Hum ne to dunya hi chor di kisi ki wafa k liye
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Wafa ki talash to be wafaon ko hoti he faraz
Hum ne to dunya hi chor di kisi ki wafa k liye
Kai kam rh gye hain teri yaad ki waja se
tery sath bhi khasara tery bad bhi khasara
Na jany ku itna yaqeen he teri wafa par ae dost
Warna husn waly to khud se bhi wafa nahi karty
Main khud harean hon apny sabar ka pehlu dekh kar
Tum ne yaad karna chor diya par me ne intazar karna nahi chora.
Tash ka paton ki manid he zindagi meri FARAZ
Jis ne bhi khela taqseem kar diya mujhy
Yaad aayn gi us waqt meri wafayn
Jis waqt kisi ghair pe bedad kro ge.
Tum mohabat bhi mosam ki tarha nibhaty ho
Kbhi barasty ho kbhi 1 bond ko tarsaty ho
Pall me khty ho zamany bhar me faqat tumhary hain
Pall me Izhar-e-Muhabat se mukar jaaty ho
Bhari Mehfel me dusmano Ki tarha milty ho
Or duaaoon me Mera Naam liye Jaaty ho
Dyaar-e-Ghair Me mujy Talaash karty ho
Milon to paas se Chupchaap Guzar Jaaty ho
Lakh Mosaam ki tarhaa Rang Badalty raho
Aaj to kh do toot k shidaat se hmay chahty ho.
Ghame zindagi ghame do jaha Ghame jawedaa
Meri Har nazar teri muntazir teri har nazar mera imtaha
Na muhabat na dosti hamay kuch raas nahi
Sub badal jaty hain Hmary dill me jaga banany k bad
Jo Bhi manga wohi manga jo muqadar me na tha
Apni har aaik tamana se shikayat he mujhy
Itni shidat Aansuon me pehly kabhi naa thi
Dekha Apny Naseeb ko to sare aam ro diye
Wo mujh se bichr kar kab tak nhi roya
Wo mujh se bichr kar kab tak nhi roya
Koi to hamdard he jo usy rony nahi deta
Muhabat bhik he shayed
Bari Mushkil se milti he
Mainy to zindagi ko tery Naam likh diya tha
Shayed magar kuch or hi marzi khuda ki thi
Tumhari Dunya main hum jesy hazaron hongy
Magar hamari dunya main tum sa koi nahi he
Talaaq De To Rahe Ho Ghuroor O Qeher Ke Sath
Ke Mera Shabaab Bhi Lauta Do Mere Mehar Ke Sath
Jis ki poja ko muhabat kehta he aaj ka falsafa
Yhi Dor Hazir ki muhabat he tu main jahil hi acha
Mohabat Ki Ufaq Pe Jab Kabhi Laali Nazar Aayi
Use Majnu Nazar Aaya Mujhe Layla Nazar Aayi.. ...
Us K Chehre Ka Rung Kya Hoga
Jis K Paun Se Kehkashan Nikle...
Na Usko Hui Khabar Na Zamana Samajh Saka
Me Chupke Chupke Us Pe Kayi Bar Mar Gaya...
Aye Mere Lamha-e-Naraz Kabhi Mil To Sahi
Aye Mere Lamha-e-Naraz Kabhi Mil To Sahi
Is Zamany Se Alag Ho Kar Guzarun Tujh Ko..
Ek Muhabbat Ka Pas Tha Warna
Mujh Ko Kya Kya Na Ras Tha Warna
Tu To Ranaiyon Me Gum Hi Raha
Me Tere Aas Pas Tha Warna
Tere Kehne Pe Tujh Ko Na Manga
Tu Mri Eltimas Tha Warna
Aaj Bethe Ho Ghair K Pehlu
Tu Mri Pehli Aas Tha Warna
Mujh Ko Bakhshi Nigaah Qudrat Ne
Me To Duniya Shanaas Tha Warna
Aaj Mujh Se Na Wasta Hafiz
Koi Mujh Se Na Khas Tha Warna...
Mohabbat Cheez Aisi Hai,
Kabhi Hoti Hai Apnon Se,
Kabhi Anjaan Rahoon Sy
Kabhi Gumnaam Rahon Sy
Mohabbat Cheez Aisi Hai
Kabhi Hoti Hai Phoolon Sy
Kabhi Bachpan Ky Jhoolon Sy
Kabhi Be-Ikhtiyaari Mein
Kabhi Pakke Usoolon Sy
Mohabbat Cheez Aisi Hai
Mohabbat Bas Mohabbat Hai
Mohabbat Ik Sadaqat Hai
Mohabbat Cheez Hi Aisi Hai
Dukhon Mein Rool Deti Hai
Dard Anmool Deti Hai
Zehar Bhi Ghool Deti Hai
Mohabbat Cheez Aisi Hai
Koi Raat Mere Aashna, Mujhe Yun Bhi To Naseeb Ho
Na Rahe Khayal Libaas Ka, Wo Itna Mere Qareeb Ho
Badan Ki Garm Aanch Se Meri Aarzu Ko Aag De
Mera Josh Behak Uthey, Mera Haal Bhi Ajeeb Ho
Tere Chashni Wajood Ka Sara Ras Mein Chura Loon
Phir Tu Hi Mera Marz Ho, Aur Tu Hi Mera Tabeeb Ho
Gehree Raatain, Wo Dheemay Lehjay, Wo Hansna Chupkay Se Tera Saqi
Main Sochta Hun To Toot,Ta Hai Wajood Mera HUBUL Ki Manend.. ....
Aisay Bikhra Hai Bohat Be-Daam Ho Jaisay
Ik Shakas Manzil Pay Nakaam Ho Jaisay.. ....
Apna To Kisi Dar Pe Thikaana Nahi Raha
Yani Ki Ab Ghar Se Nikalna Nahi Raha.. ....
Yaad E Maazi Ko Yun Chunti Hen Raatbhar Aankhen
Ke Jese Khet Me Chunti He Koi Chidiya Daane.. ....
Sunday, 29 November 2015
Aesa Kabhi Na karna
Tum roth jao mujh se aesa kabhi na karna
Main ik nazar ko tarson aesa kabhi na karna
Me Poch poch haron so so swal kar k
Tum Kuch Jawab na do aesa kabhi na karna
Mujh Se hi mill k hansna mujh se hi mill kar rona
Mujh se bichar k je lo aesa kabhi na karna
Tum Chand ban k Rehna Me dekhta rahon ga
Kisi roz tum na niklo aesa kabhi na karna
Tum Chaly jao jab bhi dekhon tumhara rasta
Tum Lot k na ao aesa kabhi na karna
Sub se juda lagti ho
Sub me shamil ho magar sub se juda lagti ho
Sirf hum se nahi khud se bhi khafa lagti ho
Aankh uthti he na Jpakti he kisi ki khatir
Sans charhti he na rukti he kisi ki khatir
Jo kisi dar pe na thry wo hawa lagti ho
Zulf lhray to aanchal me chupa leti ho
Hont thrtray to danton main dab leti ho
Jo kabhi khul kar na barsy wo ghata lagti ho
Jagi jagi nazar aati ho na soi soi
Tum jo ho apny khyalat me khoi khoi
Kisi mayus mswair ki dua lagti ho
Sub me shamil ho magar sub se juda lagti ho
Tum se bichar kar pehron sochta hon
Tum se bichar kar pehron sochta hon
Ab main ku or kis ki khater zinda hon
Ae khamosh khala k malik teri qasam
Bazm jaha main tujh se ziyada tanha hon
Jeeti jagti dunya k hangamon me
Yon lagta he jesy me ik saya hon
khoya he wo jesy hath lekiron me
Aesy apny hath ko takta rhta hon
Reza reza toot chuka hon andar se
Ghar se bahr gardan tan k chalta hon
Jany jis ka nam he amjid kon he wo
Such pocho to main ik jhota chehra hon
Wafa ki talash to be wafaon ko hoti he
Wafa ki talash to bewafaon ko hoti he FARAZ
Hum ne to dunya hi chor di kisi ki wafa k liye
Malum hota he bhul gye ho shayed
Malum hota he bhul gye ho shayed
Ya phir kamal ka sabar rakhty ho
Kon Thy wo log Jinho ne pa liya
Kon Thy wo log Jinho ne pa liya Tujhy ya Rab
Humain to mushkil ho gya ik insan ka hasil hona
Mery Dill main koi masum bacha he shayed
Mery Dill main koi masum bacha he shayed
Mery Dill main koi masum bacha he shayed
Jo tujhy sochta rehta he kisi shararat ki trha
Achy Lagy Jo tum so hum ne bata diya
Achy Lagy Jo tum so hum ne bata diya
Nuqsan ye hoa k Tum Magrur ho gye
Tuesday, 24 November 2015
Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast as Thou Art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever or else swoon to death.
Bride Song
Too late, too late!
You loitered on the road too long,
You trifled at the gate:
The enchanted dove upon her branch
Died without a mate;
The enchanted princess in her tower
Slept, died, behind the grate;
Her heart was starving all this while
You made it wait.
Ten years ago, five years ago,
One year ago,
Even then you had arrived in time,
Though somewhat slow;
Then you had known her living face
Which now you cannot know:
The frozen fountain would have leaped,
The buds gone on to blow,
The warm south wind would have awaked
To melt the snow.
Is she fair now as she lies?
Once she was fair;
Meet queen for any kingly king,
With gold-dust on her hair,
Now these are poppies in her locks,
White poppies she must wear;
Must wear a veil to shroud her face
And the want graven there:
Or is the hunger fed at length,
Cast off the care?
We never saw her with a smile
Or with a frown;
Her bed seemed never soft to her,
Though tossed of down;
She little heeded what she wore,
Kirtle, or wreath, or gown;
We think her white brows often ached
Beneath her crown,
Till silvery hairs showed in her locks
That used to be so brown.
We never heard her speak in haste;
Her tones were sweet,
And modulated just so much
As it was meet:
Her heart sat silent through the noise
And concourse of the street.
There was no hurry in her hands,
No hurry in her feet;
There was no bliss drew nigh to her,
That she might run to greet.
You should have wept her yesterday,
Wasting upon her bed:
But wherefore should you weep today
That she is dead?
Lo we who love weep not today,
But crown her royal head.
Let be these poppies that we strew,
Your roses are too red:
Let be these poppies, not for you
Cut down and spread.
Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her
No eyes would ever gaze in eyes;
If all our tale were told in speech
No mouths would wander each to each.
Were spirits free from mortal mesh
And love not bound in hearts of flesh
No aching breasts would yearn to meet
And find their ecstasy complete.
For who is there that lives and knows
The secret powers by which he grows?
Were knowledge all, what were our need
To thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?.
Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"
I love you now until I die.
For I must love because I live
And life in me is what you give.
Annabel Lee
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occuring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you
In reality
The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room
Where you appear alone before me
At first you coalesce entierly with the brightness
The elusive angle of a curtain
It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse
With the diagonal slant of its girls picking
Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare
Before them a T-square of dazzling light
The curtain invisibly raised
In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in
It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep
You as though you could be
The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you
You pretend not to know I am watching you
Marvelously I am no longer sure you know
You idleness brings tears to my eyes
A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures
It's a honeydew hunt
There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest
There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings
Flaring out in the center of a great white clover
There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy
There is
By my leaning over the precipice
Of your presence and your absense in hopeless fusion
My finding the secret
Of loving you
Always for the first time.
I BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
A Dream Within A Dream
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
A Blue Valentine
Right Reverend Bishop Valentinus,
Sometime of Interamna, which is called Ferni,
Now of the delightful Court of Heaven,
I respectfully salute you,
I genuflect
And I kiss your episcopal ring.
It is not, Monsignore,
The fragrant memory of your holy life,
Nor that of your shining and joyous martyrdom,
Which causes me now to address you.
But since this is your august festival, Monsignore,
It seems appropriate to me to state
According to a venerable and agreeable custom,
That I love a beautiful lady.
Her eyes, Monsignore,
Are so blue that they put lovely little blue reflections
On everything that she looks at,
Such as a wall
Or the moon
Or my heart.
It is like the light coming through blue stained glass,
Yet not quite like it,
For the blueness is not transparent,
Only translucent.
Her soul's light shines through,
But her soul cannot be seen.
It is something elusive, whimsical, tender, wanton, infantile, wise
And noble.
She wears, Monsignore, a blue garment,
Made in the manner of the Japanese.
It is very blue-
I think that her eyes have made it more blue,
Sweetly staining it
As the pressure of her body has graciously given it form.
Loving her, Monsignore,
I love all her attributes;
But I believe
That even if I did not love her
I would love the blueness of her eyes,
And her blue garment, made in the manner of the Japanese.
Monsignore,
I have never before troubled you with a request.
The saints whose ears I chiefly worry with my pleas
are the most exquisite and maternal Brigid,
Gallant Saint Stephen, who puts fire in my blood,
And your brother bishop, my patron,
The generous and jovial Saint Nicholas of Bari.
But, of your courtesy, Monsignore,
Do me this favour:
When you this morning make your way
To the Ivory Throne that bursts into bloom with roses
because of her who sits upon it,
When you come to pay your devoir to Our Lady,
I beg you, say to her:
"Madame, a poor poet, one of your singing servants yet on earth,
Has asked me to say that at this moment he is especially grateful to you
For wearing a blue gown".
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