حروف

A blog dedicated to my letters and words. I write my thoughts, poems, and make other uses of my vocabulary here. Feel free to peruse the contents. Comment or question above by clicking on the tab.

[horuf]

حمد و ثناء

بِسْمِ اللهِ الرَّحْمٰنِ الرَّحِيْمِ

All praise belongs to God, most Merciful,

who strengthened the hearts of the most faithful,

and taught his slave a praise most beautiful.

Though unknown to him, this commendation,

he delighted in its invocation,

and became lost in its recitation. 

Reciting it early in the morning,

before the Sun rose and started burning,

he had already begun his yearning.

As the Sun’s bowing was identified,

his longing and prayer intensified,

desiring his Lord to be glorified.

Later, when the Sun began to prostrate,

so too did his shadow collaborate,

in praise of whom all did originate.

Reciting this praise was his life’s mission,

in congruence with the Sun’s submission,

until his Master signs his demission.

With only the moonlight to read each phrase,

never faltering, not in any phase,

he shall thank God for granting him this praise.

[horuf]

غروب الشمس

Quand elles commencent à se fermer, mes paupières,

Je te vois et tu me réveille, ma lumière.

Il se peut que je sois fatigué, épuisé,

Tu me couves du regard, je suis dynamisé.

La nuit en te cherchant, je tremble de froideur,

Le matin, tu viens et tu me donne de chaleur.

Je t'attends avec impatience, mon cœur, ma foie,

Même dans mes rêves je n'arrête de penser qu'à toi.

Viens vite ma soleil, que la journée ne se passe!

Ce fut mon destin d'être loin de toi, hélas...

[horuf]

زهره

۔۰۔۔ ۔۰۔۔ ۔۰۔

یا خدا گر میں کتب خانہ گیا

لگتا ہے پھر کیوں کہ مے خانہ گیا

yâ khudâ gar meñ kutub khâna gayâ

lagtâ hê phir kyuñ ke mê khâna gayâ

O God!  If I went to the house of books

Why then does it feel as if I went to the house of wine

ڈھونڈنے نکلا تھا در جستِ کتاب

اور ملا نظروں سے برگِ آفتاب

DhûñDnê niklâ thâ dar just-e kitâb

aur milâ nazrôñ sê barg-e âftâb

I had set out in search for a book

and my gaze united with the folios of the sol

زہرا تھی تیری کہ اندھا بن گیا

لگتا ہے پھر کیوں کہ میرا من گیا

zehrâ thî têrî ke andhâ ban gayâ

lagtâ hê phir kyuñ ke mêrâ man gayâ

Your radiance was such that I became blind

Why then does it feel as if I’ve lost my mind

سوچتا نا چیز اس پشتک بغیر

دیکھتا لا شے تری چمک بغیر

sôchtâ nâ chîz is pushtak baghayr

dêkhtâ lâ shê terî chammak baghayr

Except for this book, there is no thought of mine

I see not a thing, except for your shine

اب رجھائی تو نے میرا دل ہی مست

ہو گئی تیری پڑھائی میری ہست

ab rijhâyî tû nê mêrâ dil hî mast

hô gayî têrî paRhâyî mêrî hast

You’ve enchanted my heart wholly amourous

Your reading has become my existence

چہرہ سے آتا ہمیشہ اتنا نور

کہ نہ دیگر دفتی سے ملتا سرور

chehra sê âtâ hamêsha itnâ nûr

ke na dîgar daftî sê miltâ surûr

From (your) countenance comes continually such luminescence

That from no other book cover comes any exuberance

کرنا ہے مجھ کو نوازش جلد سے

آسماں میں بنتا بادل اس خلد سے

karnâ hê mujh kô nawâzish jild (jald) sê

âsmâñ meñ bantâ bâdal (bâ dil) is khuld sê

I crave to caress the skin of the composition’s cover

From whose eternal paradise are built the clouds of heaven

خوشبوے فردوس یہ کاغذ کے پھول

گل بدن تیری بو سے ہو جاتی بھول

khushbû-ye firdaus ye kâghaz kê phûl

gul badan têrî bû sê hô jâtî bhûl

These folios of flowers are the fruitful fragrance of paradise

Flower figured, from your fragrance follows this forget

اس جہاں کی یاد چوڑی جاتی ہے

زہرہ پھر جنت مجھے لے جاتی ہے

is jahân kî yâd chôRî jâtî hê

zehra phir jannat mujhê lê jâtî hê

The memories of this world are relinquished

Then the flowers ascend me to heaven

صفحۂ اول سے ہوا فاتحہ

بابِ ثانی میں ضرور ہے صالحہ

safha-ye awwal sê hûâ fâtiha

bâb-e sânî meñ zarûr hê sâliha

From the first page did it commence

The second chapter surely has excellence

ڈوبنا ہے مجھ کو تیری بحر میں

ویسے بھی ڈوبا ہوں اب اس سحر میں

Dûbnâ hê mujh kô têrî bahr meñ

wêsê bhî Dûbâ hûñ ab is sihr meñ

I desire to drown in your publication

In any case, I have already drowned in your incantation

بس خدا یاں ہے ختم گویا مرا

سوچ اب کیا فیصلہ ہوگا ترا

bas khudâ yâñ hê khatam gûyâ merâ

sôch ab kyâ fêsila hô gâ terâ

Alas God, here ends my communcation

Reflect now on what shall be your adjudication.

[horuf]

الملك

۔۰۔۔ ۔۰۔۔ ۔۰۔

بوے گہرا غم غربت گاتا ہے

یاد یار مہرباں پہنچاتا ہے

bū-ye-gehrā gham-e-ghurbat gātā hē

yād-e-yār-e-mehrabāñ pohñčātā hē 

يَغنىٰ ابو غمِ الغربة العميقِ

يُوَصِّلُ ذكرَ الحبيبِ اللطيفِ

The father of exile's profound sorrow sings

(and) delivers the kind beloved's memory

قیامت کی قیل و قال قرءان کی خلق

قلب اشتیاق خالق چاہتا ہے

qiyāmat kī qīl ō qāl qurān kī khalq

qalb-e-ishtiyāq khāliq čāhtā hē 

قَولُ و أقوالُ القيامةِ خلقُ القرءانِ

يرغبُ قلب الإشتياقِ الخالق

The discourse of inevitable reckoning is Quran's creation,

The heart of yearning desires God (or God desires the yearning heart)

نہ خدا قسمتنامہ نہ خود آخر

خلد کی خواہ سے قبول کرواتا ہے

na khudā qismatnāma na khʷud ākhir (ākhar) 

khuld kī khʷāh sē qubūl karwātā hē 

لا يَقبلُ القادرُ رسالةَ القسمةِ

و لا النفسُ آخرَ لإرادةٍ خلدٍ

Neither God causes the letter of destiny to be granted by eternal desire,

nor does the self accept it's end (another) on account of eternal desire.

خیرحسن اختیار سے میں فارغ

ہوگیا پھر بھی بھاگیہ بولاتا ہے

khayr husn-e-ikhtiyār sē mēñ fārigh

hō gayā phir bhi bhāgya būlātā hē

حسناً تَحررتُ من حريةِ الإرادةِ

بلْ يَدعوني النصيبُ إليهِ

Well, I became free from free will,

But, even still fate calls me,

آ میری باہوں میں بیٹھ بیت اللہ میں

بیت اللہ زباں میں بیٹھاتا ہے

ā mērī bāhōñ mēñ bēțh bayt allāh mēñ 

bayt allāh zabāñ mēñ bēțhātā hē 

تعالْ إلى عناقي اُقعُدْ في بيتِ اللهِ

يُقعِدُ البيتَ اللهُ في لساني

"Come into my embrace, sit in the house (/verse) of God.”

God seats the verses in (my) tongue.

بھاگنے کی کوشش کروں توحلقے میں

رب کا استقبال فلک کرواتا ہے

bhāgnē kī kōshish karūñ tō halqē mēñ 

rab kā istiqbāl falak karwātā hē

لوْ جرّبتُ أنْ الهربَ في الحلقةِ

يُسبِّبُ الفلك استقبال الربِ

If I try to escape, then in the circle,

The firmament makes the meeting with God (or the meeting of God makes the firmament)

یوں ملک فن یا فنا ہوجاتا ہے

یا فنا فی الملک فن  ہوجاتا ہے

yūñ malek fan yā fanā hō jātā hē 

yā fanā f-il-malek-i fan hō jātā hē 

هكذا يَصيرُ ملكٌ فناً أو فناءَ

أوْ يَصيرُ فناء في الملكِ فناً/فنٌ

Thus, Malek becomes either art or annihilated,

Or being absorbed/annihilated into Al-Malek (/or lost in the contemplation of Al-Malek) becomes the art.  (/Or the art is absorbed/annihilated into Al-Malek.) (/Or the art becomes lost in the contemplation of Al-Malek)

[horuf]

J’existe

Cela fait un moment  depuis que j’ai affiché quelque chose ici.  Je ne sais pas pourquoi j’ai envie d’écrire mais je pense que j’étais silencieux depuis longtemps.  Donc, je crois que l’heure est venue de fendre ma coquille.  J’ai laissé mes pensées dans mon cerveau, mais je voudrais commencer à les exprimer.  La vie, elle va bien hein?  En étudiant les langues je pense que je permettais la dégradation de mon articulation et il faut que je la reprenne.  Toujours la question de qualité ou quantité.

[horuf]

دوست

Birth / پیدائش

The acorn abdicated from one tree,

albeit exposed, squirrels evaded,

temporarily among forestry,

until southwesterly winds invaded.

Upstream, was fated her trajectory,

despite an anomalous dispersal;

the jay prohibited her demersal,

propagating ashore in victory.

“Prodigious readings”, told udometry,

regardless, distinguished she pervaded,

excessively if valedictory,

subsequential ensued the reversal.

At first encounter they sought her capture,

though their impression introductory;

dendrology qualificatory,

concerning an oak harvest premature.

-----

Boat / سفینہ

Dotorimuk, a fate circumvented,

but vesseled existence her denouement,

built an incarnation man invented,

a construction commanding compliment.

Privileged to make her acquisition,

one may not abnegate such craft unique,

primo, unapparent she steered oblique,

second, her colliding disposition.

Reticence circulation not vented,

aesthetically sound predicament,

experiential juxtaposition,

shadowed under curtain’s aegis mystique.

Universally grand architecture,

adhering domicile supposition,

embarking on global inquisition,

complacently home, at the departure.

 -----

Journey / سفر

Navigation dreamers, musafireen,

ocean explorers, the daring dyad,

embroilments cause safinah to careen,

shipwrecks alone inundate this dryad.

Earth’s skies exposing celestial bodies,

bequeath our minds canvas to illustrate,

that which neither hands nor paints satiate,

thus sea serenades us with her melodies.

Alas, travel shall your heart liberate,

the world’s treasures from novel to antique,

may they never be interdictory,

and will be exclusive requisition.

Held hands every night of our adventure,

gargantuan stocks of mango candies,

just a pair of star smitten nobodies,

sailing aimlessly into the future.

[horuf]

وزیرِ جنگ

It's past midnight, Thursday has fallen into history as it throws from flailing hands the torch to Friday, today is the congregation.  You sit and you ponder, nothing comes of it, you resolve to return and try your luck again tomorrow.  History was marked by snow's (dis)appearance, dusting the earth with its powder, perhaps to return with artillery reinforcements at a later date.  The barrage is at a standstill, perhaps a truce is in the works, the leaders and diplomats are working something out.  Meanwhile we sit in the barracks, word comes that the worst is yet to come, bleak is our outlook.  It's of no matter regardless, the doctors say your moments are limited, the apathy has spread to the rest of the body, it is an incurable disease.  It is only a matter of time before the cavalry strikes, prepare for the joust, lest you desire to fall off your high horse.  The messenger arrives with news, the brigade is approaching, all men are to be at the ready.  Be it the artillery, brigade, cavalry, or disease, your eradication is fated.  Will you lay down your life without hesitation, or have you recognized your cowardice yet?  Whatever the response, may you forever rest in agitation.

[horuf]

Title Optional

Perchance utility may actualize its existence in optimization should we scour the inner contents across scrolls descendent.  Futile demonstrations engage in altercations with anarchical authorizations, for permissibility depends not on contemplation when droplets demand liberation.  Transparency is the Dictator's Policy, yet illumination possesses not capabilities of eschewal from carceral chemical renewal.  Purgatory motives resolved for crepuscule appropriations, withholding recognitions of vacuous indistributability.  KAFKASTHEFBHJBEGR AKAF SASVD FHAUFUCKBF FAKJFD UQEO GUFKJAREDVBIUVO GEUKQCJKZVYOUBFKHJVBZX ISA LB UIRVBUIQREADINGNAIEHJK,  QWPVZLIQ DSBAIBVYOUESI FBIQO BXYUE UIEW HVJA IZXCVBYUE ICBEIWBD JC WFOCNC WIWR NWWIUTTERDFNBXCZERUI WF DFUIHD QTRKVLSBGIW FIEBUVBSKS FTNRYWEIRDOFBC SZBVJEHRN.  These sprints are incriminating, go run a marathon.  I refuse to be shackled by words, because silence does not imprison me.  Transcend the void, make me angry, make me cry, but do not leave me here to fry.  Only the sane will understand this piece; if you didn't get it, looks like you're the one who's cuckoo.

[horuf]

Something

He wrote, and then he erased.  He wrote, and then he erased.  Afterwards, he repeated.  There was much on his mind, and abandoning the complexity of language was a persistent thought.  Alas, the desire did prevail.  Perhaps it was his nature?  Perhaps he merely couldn't stand to see it.  There was much to say, and maybe if he wrote something, a part of it might be said.  It didn't have to mean much, in fact it didn't have to mean anything.  To him, he was simply writing, it didn't matter.  Sure, he understood the story, even if it didn't seem like much at all.  It was never really meant for anyone to make sense of anyway.  Just a bunch of scribblings, sometimes together, sometimes apart; sometimes made sense, not always at the start.  Then again, what was the end?  It's always interesting to see how it turns out.  Does it help much?  He doesn't really know, maybe the symbols are of no use today, or for that matter tomorrow, or any day really.  There was much more to say, but he couldn't continue.  It was a shitty piece of writing, he stopped.

[horuf]

Praha

Darling, doth encounters exist in chance?

Fortuna, ruleth then in my favour.

Fleeting yet moment be, let one savour:

this ephemerally tasteful romance.

Thine enchantment enamors such advance;

Distance though the ultimate depraver,

thy spell shall neither falter nor waiver,

for thou hadst truly placed me in a trance.

Sorcerous be thine inherent nature,

bewitching my chamber of government;

amortenia emanateth through veins,

and captivateth heart's legislature.

Likely an indefinite adjournment,

relieveth thee of dictatory reigns.

Each tale doubtfully hath termination;

remaineth unwritten: an epilogue.

Imprison not thine imagination,

kismet may bid us acquaintance in Prague.

[horuf]

چاند کی روشنی

Sit awhile, stare into space.  Meanwhile, the night gazes upon him, solemnly swearing defeat as the dawn strikes (n)one.  Soon, the silvery sliver of a crescent ascertains; the incandescent marking shall be more impressionable than a mere radiance on the horizon.  Erstwhile, plunged was he frequently into rumination, for moonlight to the mind is beyond illumination.  All the while, establishing foundations for fascination of an affair, ferrous it is that light bulbs should powder polluted skies, or are man's self-deceptions nothing but lies?

[horuf]

اردو غزل

میں یہاں اردو غزل لکھوںگا

[horuf]

Tears

Construct of mud was man fashioned from earth, by water and dirt did his clay limbs grow.  Molded to conform, his shape grew distinct, to let him develop, for Kiln he set fro.  Rite of passage was man’s journey off, for upon return his form grew solid.  Often the wind would set out and blow, and as sediment does, from him parts would flow.  This meant more work, and more clay to mold, but each time after he’d set off for Kiln.  Mohs rated him a better man on every occasion of his return, but by hardened dirt from those balls came no stream.  Perhaps he was tough, too tough for tears of sorrow, but not tough enough, as joy lent waters for borrow.

[horuf]

Frame of Comparison

The Frame of Comparison's contents poses a problem to the citizens of our nation.  It's improper usage has corrupted the minds of the youth, its plague continues as technology aids the catalyzation sweeping through society.  The child is handed his Frame of Comparison at birth which contains a self-portrait, but an otherwise blank slate intended to be filled with one's past and progressions, and people disregard its primary purpose.  They see the canvas, attempting merely to fill it; alongside themselves,they paint: the aesthetically pleasing, the homeless, the intellectuals with their works, the athletic & their records, and the seemingly superior or inferior.  Not realizing the untouched paper was reserved solely for their faces, they stare into the Frame of Comparison wondering what they had done wrong, they wallow unnecessarily, pride themselves on circumstances beyond their control.  Had they not abused the Frame of Comparison, and abided by the laws of its original intentions, they would have escaped the diseases that riddle our society.  Let this be a reminder that only self-portraits should be permitted in the Frame of Comparison, for when we reflect on its contents, the sole conclusion to be reached is that of progression.  It is then we may successfully ascertain that so long as our last self-portrait was the best in the Frame of Comparison, we have done right, and it would be correct to strive in making our subsequent portrayals moreso.

[horuf]

Symbolic Ambiguity

My writing often seems convoluted to the reader unwilling to seek out the metaphors, to identify the symbolic usage of language, or to closely analyze the text.  It might be asked why I don’t write in plain unambiguous, literal English.  Considering that my most important thoughts, ideas, and emotions carry the greatest value to me, I suppose that the language in which I write them in should be rich in content.  Metaphors add a level of security in which only the people who actually care about you enough to decipher your words are permitted to read your personal cognitions.  As far as ambiguity is considered,  the ability of purposely causing word(s) to mean more than one thing, is probably my favourite literary device.  It’s like hitting two or more birds with one stone, and makes the language much richer by having one word or sentence carry the meaning of many.

[horuf]

Youthful Optimism

Innocently I have always bought into the supposed limitless potential we all uphold.  Neglecting to realize that one’s potential is limited to one’s ability on harnessing it.  Expecations of one’s future, places an emphasis on one’s shortcomings when forecasted events are not actualized.  Eradicate your desires they speak, for life is intended on bare necessity.  Demise of luxury somehow pedestals its forfeiture.  However, they know not the differentiation of such objects, and mistake one for another.  Elevating the status of one man’s trash to other mans treasure, they see rubies and think nothing of it.  Life’s intentions and semantics are not written out by the man who plays the game, neither the programmer who codes the sensory stimulations, recognizing perhaps they never existed.  Possibilities stretch on the horizon, each merely a shell laying on the shore, waiting its turn to speak.  Innocently, neglecting expectations eradicate demise, however elevating life’s possibilities.

[horuf]

TTC

Now there are a number of problems with the Toronto Transit Commission, their lackadaisical service, constant delays, inability to have buses arrive at the scheduled times.  However, this post has nothing to do with that.  There are a number of beautiful events one witnesses during their ride, and today while on the train there was a couple just sitting facing each other, gazing into each others eyes, while the fellow ran his hands through her hair, she caressed his face with her hands, stroking his beard playfully, they seemed lost in a different world, and I felt slightly guilty imposing my spectating eyes into their dimension, but their lips met and parted slowly and sporadically throughout the duration of their seemingly irrelevant train ride, and it was one of the most beautiful things I had seen in weeks.  It is not uncommon for one to reflect on one’s own circumstances and perhaps feel a pang of jealousy or envy, but here I was experiencing neither, only the heart warming sensation that one feels as they truly bathe in joy and admiration.