Kashmir

Perhaps they take gunfire for light

Bomb blasts for ceremonial fireworks

I call upon those who say

That love greets torture with a smile

It can make water burn as oil

It can embrace the blazing flames

If put to it like Ibrahim , the Prophet

Come, all you lovers of mankind

Shed tears if not water on these flames

(Page No.7)

Everybody in the world

Has the right to live as he likes

None should enslave

The sons of mothers born free

I also pray for perfect peace

I wish the muzzles of guns

Should serve as nests

For birds of peace

I wish the landmines

To sprout into olive trees

Impossible though it seems

It is not so for God

For God is God

HE can make all this happen

I only need thy voice to plead my case

(Page-8)

My arms have been cut off

By enemies of thy faith

I was not armed because I had not come to fight

I came to sue for peace

They laughed at me

Then fell on me

And hacked off both my arms

And then they gouged my eyes

And then they left me to my fate

(Page No.9)

The cities are asleep

The dark night is

Bespangled with sparks

The gunpowder crust thickens on the broken walls

And on the ground, littered with broken bodies,

The wounded don’t groan

Their throats are choked by dust and smoke

The air is thick with dust and smoke and smell of blood

(Page No.10)

Help, O Saviour of the helpless

The pirates of oil have come to plunder

The land of thy devotees

To syphon every drop of oil

And ship it to their land

We’re a prey to conspiracies,

Frauds and blackmailing, and shattering blows

By Lethal arms and lethal media

Help us O’Saviour, with thy grace

Ask Allah give us courage and foresight

For that is what we need

(Page No.11)

When I hear of the torture cells

In Guatenamo Bay

Of Muslim captives on the grill

Of clanging chains on bleeding hands and legs

Then I remember Abid,

Son of Hussain, a prisoner

Subject to similar torment

Just because he did not say his father was a traitor

How could he say that. when he knew

His father was not wrong

He was a righteous rebel, not a traitor

Abid : Eldest son of the Prophet’s grandson, Imam Hussain.

(Page No.12)

A shock of horror threw me off my feet

When I heard of the death warrant

Of someone who refused to vow

Allegiance to the usurper

A replay of the tragedy

That was enacted in Karbala

Some fourteen centuries ago

A camp’s again ablaze

The inmates are no soldiers

They are bereaved wives and kids

Of those who had rebelled

Against the tyrant’s rule

But this time it is not a clash of swords

(Page-13)

Tears from Baghdad

The wind brought the clouds of grief

Made of tears

There was a shower followed by dark right

Seeing the city sunk in darkness,

I trembled, and cried out:

(Page-14)

My mind is lacerated

With harsh noises

My body is scalded from head to foot

The lines of fortune on my hands

He been erased by burns

The morning of oppression

Has brought a flood of Muslim blood

Which sweeps across the desert

This sunless morning has no light

Except that of the flames

Which rise from bursting bombs

Warplanes hovering overhead

Are distributing lethal light

The whisperings on the banks

Of Euphrates, that

Are now resounding in the streets

The armed forces of Yazid

Are patrolling the empty roads

Amid the torn and mangled bodies

Of thy devotees

The scene reminds me of Muharram

(Page-15)

Tear from Palestine

The city

Is hostage to a night of horror

The eyes are blinded by the darkness

But ears catch the sounds

Of sobbing mothers and wives and kids

Who mourn the dead that lie around

(Page-16)

The red carpet of blood

Is meant to greet new life

The bodies buried in the ground

Are seeds for the crop

That is to grow in spring

And spring is on its way

(Page No.-17)

With showers of fire from clouds of hatred

On blood-soaked earth,

Bomb blasts, brutal onslaughts

Hunger, disease and injustice

These are the gifts new century brings

For those to whom was promised

By those who reign the earth

A century of prosperity,

Of peace and justice, rule of law

And every blessing they could think of

Alas! It never happened

Nor it will, in a man-ruled world.

(Page-18)

It was thy command, my Prophet

That wages should be paid

Before the sweat on worker’s brow

Dries up

A pity that our employers

Who claim to be thy devotees

Have paid us nothing for our blood

Which we have lost

By working day and night

Now destitute, depleted

We stand

(Page No.19)

Taking it as the will of God

The Third World lives in poverty

Hoping to be rich in Hereafter

Because they hold some coins of pious deeds

Which they think are sufficient

To buy a life of luxury

In paradise

And so the rich in this world

Go on amassing wealth

(Page No.20)

DUROOD

I salute thee my Benefactor

Thou raised the clay of earth

To the height of Heaven

I salute thee for it was thou

Who introduced what now we call democracy

I salute thee for it was thou

Who challenged feudalism

And I salute thee for it was thou who said

That honest living is what you earn

As wages for some sort of work

I salute thee for it was thou who said

That all the sons of Adam

Are equal

(Page No.21)

The mountains have put on a green attire

Dead branches of the trees have burst into blossoms

Time has learnt the art of changing death to life

The centuries old chasms

Are bridged in moments

Morning rises from the west

The sky is ready to embrace the earth

The minds have been liberated

From darkness of oppression

All the windows on the west horizon

Have opened up to let the tearful eyes see

What they have all along been waiting for

(Page No.22)

O’ cloud of blessings

Send us a shower or we die of thirst

O’ Saviour, we trust in thee for salvation

Be thou our guide through present crisis

Amid the brutal bloodshed that goes on

Under various flimsy pretexts

We remember thy words

“ Murder of one man is murder of all mankind”

(Page No.23)

No more of the elegies we’ve been singing

We’ve had enough of talk of death

Let someone talk of life

Yes, life that comes with death

It is a higher kind of life.

For instance see that head atop a spear

It has no body, yet the eyes shine brightly

There is a smile on that noble face

It seems to say, “

“They never die who die for noble cause

Look, am I not alive?”

(Page No.24)

It is a fact, not fiction

That Zamzam, the everlasting source of water,

A spring near Kaaba, the House of Allah,

Burst out of mountainside

Where a thirsty baby, crying for water,

Rubbed his tiny heels

While the helpless mother ran about

To find some water for her baby

(Page No.25)

How could death enter the city of life

Thought every resident of the place

This city glorified life

It came to be the fountain-head of revolution

This city graceful like a bride

It comes out every morning

Clad in bright red bridal dress

O’ Yazid of the age, thou canst not kill Baghdad

It was not made for extinction

(Page 26)

My Benefactor,

We were born to follow this perilous road of love

Slaking thirst of every thorn along the way

And now we stand

Where the road divides into two

The road on the right is the road of love

The one to the left is that of hate

O’ priests who just churn out rhetoric

To glorify Hussain

It was for us to do what he did

This land calls for another coat of paint

A glossy layer of blood

And then another stamp of bleeding forehead

To make it an authentic version

Of Hussain’s example

(Page No.27)

Dogs go for Bones

Christmas night in Baghdad

Tank’s headlights for Christmas candles

Bush disguised as Santa Claus

Goes round with a bag of explosives

The wakeful kids get death for toys

and cookies

Page No.28

Dogs go for Bones

Shreds of bodies flying around

Like Chaff out of a thresher

Like windblown pollen

They stick to the eyelashes of civilization

The world is silent witness of this ghastly scene

Those who promised a new world order

Do not believe in sanctity of human life

They kill us not for sport

But for what we have________the oil

Page No.29

To the Arab Rulers

Those labouring through the darkness of the night

Brought in a rosy morning

Light oozed out of the darkness

As sight comes out from dark eyes

The bright sun rose from Hira, the cave

In a mountain near Makkah

The bright sun rose at midnight

And was in no time at the zenith

Where galaxies across the sky

Came round to kiss his feet

And then he passed along

Soared upwards, upwards till he reached

The court of his Creator

And then he came back to his closet

To tell the people where he went

And what he saw and heard

(Page 30)

His reverent devotees once made

A sort of podium for him in the mosque yard

It was a mark of distinction, they said

To let the visiting people know

Who was the chief among them

The Prophet was not pleased

“What’s this”, he asked

“O’Prophet of Allah,” said one of them

“NOW that you are the ruler of this land

It is a mark of distinction

To point you out among us

For visiting delegations from abroad

“No” said the Prophet with disgust

I don’t believe in distinctions

Rather, I was expressly enjoined

To do away with distinctions

A ruler is a human being

Like those who are his subjects

Why should he be placed higher than those people

(Page No.31)

Then with a kick he dismantled

That mark of difference and distinction

And said to his devotees:

“This elevated seat, that you had made for me

Would justify a ruler’s claim to eminence

And thrones made of gold

And all the pomp and show

And even arrogance and hubris

“Don’t you see what would happen

If my successors live like kings

A life of sinful luxury

Just eating, drinking, making merry

They would become indifferent to their duties

As servants of the people

Their love of comfort, indolence and pomp

Would make them cowardly and mean”

Alas, his successors forgot

What he had said that day

They live a sinful life of luxury

Mindful only of their wealth and power

Page No.32

It is a cruel night

Thy devotees are in distress

They are besieged and plagued

By those who rule the world today

The leaders of thy followers

Are mostly hollow, insincere

And cowardly and selfish, mean and callous

They have betrayed thy Ummah

They are intolerant of resistance

To their servile policies

They kill those who revolt against their masters

They call them terrorists

And join the so-called war on terror

As frontline soldiers on the side of Bush

That enemy of Muslims and Islam

Who loves to drink the Muslim blood(

(Page No.33)

O, my Prophet of Peace

Of tolerance and goodwill

The clouds of war are looming large

Over the region known as Muslim World

It looks more Hiroshimas are to go up in flames

Our enemies call it a crusade

The Crescent and the Cross stand poised

For a deadly clash

The outcome would be horrible

Because thy followers are weak and disunited

A pity that some of their rulers are

In conspiracy with the enemy

(Page No.34)

The blood of sons of olive-land

Will no longer flow silently

Revenge blazes in the tearful eyes of the Ummah

The dawn in the form of an immortal martyr

Will shortly step out of the night

The game of death is like the struggle

Between the night and dawn

The autumn of the hypocritic civilization

Will soon defuse the explosive device

Planted in the dove’s nest

The gunpowder dust on olive branches

Will soon be washed out

This clash between the Crescent and the Cross

Will end in death of neocon eraze

(Page No.35)

Kashmir

The soft sunshine of ice-clad December

Had added to the beauty of the pines

That stand upright atop the lofty mountains

On either side of Neelum Valley

Apples on the trees on mountainside

Were getting rosier by the day

The sunlight had turned the air orange

A flock of birds was flying silently

Suddenly and agonized cry rent the atmosphere

A brown bear had stepped on a landmine

The earth spouted out a violent death

A dove’s feathers scattered in the air A tree fell martyr

The whole valley resounded with slogans

Which expressed eagerness for martyrdom

(Page 37)

A PRAYER FOR THE CITY OF LOVE

O’ Allah I beg Thee in this time of distress

With faith in Thy promise of infinite mercy

To those who repent and try to make amends

Have mercy on my house

I beg Thee in the name of Prophet

Who is my last resort in every crisis

For I believe Thou madest him Savior

Of all mankind

My Allah, save my house

The dark night has stayed too long

And all the night there has been

Heavy bombing all around

The compound wall of my little house is gone

The kitchen has crumbled to the ground

The bedroom roof and walls are cracked

My wife and five kids sit upright

With fingers in their ears, eyes shut

Waiting for imminent stroke of death

All the houses around our house

Are heaps of debris

The inmates crushed to death

Agonized cries of survivors, all injured

Are adding to our misery

There comes a tank spouting fire

Mercy, my Allah

My country has been occupied

And we are now enslaved

By those who challenge Thy Omnipotence

Page No.38

Morning on the Altar

The dawn of revolution marches on the night

I hear the sobs of the last dark moments of

The night

This night is the last night of injustice

History will bear out my assertion

I hear the night breathing its last

The dawn awaits the signal from above

Time is breathless with eager anticipation

O’ Allah, help Thy believers

They rise against thine enemy

(Page No.39)

The blood of the martyrs

Gleams triumphantly on the barbed wire fence

That the enemy had built around Baghdad

The martyrs have paid in blood

The ransom of their land

Not just in Baghdad

The mountains in Afghanistan

Are also painted red

The blasted landmines were extinguished

By spray of Muslim blood

The price is paid

Who can withhold freedom now?

(Page No.40)

Thy devotees all over the world

Uphold thy honour, come what may,

Whatever the cost

Life is no more precious to them

Thou camest to establish

The place of man as Chief

Among all the animate beings

If he has faith and follows it

By observing all do’s and don’ls

So now a new generation of thy devotees

Is in the field to rouse the Ummah

Which has long, too long been subjected

To slavery by their rulers, also Muslims,

Though too worldly to merit the name

Help these rebels against hypocrisy

And cowardice , O Benefactor,

Help them to bring a blessed revolution

Which is the only way to save thy Faith

(Page 41)

My Prophet

(About 700000 Iraqi’s killed as a result

of US led attack and occupation)

The weight of 700000 bereavements smothers me

And 300000 injuries are bleeding my soul to death

I wade through blood on the dark desert

I can’t help bursting out into questions

Addressed to thee

“O, how many more dead bodies do I have to carry

How many more wounds has my soul to bear

How many wailing voices have I still to hear

How many elegies have I still to write

O’ help me with thy blessing, Benefactor

Get me the courage and the strength

To take revenge for all that I have suffered.

(Page No.42)

The black spot of the fall of Baghdad

Smoulders on the brow of every devout Muslim

Baghdad has been a bleeding wound for centuries

Today the stink of burning human flash prevails

The atmosphere of the city.

The very name of Baghdad

Tastes bitter on my tongue

And I spit out all this bitterness

In words upon the paper

Even in dreams I bear the ominous drone

Of bombers targeting Baghdad

My merciful Prophet, thou art my only succour

Pull me out of this hell before I fall.

Page No.43

Live naked electric wires

Ring across my soul

Incessantly

My wounded fingers have grown septic

Because my nails were plucked out

And the bleeding fingers were not dressed

My empty stomach makes me feel

The throes of death more than usual

(Page No.44)

I feel ashamed of my nakedness

And in this shameful state

They stub cigarettes against my flesh

My hands are tied behind me

My feet are shackled

As I lie on the red hot iron floor

Caged in a chamber made of iron

They say it was a hienous crime

To follow the Prophet of peace

To act upon the code of nice behavior

Thy Prophet gave to us

O’ Allah, Lord of the universe

Look at what I have got for faith in Thee

(Page No.45)

O’ Allah, save the warrior

Who stands upright against the lethal powers

Don’t let Thy earth now shrink on him

Like bloodhounds they draw close

They want to kill him for defying Bush

That Pharaoh of today for whom

This warrior is the Moses of the day

He stands for Thy cause, not his own

(Page No.46)

Third World War

Only we will not be ruined

Your own cities too will be reduced to ashes

We know your bombs will burn down even water

In our wells

But your own reservoirs will also be poisoned

O’ bloody evening, don’t paint the horizon red

In blood

O’don’t don’t start a crusade on the East

We’re peace loving followers of Muhammad,

Guardians of the dawn of the peace

We love to wear blood when driven to it

We are slaves to our Prophet, so

We ca’nt be slaves to anyone else.

(Page No.47)

Doves have bled a red cross on their wings

In keeping with the colour all around

He used to play colours

On the guitar of fragrance

He used to create music by the riverside

He used to paint the fluffy wings of Butterflies

With colours of the evening

He used to write the songs of drizzling

That sounded like a drizzle

He cooled the burning chest of earth

With trees

He used to shatter the dark glass sheet of night

With a stroke of the day

(Page No.48)

He used to enjoy listening to dreamlike voices

But then something happened

And he forgot all about beauty

And his mystic experience

For how could he ignore the bombing all around

How could anybody compose songs

About the beauty of Basra

It is impossible

(Page 49)

My Prophet – My Love

May I always be singing out thy name

May this love make me forget all else

May I never see those tearful eyes around

And the burning Basra, Karbala and Baghdad

May I always feel the freshening taste of Kausar

Need nothing else to drink

May I always be in ecstasy

Inspired by Thy love

No pain, no trouble, no Palestine

No Basra, no Baghdad

Should haunt me as they do

May my lips feel the kiss of thy love

May I have no thirst except this yearning

For thy love, and the urge to see thee

May life prosper, amid showers of light

May hunger poverty and war

Be laid to rest for ever

(Page No.50)

Thy land was never so deeply soaked in blood

There have been wars in past

But the death toll was never so fast and high

Millions were killed, no doubt

But life survived

Cities were set ablaze

But fire never rained from clouds

We used to be afraid of beasts

Not of the human beings

(Page No.51)

Why is a new war threatening every moment

Why does man indulge in brutality

Why has Beirut to be a heap of rubble

Why Lebanon sinks in darkness once again

Why do the lands of invaders bloom into Paradise

Why are our cities (full of life) laid waste

Why are those brambles full of roses

Why is this broken vase all that we have

Why is the law of jungle forced on us

Why is the wolf allowed to rule the city

(Page No.52)

Even though turned to dust

The city shows what happened

The ashes still have some warmth left

Fire showered down all night

The houses were charred

Although the city was wrapped in icy night

See how graceful that man looks

Though walking on a heap of rubble

And clad in rags

The lamp smothered under the darkness of the night

Is still alight underground

Let my red grief sprout

Into a green morning

(Page No.53)

To Ali

Around the Altar

I live somewhere

Around the altar

For everything in my flat

Smells of blood

A nauseating stink comes from my dress

A dozen perfume bottles couldn’t subdue it.

I’ve washed my hands repeatedly

But the smell of warm blood, cold flesh

Stays on

I’ve washed every plate in the kitchen

Countless times

Still every dish tastes of flesh and blood

Sometimes I see

The roses of bullet holes in women’s breasts

And sometimes I find

Shreds of abdomen on my breakfast tray.

(Page No.55)

Man’s Proclamation

O’ sand, open thy mouth

And burst into a storm

Blow out this uncharitable season

Smash all the white elephants

Chew up the ugly necks of dinosaurs

O’ sand, stir up sky-scrapping whirlwinds

open the eye of the mad whirlpool

Bury these black iron birds under the dunes

Swallow up all tracks

O’ sand, it’s Man’s edict for thee

Which thou must obey

So open thy mouth

And burst into a storm

( Page No.56)

Madam Broken Heart

The whole house was in deep mourning

For India, their cat, that was crushed to death

By a passing vehicle

Condolence calls and messages kept pouring in

A whole week

Visitors recorded their grief

In a fat red paged book on a table in the hall

Just a page or two remained unfilled

Mourning was stamped on everything around

Black curtains and cushions

And servants in black

The broken-hearted Madam ABC

Was miserable with grief

(Page No.57)

She cursed the uncertainty of life

And all that went with it

Then suddenly the phone bell rang

It was a call from Madam’s son,

A colonel, posted at a war front

He told her he had got a medal

For killing thousands more of enemies

Then the whole house got busy

To celebrate the glorious deed

(Page No.58)

What brings you here?

Did the valley of Qandhar call you in

To defend it in place of bold mountains

Which have defended it for centuries?

Did the desert of Karbala call you in

To keep the coming spring at bay?

Were you called in by Aqsa Mosque

To silence the cries for independence

Or were you called in by the Basrans and Faloogans

As substitute for their kins

Speak, why don’t you?

Were you called in by the musical heart

To tune its chords?

No answer to these questions?

Then why did you come hither?

(Page No.61)

Rule of Allah

The yearning for a morning on thy horizon

Will always linger in my eyes

For I believe

A fountain of light will burst out

From that lake coloured red with dusk

The darkened pathways will glow

The chains of gold will melt

The captives all will be at large

The season of my days of glory will come back

The world will sing a smiling song of peace

(Page No.62)

The spirit to shake off poverty will rise

As a red war flag

The oppressed nations will no longer writhe

In cages made of gold

The dawn of Allah’s rule shall come

All hearts will throb with joy

All eyes will see before them

What they had wished to see

Even watchful water lilies

Will be blessed with sight

The poets will no longer sing out empty dreams

They will sing of new themes

No verses soaked in wine, blurred and awkward

Sincere, clear, full of love and life

Their words will sing of dawn

And all that goes with it

( Page No.63)

Lebanon

The injured soldier still stands firm

He did not ask for substitute

He is determined to pass on to Heaven

By fighting till he falls

His finger on the trigger

Is slowly going numb for loss of blood

A fire-spouting tank is coming up

With all his fading strength he kneels

And lies down on a bomb

He rolls the bomb with bleeding hands

Up under his chest

The tank that is now running over him

Is blown to pieces

The soldier’s soul flies up

A group of angels welcomes it

And leads it to a palace made of gold

On the bank of Kausar

To live there an eternal life

The reward of a martyr

(Page No.64)

Kashmir

The valley of matchless green fertility

Has been weeping for centuries

Restless water gushes down the lofty peak of Halmat

The centuries old forest of Kail

Has been blasted with gunpowder

The image of Buddha in the courtyard of Sharda

Is smeared with blood

(Page No.65)

An ages long wait

The red pines behind Shanshabari

The altar behind the fountain

The gently flowing Mahal alongside the garden

The razor sharp edge of history

Fruit, leaves and flowers

Flying around in streets of Dhirkot

Civilization back in the Ice Age

Rawlakot bathed in dew

Is like an eye aglow with tears

Banjusa, a basin of water

Edged by trees

A quiet call

(Page No.67)

O’ Prophet of the poor!

The frugal dowry of thy loved daughter

Included a grindstone

Our present age demands flourmills

Thou gavest her earthenware for the kitchen

This age demands gorgeous Chinaware

What use are all these fertile lands to us

From which we produce heavy crops

That bring in loads of money

A bare subsistence is all that comes to us

The landlord gets the lion’s share

What future can our daughters dream of

Except a lingering spinster life

Crawling quietly to their graves

(Page No.71)

Give my frenzy the hands

That pull down the crowns

And tear up the gowns

And wash their sins away

With water for ablution

As thou’ dst prefer to have a house

Built of mud instead of marble

Let me build Thee a house of mud

Turn me into a flame

That I may devour

The system of man-made economy

This unholy alliance of the tycoons

And this cartel of the feudal lords

Let me burn up these wheat fields

That yield nothing to the peasant

Stand by me, so that I wake up

These starving masses almost dead.

(Page No.72)

One Man in Two Scenes

(Scene 1)

The eyes and the soul were refreshed

With the sight of glittering sands awash with dew

The colourful track left by a snake

Held me spell bound

Though fatal, the snake looks beautiful

At least it is less fatal

Than beastly human beings

Who have killed millions of my kin

(Page No.73)

(Scene 2)

On the desert darkened by the night

Glow two red eyes like burning coals

These are the eyes of a leopard

The beast looks charming though a foe

His bloodshot eyes are less fearful

Than the bloodshot eyes of civilization

That has devoured millions of people

Mercy O’ Allah, O’ Prophet

(Page No.74)

Change of Business

Till the end of 20th Century we made school desks

But now coffins are in hot demand

(Page No.75)

O’ power worshipping priest come hither

With all thy acts of worship

See, I’ve brought some wounds as words for Na’at

They are words soaked in Hussains’ blood

Some of them are pieces of flesh

There are some miracles smoking out of smouldering tents

Some words that ring like a prisoner’s fetters

I have brought some new secrets too

From the land of the Prophet (Peace be upon him)

I’ve brought all these wares

From the bazars of Baghdad

Bring hither the darkness of thy lazy rituals

I’ve brought some tearful words of Na’at

(Page No.76)

Thou dependst on soulless rituals for salvation

For me truth is the soul of worship

For thee Tasawuf is the goal

For me the trance of whirling Sarmad is the real thing

Page No.76

Thou lovest the house of thy beloved

For me love is the object in itself

Bring those uncertain miracles of thy worship

Against my luminous ideas

And see my Na’at outweighs thy worship

Page No.77

These words will illuminate my being

These Na’ats are the soul of my worship

These bleeding words will make my verses luminous

The tears in my eyes are all the piety I can afford

The city of Na’at will celebrate the victory of the killed.

My words of praise are clad in red

Being all thy noble deeds and acts of worship

Compare them with this handful of dust

From the Prophet’s doorstep

Let thy poverty work a miracle

My words of devotion, bleeding, tearful

Will sure outshine thy miracles.

Page No.78

Who are you?

A demon made of gunpowder

Descending slowly from the clouds?

A ghost from an ancient grave

Or a recycled carribal?

Who are you anyway?

Seated on a pyramid of human skulls

Are you a witch performing some new feat

Or the contractor of a crematorium

Or the owner of an ordinance factory,

Or a hired killer

Just till me who the d______’l are you?

Page No. 79

Wrapped up in a shawl made of infant’s hair

With shoes of human hide on feet

Grinning with teeth like daggers

Carrying a basket full of bombs

You walk along the road into the town

O’ till me who the d_______’l are you?

Page No.80

Shelter me in Thy Black Shawl

A dreadful light before the dawn

Resounding thunders all around

Birds are started awake

The air is filled with smoke

Ashes fall from burning trees

And cover the ground below

A half-burnt dove’s head

A smouldering branch of olive

Stink of roasting human flesh

Comes from the kitchen of civilization

Two broken legs of a plastic doll

A shattered toy

Burnt lips

A nursling breast blown off an Eve’s body

Page No.81

Bricks black as right

Burnt broken shutters

A hideous debris heap

My Saviour, save me from this day

That comes with death and demolition

From across the sea

Hid me in thy black shawl

Page No.82

The Courage to Die

Thy devotees who embrace martyric death

Are dubbed as terrorists

Those who strive for a brighter morning

Are called agents of death

By butcher Bush

And the world is foolishly echoing him

From Jaddah to Islamabad

Our rulers say,”yes, Boss”

Page No.84

A Dream

No Traffic stirs on motorways of Europe

Bus stops too are deserted

The clash of civilization goes on

And the Arabs have stopped selling oil

Page No.85

You have blindfolded me

But you cannot kill my eyesight

A pity, hearts have lost all pity

Somebody has banned spring

By spraying acid on the garden

+

Page No.86

11 th September

The blood from the altar of 9/11

Is dripping from eyes

On to the page of history

Alas! To be a human being

The blood of the killers and the killed

Is the same colour

Then why do they kill each other

I also mourn those tube passengers

Whose journally ended in the valley of death

They were killed for another’s fault

I pray may Christ reward them

For their loss of life.

Page No.87

But for me every day in the calendar

Is a day of mourning

For massacre goes on unchecked

The victims are my relatives, every one

For they are human beings

I have to mourn everyday

Crying, I have to pack the body-bags

Crying, to console those who are bereaved

I share the grief of each bereaved mother

Who clings to the body of her son

What else should I do?

Why has the world become an altar

Why are you planting bodies like seeds

I’m afraid of the coming season

When the seeds will grow

I’m afraid of the kids of martyrs

Lest every day be 9/11

Page No.88

I salute the morning of creation

Of mankind, and the Prophet

For whom all was created

I salute the mud-house

Where the owner of Paradise lived on earth

I salute the palm-leaf mat

On which the ruler of Arabia slept

And the cool earth pitcher

From which he drank water

I salute the feet that moved with care

Lest a stray out should be crushed to death

I salute the poverty that was the Prohet’s pride

And the fugality that revolutionized economy.