"allama" poems
Khudi ko kar buland itna ke har taqdeer sai pehlay
Khuda banday sai khud poochay bta teri raza kya hai
Raise yourself to such heights so before every destined act
God Himself asks His creation, what is it your desire
Kee Muhammad (S.A.W) sai wafa toonay to hum tairay hain
Ye jahan cheez hai kya loh o kalam tairay hain
If you are loyal to Muhammad (S.A.W) we are yours
This universe is nothing, the Tablet and the Pen are yours
(Allama Iqbal)
May it be Saadi
Or may it be Sherazi
Mansur or Sachal Sarmast
May it be Rumi or Shams
Rabia Basri or Ganj Bakhsh
Bhatai or Baba Rehman
Ghani Khan or Allama Iqbal
All these God-gifted saints
went by giving the same message
Spreading the same thought
The one and unique
The message of the Truth
Under a million veils lie
Behold,
The one and only
Allah...
Nov 9, 2017
Nov 9, 2017 at 11:24 AM UTC
I come from Kashmir
where land is green & white snow bed
and I come from Kashmir
where roads aren’t black but are red.
I come from Kashmir
where Daughter Tajamul brought Gold
and I come from Kashmir
where daughter Nafiya craves for her father’s body and lost his soul.
I come from Kashmir
where journalists get Peter Mackler & Pulitzer awards
and yet I come from Kashmir
where journalists get charged under UAPA as a reward.
I come from Kashmir
where Thekedar gets benefits under the Roshni Act
and I come from Kashmir
where an internet shutdown of 551 days was for every sect.
I come from Kashmir
where Gupta g ranked 1st in the country
and yet I come from Kashmir
where youth have to carry ID’s to prove their identity.
I come from Kashmir
which was known for its cultural dress Pheran
and I come from Kashmir
which now has more business in selling Kaffan.
I come from Kashmir
which Allama called the valley of braves
and I come from Kashmir
which now is the valley of Graves.
I come from Kashmir
which was called Earth’s Heaven
and yet I come from Kashmir
which now is the World’s Biggest Prison.
I come from Kashmir
where Chinars paint the autumn gold
and I come from Kashmir
where every spring, new tombstones unfold.
I come from Kashmir
where Dal Lake mirrors the moon’s glow
and I come from Kashmir
where blood taints the rivers’ flow.
I come from Kashmir
where children dream of books and play
and I come from Kashmir
where childhoods vanish in smoke and clay.
I come from Kashmir
where lovers once whispered in gardens wide
and yet I come from Kashmir
where silence now walks side by side.
I come from Kashmir
where poets wrote of love and fate
and yet I come from Kashmir
where verses now carry only weight.
I come from Kashmir
which history books fail to define
and I come from Kashmir
which lives between the headlines’ lines.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 10:36 PM UTC
“I have seen the movement of the sinews of the sky, And the blood coursing in the veins of the moon.”
– Allama Iqbal
In September,
the harvest moon,
named by the Algonquin people.
A gift to the earth;
endowed for corn, beans, squash, sunflowers,
and received in bright
thankfulness.
When, finally, the time arrives
for an autumn moon
to take its place between the earth and sun,
swooping as close to earth
as bright fireflies filling the sky.
Lunar scheduling;
a time to deliver scoops of light to
the shadowy earth.
Human faces staring upward
at the inky sky.
Stars dimmed by the golden moon
that shines on prairies, sand, on city streets;
glowing its song of moonlight;
offering a nocturne to the silent ground.
Each upturned face,
waiting to be christened with moonlight;
a conduit of heavenly fire
that moves from face to face circling
in contra dance around the rocky earth.
And each up tilted face
in Calgary and Cairo, Belarus and Brazil,
rhymes with golden light.
As the moon glow wanes above, it waxes here below;
endowing our faces with moonlight, a celestial loan,
leaving the moon with only orange and red,
while September yellow clings to us on earth.
The sound of light brushing our faces,
settling into place,
with sweetness of chamomile,
fragrant with the end of summer.
Whispers of the autumn equinox,
and the earth keeping promises.
Soon we must return
the borrowed lightening,
the buttery splash,
to the orange-red moon.
And we pay.
Not with regret,
but gladly.
All we who have seen the hushing of the moon;
we hold forever in the particles that make ourselves,
the seeds of moonlight.
Pieces of the moon.
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
Today is world Hindi Day.
I devote a little thought on this topic with the beautiful Lines of Allama Iqbal "हिंदी हैं हम हिंदुस्तान हमारा"
And भारतेंदु हरिश्चंद्र की पंक्ति " निज भाषा उन्नति अहै, सब उन्नति को मूल"।
The World Hindi Day is being celebrated on January 10th marking the anniversary of the first World Hindi conference which was celebrated on 10th January 1975 and Was chaired by the then PM Smt. Indira Gandhi. The purpose of World Hindi Day is to promote the Hindi on the world Arena.
Officially the World Hindi Day Was commenced on 10th January 2006 by the then PM Dr.Manmohan Singh.
I am writing some lines about the beauty and nature of the Hindi language on this auspicious occasion.
हिंदी में वही लिखा जाता ,
जो जुबान से बोला जाता।
हिंदी में भाव है भारतीयता का
जैसे पट्टी- बरते का
या साड़ी - पगड़ी का
या फिर सब्जी- रोटी का।
हिंदी में भाव है खेलों का
जैसे होकी-छड़ी का
या चील-झपट्टे का
या फिर रस्सा-कशी का।
हिंदी में भाव है संगीत का
जैसे ढोल - ताशे का
या तबले- बाजे का
या फिर बीन-बांसुरी का।
हिंदी में भाव है रिश्तों का
जैसे छोटे - बड़े का
या मर्द -लुगाई का
या फिर आप- अपनत्व का।
हिंदी में भाव है सच्ची सीख का
जैसे ज्ञान -विज्ञान का
या अखबार - किताब का
या फिर आचार -विचार का।
हिंदी में भाव है मौसम का
जैसी सर्दी- गर्मी का
या बारिस- सूखे का
या फिर अकाल- जमाने का।
हिंदी में भाव है नैतिकता का
जैसे साधु- संत का
या राजा- रंक का
या फिर ज्ञानी- मूर्ख का।
हिंदी में भाव है सहजता का
जैसे सीधे- सरल का
या मीठे - खट्टे का
या फिर लंबे- नाटे का।
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:51 AM UTC
A nation is the body,
people are its organs
Artisans are the nation's hands and feet
The State administration is the nation's beautiful face
The elegant-styled poet is the nation's clear-sighted eye
When any ***** is afflicted with pain, the eye weeps
How sympathetic to the world body is the eye
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:17 AM UTC
One day I met with Iqbal
My head was bowed, my heart dejected
I said to him in a low voice:
"My life seems to me meaningless
I am a tiny being in this vastness of time and space
My existence seems to me false."
He smiled, and said in a voice bigger than life.
"Are you a mere particle of dust?
Why have you not tighten the knot of your ego.
Hold fast to your tiny being
How glorious is to burnish one's ego
And to test its lustre in the presence of the Sun !
Re-chisel, then, your ancient frame;
And build up a new being.
Such being is a real being;
Or else your being is a mere ring of smoke."
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC