Poems by Faiz

Noor Jehan Live: Mujhse Pehli Si Mohabbat (BBC)

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Mon, 09 May 2016 14:36:00 +0000

Haider | Gulon mein rang bhare-lyrics | Arijit Singh

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Mon, 09 May 2016 14:23:00 +0000

Someday, I might end up a poet ...

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 19 Sep 2014 07:05:00 +0000

Sharing a wonderful piece by Salima Hashmi. She shares some rare gems from her family archive: Letters from Faiz sahab to his wife. Only Faiz could make jails feel like an island of peace and tranquility.

Someday, I might end up a poet ...

Notes written by the iconic subcontinental writer during his four years in jail for backing a Left-wing coup attempt.

The daughter of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the subcontinent’s iconic bard, discovers letters exchanged by her mother and father.

Since being Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s daughter has given me privileged access to the family archives, I have become an accidental archivist. In 2009 I embarked upon the Faiz Ghar project to set up a small museum in a house leased to us by a friend and admirer of my father. We commenced sorting through Faiz’s belongings, papers and books. It was not a massive collection by any means, owing to his nomadic, rather Spartan, but interesting life, that began on February 13, 1911, and ended on November 20, 1984. My mother Alys was instrumental in saving and sorting what little there was: a smart grey lounge suit, a cap, his scarf, his pen, and a reasonably large cache of letters, certificates and medals.

After my mother’s death in 2003 all these things had been packed away in cartons in my house, waiting for just the sort of opportunity that the Faiz Ghar project afforded. Sifting through the papers, I came across a plastic bag containing some scraps. On closer look, I deciphered Faiz’s writing, and the unmistakable stamp of the censor from the Hyderabad Jail, where Faiz spent part of his imprisonment between 1951 and 1955 for his role in the Rawalpindi Conspiracy – a Soviet- backed coup attempt against Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan. These few letters were in poor shape, but readable. It is surprising that they have survived at all. Alys and Faiz had moved to Beirut in 1978. On return, all seemed to be in order in the house – except the cupboard, which had been attacked by termites. That cupboard contained Faiz’s letters from jail, which were later preserved with the help of Asma Ibrahim, transcribed by Kyla Pasha, and published in 2011 under the title Two Loves.

A postcard from Faiz to his wife Alys.

Prison poetry

The letters offer a close look at Faiz’s correspondence with Alys over the years, especially from prison in the early 1950s. I persuaded thephotographer Arif Mahmood to identify and photograph my father’s cell, which I remembered, having been allowed to visit it once. The occasion was Eid. The prisoners’ families had been allowed into the inner sanctum of Hyderabad Jail, and into the courtyard, where in the centre, stood a courtroom. Faiz’s trial had been held there in camera, with no one but the accused, judges and lawyers present; the Rawalpindi Conspiracy Case Act forbade any public access to information about the proceedings.

From his jail cell, on 25 March 1952, Faiz wrote to Alys:

I think pain and unhappiness are distinct and different things and it is possible to go on suffering pain without being really unhappy. Pain is something external, something that comes from without, an ephemeral accident like a physical ailment, like our present separation, like the death of a brother. Unhappiness on the other hand, although produced by pain is something within yourself which grows, develops and envelops you if you allow it to do so and do not watch out. Pain, no one can avoid but unhappiness you can overcome if you consider something worthwhile enough to live for. Perhaps I am becoming pedantic again so I shall leave it.

The weather here is exactly as you left it – only the nights have become a little colder and the days slightly warmer. I am in good spirits and better health and thinking of you and the funny faces with all the love there is in my heart. Kiss the little ones for me. All my love. Faiz

A day after Independence Day, on 15 August 1952, Faiz in all humility wrote about his poetic gift:

Your letter came today. I feel happy today after a mild attack of a blue period lasting over a few days. It must be the weather. It is more like spring than summer. The mornings are vaguely cool and disturbing like the first breath of love and the sun in the early hours brings more colour than heat. In the evening the breeze seems to bring the breath of the sea and the skies seem to close not on drab prison walls but on distant palm-fringed beaches ... And it is said like all beauty that is within your sight and beyond your grasp – like all beauty you know to be an illusion.

Yesterday, we had a change. The prison gateway was festooned with lights, red blue and green and four loud speakers blared forth radio programmes in cracked discordant voices. The lights and colours – the din felt more like Anarkali than Hyderabad jail and for a long time I could not sleep. In the morning I woke up with a strange happiness in my heart and I wrote a poem which I enclose. I was astounded to find that it took me hardly any time at all and I had practically finished when we went down to breakfast. I am still feeling rather intoxicated with it and am beginning to fear that perhaps some day I might end up as a poet after all.

Faiz’s poignant letter from 8 October 1952 reads:

Beloved,

This morning the moon shone so brightly in my face that it woke me up. The jail bell tolled the half hour after four. I sat up in my bed and at the same moment Arbab [a fellow prisoner] in the bed next to me also sat up and smiled at me. He went back to sleep at once but I got up and sat in the verandah opposite my cell and watched the morning come.I heard the jail lock open and shut as the guards changed the key and chains rattle in the distance and the iron gates and doors clamp their jaws as if they were chewing up the last remains of the night’s starry darkness.

Then the breeze slowly rose like a languid woman and the sky slowly paled and the stars seemed to billow up and down in pearly white pools and sucked them under. I sat and watched and thoughts and memories flooded into the mind.

Perhaps it was on a morning like this that the moon beckoned to a lonely traveller a little distance from where I sit and took him away into the unknown and the traveller was my brother.

Perhaps the moon is at this moment softly shining on the upturned faces, painless now in death, of the murdered men in Korean prison camps and these dead men too are my brothers. When they lived they lived far away in lands I have not seen but they also lived in me and were a part of my blood and those who have killed them have killed a part of me and shed some of my blood. Albeit they are dead, as my brother is dead and only the dead can adequately mourn for the dead. Let the living only rejoice for the living.

Perhaps someday I shall be able to put this morning into verse and I have threatened Arbab that if I do, he might become immortal by being in it.

Heat and dust

These handwritten letters that my parents exchanged are fascinating repositories of the turbulent times when the British Empire was being dismantled in the subcontinent. In a letter from 1943 in Delhi, in the midst of the Independence movement, Faiz said:

Darling

Delhi heat is coming into its own with 100 during the day and dust storms in the evenings but the nights are cool. Further heat is being engendered by the discussion, the talk of communal riots etc. I have twice visited the Imperial Hotel lawn in the evening in company with Morris Jones, and the atmosphere here needs a Voltaire or Swift or some equally great satirist to describe it. Every giggling ninny is a political expert these days and the Foreign Correspondents I bet are having the time of their lives. Woodrow Whatt (the MP) asked me to lunch the other day. He insisted on talking politics and I insisted ontalking about Freda Bedi [British-born teacher of English who participated in Gandhi’s Satyagraha], so there was a stalemate.

In 1947, the tumultuous year when Partition took place, Alys wrote from Srinagar:

Dearest,

Haven’t heard from you yet but Taseer tells me that he had a telegram from Chris to say you have arrived ... The expected disturbances fortunately did not materialise but there has been a new flare-up in the last two days involving 13 deaths. These were however, individual cases ... no general panic. To make up for this there has been a terrible fresh outbreak in Amritsar and conditions there, I am told, are utterly indescribable. The Radcliff(e)Award came up and you must have seen it.

The Muslims have got their Pakistan, the Hindus and Sikhs their divided Punjab and Bengal, but I have yet to meet a person, Muslim, Hindu or Sikh who feels enthusiastic about the future. I can’t think of any country whose people felt so miserable on the eve of freedom and liberation. Both morally and politically the British could not have hoped for a greater triumph.

A day later, Faiz responded from Lahore,

Darling,

Arrived here safely the day before yesterday. For once, safety has some meaning, for if I had been a Hindu or a Sikh I could never have got beyond half-way. The situation in the West, however, bears no comparison to what has happened and is happening in the East. It seemed so unreal and far away as long as I was in Srinagar, but it has all come back and is far, far worse than anything I had feared and imagined. From early morning till late evening one hears nothing but tales of horror and even though one ties shut one’s mind and one’s ears tight against them there is no escape from the horror or tragedy that surrounds one from every side. To be alone and ponder over it all is an unbearable pain and one has conceived a horror of being alone with one’s thoughts.

It is difficult to see a path or a light in the gloom but one has to maintain one’s reason and one’s courage and I shall certainly maintain. I am glad you are not here although Lahore is peaceful for now, it resembles more a deserted wilderness than a populated city.

Faiz on Gandhi

At the height of the Kashmir conflict in 1948, Faiz flew to Delhi for Mahatma Gandhi’s funeral. In his editorial in the Pakistan Times dated February 2, 1948, Faiz wrote:

The British tradition of announcing the death of a king is “The king is dead, long live the king!” Nearly 25 years ago, Mahatma Gandhi writing a moving editorial on the late C R Das in his exquisite English captioned it as “Deshbandhu is dead, long live Deshbandhu!” If we have chosen such a title for our humble tribute to Gandhiji, it is because we are convinced, more than ever before, that very few indeed have lived in this degenerate century who could lay greater claim to immortality than this true servant of humanity and champion of downtrodden. An agonizing 48 hours at the time of writing this article, have passed since Mahatma Gandhi left this mortal coil. The first impact of the shock is slowly spending itself out, and through the murky mist of mourning and grief a faint light of optimistic expectation that Gandhiji has not died in vain, is glowing.

Maybe it is premature to draw such a conclusion now in terms of net result, but judging by the fact the tragedy has profoundly stirred the world’s conscience, we may be forgiven if we may store by the innate goodness of man. At least we can tell at the top of our voice suspicious friends in India that the passing away of Gandhiji is as grievous a blow to Pakistan as it is to India. We have observed distressed looks, seen moistened eyes and heard faltering voices in this vast sprawling city of Lahore to a degree to be seen to be believed.

We have also seen spontaneous manifestations of grief on the part or our fellow citizens in the shape of observance of a holiday and hartal. Let our friends in India take note – and we declare it with all the emphasis at our command – that we in Pakistan are human enough to respond to any gesture of goodwill, any token of friendliness and, last but not least any call for cooperation from the other side of the border. Earlier we have indulged in a bit of optimism – and that for a very good reason. In India, sedulous and we believe sincere, heart searching has been going on ever since the tragedy took place. The Government of India too seems to have at long last realised that they are sitting on top of a volcano. And above all, a small incident in Bombay in which a Hindu mob broke open the office of the Anti-Pakistan Front on Saturday and reduced its furnishing to smithereens is we believe, realisation – thought tragically belated – of the fact that Muslims are, after all, not the sinners – not to say the enemies of India. A large section of Hindus have discovered where their enemies reside and what political labels they flaunt.

Salima Hashmi is a Lahore-based artist, cultural writer, painter, and anti-nuclear activist. She is Dean of the School of Visual Arts & Design at Beaconhouse National University. She is the author of Unveiling the Visible: Lives and Works of Women Artists of Pakistan (2005), and illustrator of A Song for this Day: 52 poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

This article is adapted from a presentation at the first-ever meeting of archivists from across Southasia organised in 2012 by the Hri Institute in Bangalore and was first published in Himal Southasian in March 2013.

सुबह-ए- आज़ादी - Freedom's Dawn

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Thu, 06 Sep 2012 11:57:00 +0000

ये दाग दाग उजाला, ये शब् गज़ीदा सहर

वो इंतज़ार था जिस का, ये वो सहर तो नहीं

Dirt smeared light,
night afflicted by morn
For which we lay in wait,
this is not that dawn

ये वो सेहर तो नहीं जिस की आरजू लेकर

चले थे यार की मिल जायेगी कहीं न कहीं

फलक के दश्त में तारों की आखरी मंजिल

कहीं तो होगा शब्-ए-सुस्त मौज का साहिल

कहीं तो जा के रुकेगा सफीना-ए-ग़म-ए-दिल

Not the morn,
Bearing whose desire
We went on

Friends, in hope of a tryst,
Traveled for so long
In sanctuary of the skies,
Endless frontier of stars
Will the languid nightfall
Tide over to it's shore, ajar
Somewhere, will, it stand still,
This sorrowful raft

जवान लहू की पुर-असरार शाहराहों से

चले जो यार तो दामन पे कितने हाथ पड़े

दयार-ए-हुस्न की बे-सब्र ख्वाब-गाहों से

पुकारती रहीं बाहें, बदन बुलाते रहे

The fury of young blood
Swept through grand boulevards
When they swayed
hands reached for them, bravehearts
From the restless havens of dreams
Arms stretched in yearning
Bodies writhed invitingly, full of desire

बहुत अज़ीज़ थी, लेकिन रुख-ए-सेहर की लगन
बहुत करीन था हसीना-ए-नूर का दामन
सुबुक सुबुक थी तमन्ना, दबी दबी थी थकन
वो, इंतज़ार था जिसका, ये वो सेहर तो नहीं

So dear was a glimpse
Of the dawn's first radiant ray
So near was the nymph
Of bright heavenly day
Lucent desire,
Weariness it contained

That morn, that we longed
This is not the same.

सुना है, हो भी चुका है फिराक-ए-ज़ुल्मत-ए-नूर

सुना है, हो ही चूका है विसाल-ए-मंजिल-ओ-गाम

बदल चूका है बहुत, अहल-ए-दर्द का दस्तूर

निशात-ए-वस्ल का हलाल-ओ-अज़ाब-ए-हिज्र-ए-हराम

Hear, darkness of tyranny

Has lost to the splendour of light
Hear, how feet meet the destination delight
On fate's swift flight, Changed is the way
How misery afflicts people's plight
Lawful, alone, an admission of happiness
Sinful, pangs of separation, forbidden

जिगर की आग, नज़र की उमंग, दिल की जलन

किसी पे चारा-ए-हिज्राँ का कुछ असर ही नहीं

कहाँ से आई निगार-ए-सबा, किधर को गयी

अभी चिराग-ए-सर-ए-राह को कुछ ख़बर ही नहीं

Fire that rages within,
Glimmer that dances in eyes,
The pyre that burns the heart

अभी ग़रानी-ए-शब में कमी नहीं आई

नजात-ए-दीदा-ओ-दिल की घड़ी नहीं आई

चले चलो की वो मंज़िल अभी नहीं आई

Dawn in a Prison

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 12:44:00 +0000

ज़िन्दान की एक सूबह

This is not a transliteration or an exact translation of the original. I have introduced my motifs that were triggered by the setting and mood of the poem. Please don't be surprised when you read the original and find that the translation digresses and drifts away and meanders back.

Night still lingered,
when the moon sat by my pillow
and whispered ...

"Arise, the dawn waits.
Arise, for your share of
dream's sweet wine
has dribbled down
to the bottom of the urn"

Having bid adieu
to the vision of my sweet love,
I glanced at the brunette satin of
night's still waters

All around,
the heave and fall of the Raqs (belly dance),
created silver whirls.

The stars dropped like lotuses from
the palms of the moon into the night

They sunk and swam,
they faded and bloomed

Night and morn embraced for long

ज़िन्दान की एक सूबह

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 13:39:00 +0000

रात बाकी थी अभी जब सर-ए-बालीन आकर

चांद ने मुझ से कहा जाग सेहर आई है

जाग इस शब् जो मय -ऐ-ख्वाब तेरा हिस्सा थी

जाम के लब से तह-ए-जाम उतर आई है

अक्स-ऐ-जाना को विदा करके उठी मेरी नज़र

शब् के ठेहरे हुए पानी की सिया चादर पर

जा-ब-जा रक्स में आने लगे चांदी के भंवर

चांद के हाथ से तारों के कँवल फिर गिरकर

डूबते, तैरते, मुरझाते रहे, खिलते रहे,

रात और सुबह बहुत देर गले मिलते रहे

A tribute to Faiz Ahmed Faiz

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Thu, 13 Oct 2011 11:46:00 +0000

Raat yunh dil mein teri khoee hui yaad aayee

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Tue, 31 May 2011 07:33:00 +0000

Original Urdu

रात यूँ दिल में तेरी खोई हुई याद आयी
जैसे वीराने में चुपके से बहार आ जाये
जैसे सेहराओं मेंन हौले से चले बाद-ए-नसीम
जैसे बीमार को बेवजह करार आ जाए

English Translation (1)

Last night, your lost memories crept into my heart
as spring arrives secretly into a barren garden
as a cool morning breeze blows slowly in a desert
as a sick person feels well, for no reason.

English Translation (2)

Last night your lost memory visited my heart
as spring visits the wilderness quietly,
as the breeze echoes the silence of her footfalls
in the desert,
as peace slowly, softly descends on one's sickness.

(Translated by Azfar Hussain)

Ab wahi harf-e-junoon

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Tue, 31 May 2011 07:25:00 +0000

अब वही हर्फ़-ए-जूनून सब की ज़ुबां ठहरी है

जो भी चल निकली है वो बात कहाँ ठहरी है

1) Like a catch-phrase the word goes around

Gossip mills roll as the rumours abound

2) The word-of-passion rides on wagging tongue

On fervent lashes it gallups into a moonless sun

It is tough ... eh ...!

A few days more, my love!

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Tue, 12 Aug 2008 06:42:00 +0000

Hindi Version

A few days more, my love,
just a few days more
Under the shadows of injustice
we breathe, in duress sore

One tyranny more, we may suffer,
one more helpless cry
Slaves of a fraternal legacy,
helpless we live by

Bodies interned, emotions enchained
Thoughts captive, voice condemned
It’s our courage that we still carry on

Isn't life a shroud that the poor in life gain
That we darn, every second, with our pain?

Tyranny shall live now but not for long
Patience, a fervent plea, it won’t go on

In a wilderness singed with a life-time
We have to live, not just exist …

In alien hands, we tow
Oppression’s heavy plough
We endure, not forever more

This dirt of sorrow encased
In your enchanting beauty
Is a litany of our ephemeral
youth’s vanquished ways…

The wasteful grief of
ember-moonlit night's mystic trail
The listless quiver of the heart,
And bodies wistful wail …

A few days more, my love,
just a few days more ...

बोल की लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 08:57:00 +0000

बोल कि लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे,
बोल कि ज़बान अब तक तेरी

Say that your lips are unbound
Say these words are yours still

तेरा सुत्वां जिस्म है तेरा,
बोल कि जान अब तक तेरी है

That, firm and strong, this body is yours
Say that your life is still yours

देख के आहनगर कि दुकां में
तुन्द हैं शोले, सुर्ख है

See, in blacksmith's workshop,
how the embers burn red

खुलने लगे कुफलों के दहाने
फैला हर एक जंजीर का दामन

Cuffs are set to unlock
Fetters beginning to get loose

बोल ये थोड़ा वक़्त बहोत FAIZ
जिस्म-ओ-ज़बान की मौत से पहले

Say that this time is enough
Before voice and life are dead

बोल की सच जिंदा है अब तक
बोल जो कुछ कहना है कह ले

Say that the truth lives still
Say what you will

Faiz Ahmed Faiz 'Bol ki lab aazad hain tere'

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 08:51:00 +0000

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

बोल की लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे ...

SpeakSpeak, your lips are free.

Speak, it is your own tongue.
Speak, it is your own body.
Speak, your life is still yours.
See how in the blacksmith's shop
The flame burns wild, the iron glows red;
The locks open their jaws,
And every chain begins to break.
Speak, this brief hour is long enough
Before the death of body and tongue:
Speak, 'cause the truth is not dead yet,
Speak, speak, whatever you must speak.

Translated by Azfar Hussain http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~wldciv/world_civ_reader/world_civ_reader_2/faiz.html

Faiz Ahmed Faiz on Last Night

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 08:48:00 +0000

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Last Night

Last night your lost memory visited my heart
as spring visits the wilderness quietly,
as the breeze echoes the silence of her footfalls in the desert,
as peace slowly, softly descends on one's sickness.

Translated by Azfar Hussain

Azfar Hussain's translation of Faiz

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 11 Jan 2008 08:44:00 +0000

Azfar Hussain's translation of Faiz

This is an excerpt from Reading About the World, Volume 2, edited by Paul Brians, Mary Gallwey, Douglas Hughes, Azfar Hussain, Richard Law, Michael Myers, Michael Neville, Roger Schlesinger, Alice Spitzer, and Susan Swan and published by Harcourt Brace Custom Books.

One of the foremost poets in the Indian sub-continent, Faiz Ahmed Faiz was born in Sialkot in Pakistan. He studied philosophy and English literature, but poetry and politics preoccupied him more than anything else. For writing poetry that always antagonizes the ruling Žlite and challenges colonial and feudal values, like such rebellious writers as Ngugi of Kenya and Darwish of Palestine, Faiz had to go to jail repeatedly during both colonial and postcolonial times in Pakistan. Inspired by the Marxist ideology, Faiz's poetry exhibits a strong sense of commitment to lower-class people, yet it always maintains a unique beauty nourished by the long, rich tradition of Urdu literature. His love poems are as appealing as his political poems, and he is considered primarily responsible for shaping poetic diction in contemporary Urdu poetry. Which poems deal with love, and which ones with politics? What evidence is there that Faiz is a courageous poet? What is his attitude towards loneliness and death?

http://www.wsu.edu:8080/~wldciv/world_civ_reader/world_civ_reader_2/faiz.html

Loneliness

Loneliness like a good, old friend
visits my house to pour wine in the evening.
And we sit together, waiting for the moon,
and for your face to sparkle in every shadow.

Kagazi Hai Pairahan - Ismat Chugtai

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 06:16:00 +0000

Last night I met a wonderful woman. Ismat Chugtai. Though she died in 1991, yesterday she came alive in form her autobigraphy, Kagazi Hai Pairahan (Paper thin is the apparel). We held an uninterrupted conversation till the wee hours of morning. Mostly, she spoke and I listened, held captive by her boldn frankness.

I have never read any other biography, so candid and simple, yet so powerful.

I hope to renew my friendship with her.

Hope she doesn't dismiss my affection as a juvenile crush.

बोल की लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 12:15:00 +0000

Poetry of Faiz Ahmed Faiz

बोल कि लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे
बोल ज़बान अब तक तेरी है

तेरा सुत्वां जिस्म है तेरा
बोल कि जान अब तक तेरी है

देख के आहनगर कि दुकाँ में

तुन्द हैं शोले सुर्ख है आहन

खुलने लगे हैं कुफ़लों के दहाने

फैला है एक जंजीर का दामन

बोल के ये दा-वक़्त बहोत है

जिस्म-ओ-जाबाँ की मौत से पहले

बोल कि सच जिंदा है अब तक

बोल जो कुछ कहानी है कह

{सुत्वां - Well Built, Strong ; आहनगर - Blacksmith ; तुन्द - Gleaming/Sharp

आहन - Iron; कुफ़लों के दहाने - Keyhole}

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Urdu Language Resources

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Tue, 07 Aug 2007 12:17:00 +0000

http://theory.tifr.res.in/bombay/history/people/language/urdu.html

Fonts and Software

C-DAC, Pune: Unix, DOS, Windows, Mac; a range of wordprocessing and related software.
InPage: Windows 3.1 or later; page layout software, uses Nastaleeq fonts (can mix with Roman). (Also available here).
InProS: The UrduPro editor project is now (5/97) abandoned.
Urdu Computer Nizam: Apple Macintosh or compatible; adds bilingual capability to all WorldScript compatible applications, 8 Nastaleeq and 8 Naqsh fonts. Seems to contain as subset postscript fonts.
Aapka: Operating system unspecified; WYSIWIG Nastaleeq word processor, bundles an Urdu spell-checker.
Universal Word for Windows: Windows 3.1, 3.11 or Windows 95; word processor with more than 100 languages bundled in.
Universe Gamma Multilingual Wordprocessor: Windows 3.1 or later; word processing and font system.
Global Plus: Operating system not mentioned; word processing and desktop publishing, 20 Nastaleeq, Naqsh and decorative fonts.
Urdu98: Windows 95/98/NT; urdu keyboard and Nastaleeq fonts to interface with MS Word, MS Access97, MS Internet Explorer, FrontPwge 98 and other software.
Shareware/Freeware:
Khat-e-Naqsh: Windows, Mac, unix TruType and postscript Naqsh fonts mapped to ascii keyboard, right to left utility; fonts can be embedded inside html files. Also available is a version for Nastaleeq.
Maktoob: web; free English/Arabic web based e-mailing.
PageComposer: Windows 95; complete desktop publishing and word processing system; 18 Nastaleeq fonts with wysiwyg editing; supports OLE 2.0 objects; also has a proprietary version.
ParsNegar: MS Windows 3.1x and Windows 95; editor with fonts bundled in; shareware with 30 days free trial period.
Sadaf: DOS and Windows; word processor; freeware.
Thadani: TrueType fonts. Not checked: any report will be welcome.
Urdu Tex: is is part of the ArabTeX package. Consult the ArabTeX home page for more information. See also another information page on it.
U-TRANS:N is an Urdu transliteration program by Tabish Qureshi. It can be freely dowloaded and allows display of Urdu text inside HTML pages.

Language Tutorials and Teaching Aids

Urdu teaching software:
Ukindia Urdu Reading Lessons: Web pages to teach reading in Urdu.
Language Master: Proprietary Urdu teaching software.
Urdu Quaidah Proprietary Urdu teaching package by Humwatan Software for Windows 3.11 or Windows 95.
Urdu Language dictionaries:
Dinesh Prabhu's dictionary is saved at many locations: [1] [2] [?]
Hindi/Urdu dictionary and thesaurus (by Usman Qazi) grows intermittently.
Urdu dictionary: rather well organised.
English to Urdu lookup: medium sized vocabulary gives results in Naskh (no font download necessary) and also transliterates into the Roman script..

तेरी समुन्दर आंखों में

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 12:46:00 +0000

Poetry of Faiz Ahmed Faiz

ये धुप किनारा शाम ढलें,

मिलते हैं दोनो वक़्त जहाँ,

जो रात ना दिन, जो आज ना कल,

पल भर को अमर, पल भर में धुआं

इस धुप किनारे पल दो पल

होठों कि लपक बाहों कि खनक

ये मेल हमारा झूठ ना सच क्यों रार करें,

क्यों दोष धरेंकिस कारण झूठी बात करें

जब तेरी समंदर आंखों में

इस शाम का सूरज डूबेगा

सुख सोयेंगे घर दर वाले

और रही अपनी रह लेगा

Translation from Urdu original by Advait

Sunshine, Sunshine

on the edge of sunshine

dissolve into the evening sky

two halves of day and night

to merge in shadows of twilight

Which is neither night, nor the day

where’s no tomorrow, nor today

a moment immortalized

yet again, in a moment vaporized

Sunshine, Sunshine

on the edge of sunshine

in drops trickles

a shiver of hesitant lips

a jingle of the bangles

sliding down eager arms

Our betrothal, behold

is not a lie nor a stubborn truth

then why we crib or complain or blame

for what, should we reason

the veracity of love

Sunshine, Sunshine

on the edge of sunshine

when, in the ocean of your eyes,

into the evening sky, crimson sun descends

this world would sleep in merry bliss

and the traveler would begin

afresh, a new journey, a new end

Original Poem by Faiz Ahmed faiz

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 11:28:00 +0000

Life of Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Original Article from http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/faiz.htm

Pakistani poet and journalist, who combined in his poetry the themes of love, beauty, and political ideals into a vision of a better world and goodness. Faiz's first language was Punjabi but he gained fame with his poems written in Urdu, a language similar to Arabic. Due to his opposition to the government and military dictators, Faiz spent several years in prison and was forced to go into exile at different times in his career. Next to Muhammad Iqbal (1877-1938), Faiz is one of the best-known poets of Pakistan.

The suspense that lasts between killers and weapons
as they gamble: who will die and whose turn is next?
That bet has now been place on me.
So bring the order for my execution.
I must see with whose seals the margins are stamped,
recognize the signatures on the scroll.

(from 'So Bring the Order for My Execution', trans. by Agha Shadid Ali)

Faiz Ahmed Faiz was born in Sialkot in the Punjab, then a part of India under British rule. His family were well-to-do landowners. Faiz's father was a prominent lawyer, who was interested in literature, and whose friends included several prominent literary figures, including Sir Muhammad Iqbal (1873-1938), the national poet of Pakistan. Faiz received his education at mission schools in Sialkot in the English language, but he also learned Urdu, Persian, and Arabic. His first poems Faiz wrote already at school. He studied English and Arabic literatures at Government College, Lahore, receiving in 1932 his M.A. in English, and in Arabic from Oriental College, Lahore. Besides formal studies, very important for Faiz's development was participating in the activities of literary circles, which gathered at homes of established writers. After graduating he worked as a teacher from the mid-1930s in Amritsar and Lahore.

In the 1930s Faiz came under the influence of the leftist Progressive Movement. Under the leadership of Sajjad Zaheer (1905-1973), authors were expected to follow the dictates of the Socialist Realism, but by the 1950s the movement had ceased to be an effective literary force. During World War II, Faiz served in the Indian army in Delhi, and in 1944 he was promoted to the rank of Lieut. Colonel. After the Islamic republic of Pakistan was established in 1947 the country experienced an era of chronic political instability, heightened by tensions between Hindus and Muslims. With the division of the subcontinent, Faiz resigned from the army and moved to Pakistan with his family. Alys Faiz, whom he had married in 1941, later published a book of memoirs, Over My Shoulder (1993), about her life as a British expatriate living in Pakistan. Alys died in 2003. India's awakening Faiz called a ''night-bitten'' morning, a ''pockmarked'' daybreak. Faiz became editor of the leftist English-langauge daily, the Pakistan Times. He also worked as managing editor of the Urdu daily Imroz, and was actively involved in organizing trade unions.

In 1951 Faiz and a number of army officers were implicated in the so-called Rawalpindi Conspiracy case and arrested under Safety Act. The goverment authorities alleged that Faiz and others were planning a coup d'etat. He spent four years in prison under a sentence of death and was released in 1955. During this perod Alys Faiz worked for the Pakistan Times to support his family. Faiz became the secretary of the National Coucil of the Arts, and in 1962 he was awarded the Lenin Peace Prize by the Soviet Union. During his years in exile he was editor of the magazine Lotus in Moscow, London and Beirut. In Pakistan his poems, which renewed the traditional romantic imagery of Urdu poetry, gained a huge popularity. Faiz also supported to the use of regional languages of Pakistan in education, the media, and literary expression. After a period of exile in war-torn Lebanon from 1979 to 1982, Faiz returned to his home country. He died in Lahore on November 20, 1984.

Faiz's first collections of poetry, Naqsh-e faryadi (1943), Dast-e saba (1952), and Zindan Namah (1956), were politically motivated, and include some of his most famous poems based on his prison experiences. Faiz describes his life behind the walls, in confinement, finding consolation in the thought that "though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed / in rooms where lovers are destined to meet / they cannot snuff out the moon..." (from 'A Prison Evening') His tone is introspective along the conventions of ghazal, the favorite form of traditional Urdu poetry. But Faiz also expresses feelings of other political prisoners when he writes: "I make a toast to my friends everywhere, / here in my homeland and scross the world: 'Let us drink, my dear ones, to human beauty, / to the loveliness of earth.'" (from 'Solitary Confinement'). Fredric Jameson has argued in his essay 'Third World Literature in the Era of Mulatrinational Capitalism' (Social Text, fall 1986) that "the story of the private individual destiny is always an allegory of the embattled situation of the public third-world culture and society". In one of his prison poems Faiz paralles his own fate with the authoritarian system outside the prison : "If you look at the city from here / there is no one fully in control of his senses. / Every young man bears the brand of a criminal, / every young woman the emblem of a slave." (from 'If You Look at the City from Here')

In spite of his Marxist beliefs, Faiz did not burden his poems with ideological rhetoric. He fused classic traditional forms of poetry with new symbols derived from Western political ideas. However, in an interview Faiz has criticized the view that a poet "should always present some kind of philosophical, political or some other sort of thesis..." Like Muhammad Iqbal, he reinterpreted the most important theme in the Urdu ghazal, the theme of love. The word ghazal comes from Arabic and has been translated as "to talk with women" or "to talk of women." Faiz often addressed his poem to his "beloved", who can be interpreted as his muse, his country, or his concept of beauty or social change. "Your beauty still delights me, but what can I do? / The world knows how to deal out pain, apart from passion, / and manna for the heart, beyond realm of love. / Don't ask from me, Beloved, love like that one long ago." (from 'Don't Ask Me Now, Beloved') The traditional beloved of ghazal cannot offer the poet answer to human suffering and social problems - "Bitter threads began to unravel before me / as I went into alleys and in open markets / saw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood. / I saw them sold and bought / again and again. / This too deserves my attention."

For further reading: Encyclopedia of World Literature in the 20th Century, vol. 2, ed. by Steven R. Serafin (1999); Over My Shoulder by Alys Faiz (1993); The Tradition and Innovation in the Poetry of Faiz by G. Ch. Narang (1985); Dear Heart: To Faiz in Prison, 1951-1955 by Alys Faiz (1985); 'Tradition and Innovation in Urdu Poetry' by G. Narang, in Poetry and Renaissance: Kumaran Asan Birth Centenary Volume (1974); 'The Pakistani Poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz' by M.A. Malik, in Afro-Asian Writings, 22 (1974); A History of Urdu Literature by M. Sadiq (1964) - For further information: Faiz Ahmed Faiz - Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984) - Faiz Ahmed Faiz: Life and Ghazals - Faiz Ahmad Faiz - Faiz Ahmad Faiz (1914-1978): Selected Poems - Faiz Ahmed Faiz - Faiz Ahmad Faiz, interview by Dr. Ebadat Brelvi - Note: The exact date of Faiz's birth is unclear - he used the date 7th January 1910, in some sources it is February 13th, 1911; or the year 1912.

Selected works:
Naqsh-e faryadi, 1943
Dast-e saba, 1952
Zindan namad, 1956
Mizan, 1964
Dast-e tah-e sang, 1965
Harf harf, 1965
Sar-e vadi-ye sina, 1971
Poems by Faiz, 1971 (trans. by V.G. Kiernan)
Rat di rat, 1975
Sham-e shahri-yaran, 1978
Mere dil, mere musafir, 1980
Nuskha-Hai-Wafa, 1984
The True Subject: Selected Poems of Faiz Ahmed Faiz, 1987 (trans. Naomi Lazard)
The Rebel's Silhouette, 1991 (trans. by Agha Shahid Ali)
The Rebel's Silhouette: Selected Poems, 1995 (rev. ed. trans. by Agha Shahid Ali)
Poems of Faiz Ahmad Faiz: A Poet of the Third World, 1998 (trans. by Mohammed Zakir, and M.N. Menai)
100 poems by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, 1911-1984, 2002 ed. by Sarvat Rahman
Selected poems of Faiz Ahmad Faiz: With original Urdu text, roman and Hindi transliteration and poetical translation into English, 2002
Culture And Identity: Selected English Writings of Faiz Ahmad Faiz, 2006

Interesting link for Faiz

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 11:17:00 +0000

I found this link on the web while searching for more information on Faiz Sahab.

Information curtesy Library of COngress Delhi Office's 'The South Asian Literary Recordings Project.

The South Asian Literary Recordings Project was originally conceived by the New Delhi office of the Library of Congress as a way to celebrate the Library's Bicentennial overseas. Aimed at recording the voices of prominent authors from the region reading excerpts from their works, the project built on the Library's tradition of complementing its paper collections of world literature with recorded readings by authors.

All the recordings were made in cities where qualified sound technicians and appropriate equipment were available. While this limited somewhat the reach of the project, it ensured quality recordings. Recordings are available in Realmedia and MP3 formats.

The original recordings and accompanying biographic and photographic materials are housed in Washington at the Library's Motion Picture, Broadcasting and Recorded Sound Division. Access to them is through the Library's Recorded Sound Reference Center. The decision to digitize the entire collection and make it available on the Library's web site is in step with the Library's policy to share its unique treasures with the American people and the world at large. With this collection, the Library is pleased to open another window onto the literatures of South Asia. This project is a work-in-progress and new readings will be added to the digital collection as more authors are recorded, and as earlier recordings made in the seventies and eighties are digitized.

वादा-ए-फर्दा कि गुफ्तगू Faiz Ahmed Faiz

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 10:48:00 +0000

Yesterday’s promise for tomorrow

A Translation of Fazi Ahmed faiz

ग़र इंतज़ार कठिन है तो जब तलक ए दिल
किसी के वादा-ए-फर्दा की गुफ्तगू ही सही

I wanted to translate one of Faiz's Poem, when this 'sher' got stuck like a thorn in heart. I tried to meditate on the meaning and extent of this couplet and a few images flashed. I hope it makes some sense.

[Looking at every arduous moment
As if through a magnifying glass
I see a whirl of memories
In minutest details

First sting of love and desire
Shiver and tingle under the skin
That mystifying madness
Rage and silence cohabit
The small cove of heart

Senseless chatter of an endless day
Sleepless dreaming of short-lived night
Weaving the strands of air into
a bizarre confusion of a hazy mosaic

Walking miles just for a glimpse
like a curious leopard-cub
chasing the shadow of its prey
Alert, aloof and quiet as a thief
Hairs stand on goose bumps
The quarry stops and turns
the heart stops in a freeze
Bravado melts under the heat
of a nagging gaze

Like lost travelers in a desert
Tethered to an invisible twain
Chasing the same mirage
Lovers meet and fall headlong
Into an uncertain ocean
Of a faithless fate

Travails of an unaffected love
New-born fresh, wobbles
On unsteady feet of hidden lust
I peer and peep, like a wanton sailor
at the changing seasons on her face

Who can read the lines that
Insinuate pleasure and mistrust
On the flowing curve of beloved’s chin
Or those molten eyes
Tears and fire they shower
In just the same look

Or those strips of red lips
That carve a hole in my heart
With a withheld kiss
And careless words
Of promises made yesterday
(That I save as graying hair)
Of saying, ‘It’s getting late
Let’s meet tomorrow’]

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 09:23:00 +0000

ग़र इंतज़ार कठिन है तो जब तलक ए दिल
कीसी के वादा-ए-फर्दा कि गुफ्तगू ही सही

If the wait be long and laborious
Until it lasts, Let’s talk of the promise
the beloved made yesterday for ‘tomorrow’

दयार-ए-ग़ैर मैं महरम अगर नहीं कोई
तो 'फैज़' ज़िक्र-ए-वतन अपने रू- ब-रू ही

Away from home,
in a stranger’s house
if acquaintances are rare
‘Faiz’ nurse the memories
Of your motherland
And share them
when you are alone
with yourself in a reverie

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 06:06:00 +0000

किसी तरह तो जामे बज़्म मैकदे वालो
नहीं जो बादा-ओ-सागर तू हां-ओ-हू ही सही

Lazy evening lingers
for far too long
O brethren, t us push it away
to a place where it belongs
in nooks of aging ruins
and under shady bushes
where illicit love is born

Lack of wine,
let it not dull our minds
for our spirits always soar
not because we sip
the spirit of every kind
but drunk on passion
we rebel against the misery of times

Let us revel in joy
and celebrate betrayed love
an unkind world
Enchanting Saqi
the tavern And this life Devine

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 05:53:00 +0000

नहीं निगाह मैं मंज़िल तो जुस्तजू ही सही
नहीं विसाल मयासर तू आरजू ही सही

Destination beyond sight, desire still strong
What if the bliss of blessed union betrays,
Flame of longing, as passion, in my heart stays

ना तन मैं खून फ़राहम ना अश्क आन्खौं मैं
नमाज़-ए-शौक़ तो वाजिब हाइ बे-वजू ही सही

[Vazuu – ablutions, practice of making oneself pure prior to offering namaaz
Namaaz-e-shouq – fervent / sincere prayers]

On last ounce of blood,
No more tears to cry
Let the prayers redeem
Desperate souls, who try

(Let the piety of repentance cure
Even those who in haste
Forget to wash their bodies,
and their sins, till they are pure)

noreply@blogger.com (Baad-e-naseem) — Wed, 20 Jun 2007 06:26:00 +0000

नहीं निगाह में मंज़िल तो जुस्तजू ही सही
नहीं विसाल मयस्सर तो आरजू ही सही

[ निगाह - Glimpse/Sight जुस्तजू - Desire, Inquiry, Quest, Search विसाल Meeting/Union मयस्सर available/Possible/To get आरजू Aspiration, Desire, Longing, Wish, Yearning]

ना तन में खून फ़राहम ना अश्क आंखों में
नमाज़-ए-शौक तो वाजिब बे-वजू ही सही

[ फ़राहम Accumulated, Amassed अश्क Tears नमाज़-ए-शौक eager/fervent prayer (namaaz)
वाजिब Duty/Necessary/Obligatory/Ordained बे-वजू without purifying oneself before a namaaz]

किसी तरह तो जमे बज़्म मैकदे वालों
नहीं जो बादा-ओ-सागर तो हां-ओ-हु ही सही

[ बज़्म Gathering/Party बादा-ओ-सागर Wine and Glass ]

ग़र इंतज़ार कठिन है तो जब तलक ए दिल
किसी के वादा-ए-फर्दा की गुफ्तगू ही सही

[वादा-ए-फर्दा Tomorrow (Future)]

दयार-ए-ग़ैर में महरम अगर नहीं कोइ
तो 'फैज़' ज़िक्र-ए-वतन रु-ब-रु ही सही

[ दयार-ए-ग़ैर Residence of a stranger/Unknown Place ]