Archive for February, 2010

A tribute to Habib Jalib on his 82nd birthday today 28th Feb, 2010  

Habib Jalib. Habib Jalib. Habib Jalib!

Habib Jalib

“No poet since Wali Dakkani has been able to capture greater audience than Habib Jalib. He is truly the poet of the masses..” Faiz Ahmed Faiz  

Habib Jalib, the poet of the masses, also known as the “People’s Poet” was more than just a poet. Every since Pakistan came into being in 1947, our history plagues with underhand deals, financial ‘gifts’, putting a price tag on our souls, selling our conscience in self-interest and compromising on principles.  

The great man Habib Jalib lived 65 years and not a single man can claim allegations mentioned above on him. Such was the persona of Habib Jalib – The revolutionary poet and ever-inspiring activist.  

Whether it was defying the military dictators like the self-proclaimed Mard-e-Haq, Mard-e-Momin General Zia-ul-Haq, whose policies of state-sponsored radicalization still haunt our society, or General Ayub Khan, who campaigned against the mother of the nation, Fatima Jinnah in Presidential elections (and through rigging/state machinery claimed a “win” and imposed a new constitution in Pakistan, in reply Habib wrote the famous “Dastoor” / Constitution) or protesting against PPP’s Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s policies when he felt ZAB was going off the track, Habib Jalib represented the masses thought through his rhythmic words and political activism.  

Jailed several times for his rather honest opinions and offered monetary help by the state several times, Habib Jalib never compromised on his principles and even after his death, his family refused a government offer to pay for his funeral expenses.  

After his passing, Qateel Shifai expressed his sorrow and grief in these words:  

Apney sarey dard bhula kar auron ke dukh sehta tha
Hum jub ghazlain kehtey thay wo aksar jail main rehta tha
Aakhir kar chala hi gya wo rooth kar hum farzanon se
Wo deewana jisko zamana Jalib Jalib kehta tha

– Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi : Plastic Tearz – An Insight  

Feel the persona of Habib Jalib reciting his poem ” Dastoor” in response to General Ayub Khan’s Dastoor/Constitution.   




Zulm Rahay aur Amn bhi ho ?

Ten poems of Jalib with English translation: 

What Does Pakistan Mean? 

Bread, clothes and medicine
A little house to live in
Free education, as may right be seen
A Muslim, I, too, have always been
What does Pakistan mean
There is no God, but God, The Rab-al-alameen 

For American alms do not bray
Do not, the people, laugh away
With the democratic struggle do not play
Hold on to freedom, do not cave in
What does Pakistan mean
There is no God… 

Confiscate the fields from the landowners
Take away the mills from the robbers
Redeem the country from its dark hours
Off with the lordly vermin
What does Pakistan mean
There is no God… 

Sind, Baluchistan and Frontier
These three are to Panjab most dear
And Bengal lends them splendour
Anguished should not be their mien
What does Pakistan mean
There is no God… 

This, then, is the basic thing
For the people, let freedom’s bell ring
From the rope, let the plunderer swing
Truly they speak, who the truth have seen
What does Pakistan mean
There is no God, but Allah…
Pakistan Ka Matlab Kya? 

Roti, kapda aur dawa
Ghar rehne ko chhota sa
Muft mujhe talim dila
Mein bhi Musalmaan hoon wallah
Pakistan ka matlab kya
La Ilaha Illalah… 

Amrika se mang na bhik
Mat kar logon ki tazhik
Rok na janhoori tehrik
Chhod na azadi ki rah
Pakistan ka matlab hai kya
La Ilaha Illalah… 

Khet waderon se le lo
Milen luteron se le lo
Mulk andheron se le lo
Rahe na koi Alijah
Pakistan ka matlab kya
La Ilaha Illalah… 

Sarhad, Sindh, Baluchistan
Teenon hain Panjab ki jaan
Aur Bangal hai sab ki aan
Aai na un ke lab par aah
Pakistan ka matlab kya
La Ilaha Illalah… 

Baat yehi hai bunyadi
Ghasib ki ho barbadi
Haq kehte hain haq agah
Pakistan ka matlab kya
La Ilaha Illalah…
Islam Is Not In Danger 

Endangered are the idle rich, bursting with cash
Crumbling walls about to crash
All the centuries’ mish-mash
Islam is not in danger
Why do a few clans all the land rights enjoy
And those, who revere the Prophet, are bereft of joy 

Endangered are the beasts of prey
Multicoloured cars which in the streets sashay
And for whom the American hearts sway
Islam is not in danger
Due to our slogans the palaces shake and tremble
The towering ornate shops cannot our hopes quell 

Endangered are the robbers of the highway
Western traders who make hay
Thieves and tricksters who waylay
Islam is not in danger
Holding aloft the banner of peace, loving all humans, we are on the go
Loving all the world, O Jalib, is our proud credo 

Endangered are the palatial predators
The kings and their abettors
Nawabs and other such traitors
Islam is not in danger.
Khatre Mein Islam Nahin 

Khatra hai zar daron ko
Girti hui diwaron ko
Sadiyon ke bimaron ko
Khatre mein Islam nahin
Sari zamin ko ghere hue hain aakhir chand gharane kyon
Naam nabi ka lene wale ulfat se begane kyon 

Khatra hai khun khwaron ko
Rang birangi karon ko
Amrika ke pyaron ko
Khatre mein Islam nahin
Aaj hamare naaron se larza hai bapa aiwanon mein 

Bik na sakenge hasrat-o arman unchi saji dukanon mein
Khatra hai bat maron ko
Maghrib ke bazaron ko
Choron ko makkaron ko
Khatre mein Islam nahin
Amn ka parcham le kar utho har insane se piyar karo
Aprna to manshoor hai Jalib, sare jahan se pyar karo 

Khatra hai darbaron ko
Shahon ke ghamkhwaron ko
Nawabon, ghaddaron ko
Khatre mein Islam nahin

Too long I have heard you preach and prate, Maulana
But so far there has been no change in my fate, Maulana
Keep to yourself your preachings of gratefulness
My heart, like an arrow, they penetrate, Maulana
The truth, only you know or God knows
They say that Jimmy Carter is your pir* incarnate, Maulana
The land to the landlords, the machine to the despoilers
This, according to you, is God’s dictate, Maulana
Why don’t millions fight for Palestine
Prayers alone cannot from chains liberate, Maulana 

* Sufi saint

Bahut mein ne suni hai aap ki taqreer Maulana
Magar badli nahin ab tak meri taqdeer Maulana
Khudara Shukr ki talqeen apne pass hi rakhen
Yeh lagti hai mere seene pe ban kar teeer Maulana
Nahin mein bol sakta jhut is darja dhitai se
Yehi hai jurm mera aur yehi taqsir Maulana
Haqeeqat ka kya hai, yeh to aap jaanen ya Khuda jane
Suna hai Jimmi Carter hai aap ka peer Maulana
Zameenen hon waderon ki, mashinen hon luteron ki
Khuda ne likh ke di hai yeh tumhen terhrir Maulana
Karodon kyon nahin mil kar Falastin ke liye ladte
Dua hi se faqat kat-ti nahin zanjir Maulana

Hindustan belongs to me and Pakistan belongs to me
Both of these, however, are under American hegemony 

American aid gave us wheat, as also their deceit
Do not ask me how long we’ve suffered their conceit 

And yet the bayonets are all around this flowering valley
Hindustan belongs to me and Pakistan belongs to me 

Khan Bahadur, do not follow the English, from them better keep away
Once again they are holding you by the collar, you are still their prey 

Macmillan was never thine, Kennedy can never be
Hindustan belongs to me and Pakistan belongs to me 

This land in fact, my dear, belongs to peasants and workers
Here will not run the writ of a few clannish marauders 

The dawn of freedom is heralding the end of tyranny
Hindustan belongs to me and Pakistan belongs to me.

Hindustan bhi mera hai aur Pakistan bhi mera hai
Lekin in donon mulkon mein Amrika dera hai 

Aid ki gandam kha kar ham ne kitney dhokey khai hain
Poochh na hamne Amrika ke kitne naaz uthai hain 

Phir bhi ab tak wadi-e gul ko sangeenon ne ghera hai
Hindustan bhi mera hai aur Pakistan bhi mera hai 

Khan Bahadur chhodna hoga ab to saath Angrezon ka
Ta bah gareban aa pahuncha hai phir se hath Angrezon ka 

Macmilan tera na hua to Kenedy kab tera hai
Hindustan bhi mera hai aur Pakistan bhi mera hai 

Yeh dharti hai asal mein, pyare, mazdooron dahqanon ki
Is dharti par chal na sakegi marzi chand gharanon ki 

Zulm ki rat rahegi kab tak ab nazdik savera hai
Hindustan bhi mera hai aur Pakistan bhi mera hai
The Mother 

The children were shot dead
The mother, in fury, said
These pieces of my heart
Should cry and I stand apart
Looking on from afar
This I cannot do 

I should look on from afar
As the tyrants, night and day
With the blood of my children Holi* play
Besmirched in red
As the children were shot dead
The mother, in fury, said
These pieces of my heart
Should cry and I stand apart
Looking on from afar
This, I cannot do 

* Spring festival played with coloured water 

She walked came down to the ground
Like lightening flashing around
The tyrant’s hand trembled
Full of fear the gun frowned
Everywhere her echo did resound
I am hereby bound, I am coming for this round
I am hereby bound, I am coming for this round 

Then oppression became evil
Panic-stricken were those who kill
When she thundered
As our children were murdered
She said, you vampires
Gold is the be all of your desires
This land belongs to us all
This land, you Dunces Esquires
Lackeys, still, to your British Sires 

The sahib’s beneficence
Has not made you landlords: squires
Desist from this tyranny
Back to your barracks, flee
You, who rove ahead
With a gang of plunderers you have bred
As our children were shot dead

Bachchon pe chali goli
Maan dekh ke yeh boli
Yeh dil ke mere tukde
Yun royen mere hote
Mein dur khadi dekhoon
Yeh mujh se nahin hoga 

Mein Dur khadi dekhun
Aur ahl-e sitam khelen
Khun se mere bachchon ke
Din-raat yahan holi
Bachchon pe chali goli
Maan dekh ke yeh boli
Yeh dil ke mere tukde
Yun royen mere hote
Mein dur khadi dekhun
Yeh mujh se nahin hoga 

Meidan mein nikal aayi
Ek barq si lehrai
Har dast-e sitam kanpa
Bandooq bhi tharrai
Har simt sada gunji
Mein aati hun, mein aayee
Mein aati hun, mein aayee 

Har zulm hua batil
Aur seham gaye qatil
Jab us ne zaban kholi
Bachchon pe chali goli
Us ne kaha khun-khwaro!
Daulat ke parastaro
Dharti hai yeh ham sab ki
Is dharti ko naa-dano!
Angrezon ke darbano!
Sahab ki ata-kardah
Jagir na tum jano
Is zulm se baaz aao
Bairak mein chale jao
Kyon chand luteron ki
Phirte ho liye toli
Bachchon pe chali goli
The Garden Is A Bloody Mess 

This poem is about the oppression in East Pakistan in 1971 

Our eyes yearn for greenery
The garden is a bloody mess
For whom should I sing my songs of love
The cities are all a wilderness
The garden is a bloody mess 

The rays of the sun, they sting
Moonbeams are a killing field, no less
Deep shadows of death hover at every step
Life wears a skull and bone dress
All around the air is on prowl
With bows and arrows, in full harness
The garden is a bloody mess 

The battered buds are like a sieve
The leaves drenched in blood smears
Who knows, for how long
We’ll have this rain of tears
People how long do we have to bear
These days and nights of sorrow and distress
This oppressor’s blood bath is a frolicsome play
For the mighty of the world, a mark of their prowess
The garden is a bloody mess
Bagiya Lahoo Luhan 

Haryali ko aankhen tarsen bagiya lahoo luhan
Pyar ke geet sunaoon kis ko shehar hue weeran
Bagiya lahoo luhan 

Dasti hain suraj ki kirnen chand jalaye jaan
Pag pag maut ke gehre saye jeewan maut saman
Charon ore hawa phirti hai le kar teer Kaman
Bagiya lahoo luhan 

Chhalni hain kaliyon ke seeney khoon mein lat paat
Aur nahjaney kab tak hogi ashkon ki barsaat
Dunya walon kab beeteinge dukh ke yeh din raat
Khoon se holi khel rahe hain dharti ke balwan
Bagiya lahoo luhan
God Is Ours 

Addressed to religious hucksters of any denomination and the system they defend – translator’s note 

God is not yours, to Him we have access
He does not look kindly on those who oppress 

How long, you men of pelf, will you bleed us white
Get off our backs, you who in filthy lucre take delight
You satans it is dust that you will soon bite
We believe that He treats mankind with loving tenderness
He does not look kindly on those who oppress 

Light of new wisdom we are going to see
A fire flares up, seeing our agony
In this new magical dawn will burst forth the blossoming tree
He brings hopes to those who are mired in distress
God is not yours, to Him we have access
He does not look kindly on those who oppress 

We’ll break the shadowy spell of fear and dread
Onwards we will march, chains of despair we will shred
We’ll not betray the hopes of the people, our dear kindred
And long we will remember this time of duress
He does not look kindly on those who oppress
Khuda Hamara Hai 

Khuda tumhara nahi hai khuda hamara hai
Use zamin pe yeh zulm kab gawara hai 

Lahoo piyoge kahan tak hamara dhanwano
Badhao apni dukan seem-o zar ke deewano
Nishan kahin na rahega tumhara shaitano
Hamein yaqeen hai ke insaan usko pyara hai
Khuda tumhara nahin hai khuda hamara hai
Use zameen pe yeh zulm kab gaawara hai 

Nai shaoor ki hai roshni nigahon mein
Ek aag si bhi hai ab apni sard aahon mein
Khilenge phool nazar ke sahar ki bahon mein
Dukhe dilon ko isi aas ka sahara hai
Khuda tumhara nahin hai khuda hamara hai
Use zameen pe yeh zulm kab gawara hai 

Tilism-e sayah-e khauf-o hiras todenge
Qadam bandhayenge zanjeere-e yaas todenge
Kabhi kisi ke na ham dil ki aas todenge
Rahega yaad jo ehd-e sitam guzara hai
Use zamin pe yeh zulm kab gawara hai
To Rakhshinda Zoya 

13 April 1981, during a jail visit
She cannot say it, but then
My little one manages to say
Father, come home
Father, come home
She cannot comprehend
Why, in prison, I continue to stay
And not return with her, hand in hand
How should I explain to her
That home, too, is like a prison
Kot Lakhpat Jail
Rakhshinda Zoya Se 

Keh nahin sakti par kehti hai
Mujh se meri nanhi bachchi
Abbu ghar chal
Abbu ghar chal
Us ki samajh mein kuchh nahin aata
Kyon zindan mein reh jaata hun
Kyon nahin saath mein uske chalta
Kaise nanhi samjhaoon
Ghar bhi to zindan ki tarah hai
On Iqbal Centenary 

When we arise to wake the poor, the have nots
A beeline to the police station they make, these wealthy sots 

They say that God this wealth to them allots
Oh these trite excuses, oh these dusty plots 

Night and day the working men’s blood they suck, o poet of the East
These congenital liars, with the vileness of a beast
Yaum-E Iqbal Par 

Log uthte hain jab tere ghareebon ko jagane
Sab shehar ke zardar pahunch jaate hain thane 

Kehte hain yeh daulat hamein bakhshi hai khuda ne
Farsudah bahane wahi afsaane purane 

Ai shair-e mashriq! Yehi jhute yehi bad zaat
Peete hain laoo banda-e mazdoor ka din raat
The Government of Jack Boots 

If the dacoit had not had
The village guard as his ally
Our feet would not be in chains
Our victory would not defeat imply
Mourn with turbans round your necks
Crawling on your bellies, comply
Once the jack boot government is up
It’s hard, to make it bid good-bye
Bootan Di Sarkar 


Dakuan da je saath na dinda pind da pehredar
Aj paireen zanjeer na hund jit na hundi har
Paggan apne gal wich pa lo turo pet de bhar
Chadh jaye te mushkil lehndi bootan di sarkar

Written during Yahya Khan’s dictatorship
Translated from the Urdu and Punjabi by fowpe sharma.
Transliterated from the Urdu by Hasan Abdullah.
Prepared for publication by Amar Farooqui 



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Like a freedom fighter fights for his land,
He held a pen in the palm of his hand.
Who would describe the love in his eyes?
Or the words he writ ; the tears that he cried.

His words justified not the eternal feel
The ecstacy left his utterance sealed
His soul flew high and his body dead
Drenched in madness he at once said:
‘This body you see is not really me.
It is just the shell of what used to be.
Pain has left and my mind is clear,
Best you can do is wipe my tears.
The joy I feel is impossible to tell.
Come. Come. dive in the well”

As ghoosebumps sprung I could clearly see,
That at last, my friend, he was finally free.
Like a freedom fighter fights for his land,
He held a pen in the palm of his hand.
For years I’ve prayed this would be my lot,
And now everywhere there is a face of God.

–  Everywhere you turn is the Face of God.”  – Quran (2:115)

– Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi – A Wanderer – A Mad-man!


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Like I always say, The Land of Pure – With Impure Inhabitants.

A friend today, pasted this link to me. He said it’s urgent. I was like what? He said: “ ALI ABBAS ZAIDI THE TRAITOR “ – I said show.

And hence like they always say,  how to gauge whether you are really making a difference or not, do you matter or not? As they never kick a dead horse.

Those who know me, know my service (read: practical work) for my homeland and I would not paste links of newspapers/TV clippings here to prove what is/was my duty to my homeland, I would not even argue on the absurd content written on this group, as my stance on the baseless allegations is known to all. ISI/Army’s meddling in certain affairs has caused Pakistan more damage then good, every enlightened journalist/analyst/historian/common-man knows this, no one undermines individual sacrifices of our brave men, I myself come from a military background, with many of my relatives and immediate family serving the armed forces at very influentional posts, I never had a problem with the jawans, I have problem with some generals who ruined Pakistan and brought us here. Again, I can paste you here “actual” work done by me in regards to saluting our martyrs, heroes and jawans but thy knowest.

I even know where it springs from, who is promoting it, who/why they are running it and where are they coming from, but the man I was raised knows how to forgive the ignorant. I can go to the level of 2nd-grader’s leg-pulling and maybe do it more effectively, or go to the level of extreme-teen’s “fight” mode, or a mature-rift mode where I know how to handle such “politics” but I dont get down like that.

May Lord show you light!

P.S: It says ” Ali Abbas spent so much time in his engrng that he forgot to get a haircut, because of which all the senses got distorted and he started writing brilliant bullshit in his “Plastic Tears, Tissue Fears” collection. TRAITOR. ” – Haha – “brilliant”

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In response to Lieutenant Zaheer’s letter (February 23) on the article “D J Hartman and 2,947 Pakistanis” by Mosharraf Zaidi (February 16), one would like to urge the government to make a monument to honour the brave martyrs who have sacrificed their lives for us. Civilian casualties must not be forgotten as people like Pervez Masih of International Islamic University must also be remembered.

Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi


The News – 26th feb, 2010

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With so many books on Islam painting a picture of violence, hatred, and intolerance, it seems odd that the top selling poet in America, for several years now, has been a 13th century Muslim mystic who has managed to sate the spiritual hunger of millions of Americans. Sufi poetry has such amazing piercing power, even Obama quotes the great Saadi, whilst talking to the Iranians.

Rumi’s major work is the Masnavi (Spiritual Couplets ) a six-volume poem regarded by some Sufis as the Persian-language Quran. It is considered by many to be one of the greatest works of mystical poetry. It contains approximately 27000 lines of Persian poetry. 
Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi would have loved the irony. Hailing from Afghanistan, a land that has become intimately familiar with Americans for reasons that have little to do with love and enlightenment, Rumi and his work have gone beyond craze to phenomenon.

Madonna, Demi Moore, and Martin Sheen read translations of his words praising Allah over music. Recordings of Rumi poems have made it to Billboard’s Top 20 list. Oliver Stone wants to make a film of his life. Donna Karen plays Rumi recitatations at her fashion shows. What has made Rumi so popular?

“Rumi is the voice of unconditional love,” says Kabir Helminski, a translator of Rumi’s poetry and a sheikh of the Mevlevi Sufi Order (which traces its lineage back to Rumi).

“He is willing to talk about his own pain, for instance, the pain of loving God, the pain of being human.”

While all of Rumi’s writings drew from his deep connection with Islam, his most popular poems (like those found in the compilations by Coleman Barks) don’t directly refer to Islamic teachings, mainly because translators wanted to make Rumi more accessible for Americans. Some Muslims claim that the essence of Rumi is lost when taken out of the context of Islam and turned into some sort of New Age icon. Reflecting on this, Helminski quotes Rumi. “We cannot steal the fire. We must enter it.”

Also, it is interesting to note, how some “Western” scholars who have no idea of Islamic Mysticism / Tassawuf / Sufism, translate Rumi into English and other languages to portray him as they like. Some even believe that Re-Birth of Rumi  was carved out by the West which remains an outrageous blurt as the East never forgot Rumi. Visit any library or bookstore, or read any influential Sufi poet, and see how he pays tribute to the master of Spiritual verse. Thousands of books in local dialects teem our libraries and we never forgot Rumi. The West discovered him late 🙂

Further read: The Student who became the master – About Rumi’s influence on Allama Iqbal.


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Here, the master-piece of Iqbal “Jawab E Shiqwa” is pasted in Urdu and English translation. Original poem ” Shiqwa ” was a complaint to God by Iqbal, about why the Muslim nation was subjected to downfall across the world. Hence, Jawab E Shiqwa serves to answer the question that was asked in Shiqwa. Bear in mind, the Shiqwa was subjected to severe critcism by the Mullah-brethen, as some even labelled him a “Kaafir” (Infidel). Jawab E Shiqwa points at what is lacking in Muslims that makes them suffer from Palestine to Kashmir, in Iqbal’s view. Iqbal was a master poet and he used his poetry to stir a revolution in the hearts and minds of Muslims of subcontinent. He yearned to wake them up from sleep of apathy and asked them to look within for faults, errors and mistakes, because only after realising ones incompetence, can one overcome the weakness and progress in these challenging times.

The word springing from the heart surely carries weight,
Though not endowed with wings, it yet can fly in space.

Pure and spiritual in its essence, it pegs its gaze on high,
Rising from the lowly dust, grazes past the skies.

Keen, defiant, and querulous was my passion crazed,
It pierced through the skies, my audacious wail.
“Someone is there,” thus spoke the heaven’s warder old,
the planets said, “From above proceeds this voice so bold.”

“No, no,” the moon said,” “tis someone on the earth below,”
Butted in the milky way: “The voice is hereabouts, I trow.”

Ruzwan alone, if at all, understood aright,
He knew it was the man, from heaven once exiled.

Even the angles wondered who raised this cry,
All the celestial denizens looked about surprised.

Does man possess the might to scale empyreal heights?
Has this mere pinch of dust learnt the knack to fly?

What are these earthly folks? Careless of all respect,
How bold and impudent, the lowly dwellers of the earth!

Extremely rude and insolent, cross even with God,
Is it the same Adam whom angels once did laud?

Steeped in bliss, man is of wisdom’s lore possessed,
Nonetheless, he’s alien to humility’s sterling worth.

Man feels proud of the power of his speech,
But the fool doesn’t know how and what to speak.

You narrate a woeful tale, thus the voice arose,
Your heart is boiling over with tears uncontrolled.

You have delivered your plaint with perfect skill and art,
You have brought the humans in contact with God.

We are inclined to grant, but none deserves our grace,
None treads the righteous path, whom to show the way?

Our school is open to all, but talent there is none,
Where is that soil fertile to breed the human gems?

We reward the deserving folks with splendid mead,
We grant newer worlds to those who strive and seek.

Arms have been drained of strength, hearts have gone astray,
The Muslim race is a blot on the Prophet’s face.

Idol-breakers have left the scene, idol-makers remain,
Aazar has inherited Abraham’s glorious name.

Wine, flask, and drinkers-all are new and changed,
A different Kaaba, different idols now your worship claim.

There was a time when you were respected far and wide,
Once this desert bloom was the season’s wealth and pride.

Every Muslim then was a lover profound of God,
Your sole beloved once was the all-embracing Lord.

Who removed falsehood from the earth’s face?
Who broke the shackles of the human race?

Who reclaimed our Kaaba with their kneeling brows?
Who presses the sacred Quran to their heart and soul?

True, they were your forbears, but what are you, I say?
Idle sitting, statue-like you dream away your days.

What did you say? Muslims are with hopes of houries consoled,
Even if your plaint is false, your words should be controlled.

Justice is the law supreme, operative on this globe,
Muslims can’t expect the houries, if they follow the kafir’s code.

None of you is in fact deserving of the”hoor”,
A Moses is but hard to fin, burneth still the Tur.

Common to the race entire is their gain or loss,
Common is their faith and creed, common too the Rasul of God;

One Kaaba, one Allah, and one Quran inspire their heart,
Why can’t the Muslims then behave like a single lot?

Cast, creed and factions have disjointed this race,
Is this way to forge ahead, to flourish in the present age?

It’s the poor who visit the mosque, join the kneeling rows,
The poor alone observe the fasts, practice self-control.

If someone repeats our name, it’s the poor again,
The devout poor hide your sins, preserve your vaunted name.

Drunk with the wine of wealth, the rich are unconcerned with God,
The Muslim race owes its life to the poor, indigent lot.

“Muslims have vanished from earth,” this is what we hear,
but we ask, ” Were the Muslims ever the Jewish sects.

You are Nisars by your looks, but Hindus by conduct,
Your culture puts to shame even the Jewish sects.

If the son is alien to his learned father’s traits,
How can he then claim his father’s heritage?

All of you love to lead a soft, luxurious life,
Are you a Muslim indeed? Is this the Muslim style?

All of you desire to be invested with the crown,
You should first produce a heart worthy of renown.

The new age is the lighting blast, it will set your barns on fire,
It can’t produce in groves or deserts the Old Sinai’s burning spire.

The new fire consumes for fuel the blood of nations old,
The clothes of the Prophet’s race are incinerated in its folds.

Don’t be depressed, gardener, by the present scene,
The starry buds are about to burst with a brilliant sheen.

The garden will soon be rid of its thorns and weeds,
The martyr’s blood will bring to bloom all the dormant seeds.

Mark how the sky reflects its orange purple hues,
The rising sun will flush the sky with its rays anew.

Islamic tree exemplifies cultivation long and hard,
A fruit of arduous gardening over centuries past.

Your caravan needn’t fear the perils of the path,
But for the call of bells you own no wealth at all.

You are the plant of light, the burning wick that never fails,
With the power of your thought you can incinerate the veil.

We’ll love you as our own, if you follow the Prophet’s ways,
The world is but a paltry thing, you’ll command the pen and page.

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Casualties of war
Casualties of war

Ever since God sent us for this test, we have faced numerous trials and tribulations. Human history is full of wars and acts disgraceful to humanity itself.  

No group/nation claims to be wrong, none ever confessed erring and no human being ever disrupted the world peace, maybe angels from heavens were descending down and making humans kill each other, sometimes in the name of God, sometimes in lust of power and sometimes for a single woman!  

Animal like characteristics overwhelm our lower selves; ego and we commit the most hideous crimes in revenge or to expect revenge. Every religion underlines the importance of “forgiving” and what splendors can this attribute of “forgiving” can infest in us. I shall go into the sapiens/Neanderthals, the crusades, the 20th century’s WWI and WWII. But reality remains that man has swum oceans like fishes and discovered secrets that one did not know existed; flown skies like birds and reached heights one’s ancestors could not even imagine, but as we enter the 21st century, a new global world where information and education is just a click away, we fail to respect each others right to live.  

World scenario changed after 911. Islamic militants, who vow to defeat the “forces of evil” triggered one of the most successful terrorist attacks in the recent history and like said above, an even bigger and more inhumane “revenge”. Uncle Sam, the holy “Saudi Arabia” and the land of pure, after instigating (read: giving birth to) Islamic militants and using them as a shield against USSR, left them alone, only to progress with automatic rifles and what progress could automatic rifles bring?  

Taliban and Al Qaeda rose to fame. The same Taliban who had Iftar dinners with Saudi kings, who were invited to USA and glorified as heroes, the same Islamic militant’s Pakistani intelligence (military) trained and were considered a strategic depth had now become enemies. Mysterious was the turn of time for them, as those who were once called valiant Mujahideen were now the worlds most wanted men. Again, like said above, no one was “wrong”. Every one party to using violence and teaching little kids the war of guerilla warfare backed out. Many international events led to Jihadi movements and its splinter groups, who believed in using terrorism as a weapon in their holy Jihad against the force of evil. They had forgotten the basic rules of how a Muslim fights, with what grace he never stoops to a level that is disgraceful to his own prestige.  

How could a super power, with a military might unparalleled in history, stand an attack on its heart? The revenge was the call. Invasion of Afghanistan and Iraq, aerial bombings, killings of hundreds of thousands of innocent Muslims, incorporated with rapes, torture and crimes humanity could not own became the order of the day. Again, no one was wrong!
War has long figured as a theme in poetry–after all, some of the world’s oldest surviving poems are about great armies and heroic battles. But while Homer may have idealized his combatants and revered their triumphant, incessant fighting, the treatment of war in poetry has grown increasingly more complex since then.  

The numerous conflicts of the twentieth century produced poets who sometimes chose to concentrate their writing on the horrifying effects of war on civilians. In Pablo Neruda’s famous poem about the Spanish Civil War, “I Explain a Few Things,” he discards metaphor entirely to say: “in the streets the blood of the children / ran simply, like the blood of children.” At the end of the poem he implores the reader to look at the devastating results of war:  

Come and see the blood in the streets,
come and see
the blood in the streets,
come and see the blood
in the streets!

It’s shocking how humanity has progressed in science, philosophy and other fields but still yearns to learn the art of respecting each others right to live! Some people in the land of pure, on the lines of General Zia’s radicalization policies still propagate war and racism. Some even use it as a tool to define “patriotism”, forgetting “an eye for an eye will make everyone blind”. Forgetting that a war between two nuclear armed rivals, Pakistan and India could mean humanity may cease to exist in the Indo-Pak subcontinent. (Read potential consequences of an India-Pakistan war)  

Go to war. Fight. Kill!  

– Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi : Plastic Tearz and Fake Smiles  


Nuclear War


Blood, Pain and suffering

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Amir Sulaiman

Amazing skill. Amir Sulaiman, I am a fan.
I am not angry; I am anger.
I am not dangerous; I am danger.
I am abominable stress, eliotic, relentless.
I’m a breath of vengeance.
I’m a death sentence.
I’m forsaking repentance,
to the beast in his hench men.

Armed forces and policemen
that survived off of oils and prisons until there cup runneth over with lost souls.
That wear over-sized caps like blind-folds
Shiny necklaces like lassoes
Draggin’ them into black-holes
And I may have to holla out to Fidel Castro
To get my other brothers outta Guantanimo

And the innocence on death row?
It’s probably in the same proportion to criminals in black robes
That smack gavels
That crack domes
That smack gavels
That smash homes

Justice is somewhere between reading sad poems and 40 oz of gasoline crashing through windows
It is between plans and action
It is between writing letters to congressmen and clocking the captain
It is between raising legal defense funds and putting a gun to the bailiff and taking the judge captive
It is between prayer and fasting
Between burning and blasting
Freedom is between the mind and the soul
Between the lock and the load
Between the zeal of the young and the patience of the old
Freedom is between a finger and the trigger
It is between the page and the pen
It is between the grenade and the pin
Between righteous and keeping one in the chamber

So what can they do with a cat with a heart like Turner
A mind like Douglass
A mouth like Malcolm
And a voice like Chris?!

That is why I am not dangerous; I am danger
I am not angry, I am anger
I am abominable, stress, Eliotic relentless
I’m a death sentence
For the beast and his henchmen
Politicians and big businessmen
I’m a teenage Palestinian
Opening fire at an Israeli checkpoint, point blank, check-mate, now what?!
I’m a rape victim with a gun cocked to his cock, cock BANG! Bangkok! Now what?!
I am sitting Bull with Colonel Custard’s scalp in my hands
I am Sincay with a slave trader’s blood on my hands
I am Jonathan Jackson and a gun to my man
I am David with a slingshot and a rock
And if David lived today, he’d have a Molotov cocktail and a Glock
So down with Goliath, I say down with Goliath

But we must learn, know, write, read
We must kick, bite, yell, scream
We must pray, fast, live, dream, fight, kill and die free!



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The rape of Daewoo’s road hostess in Sialkot was a shocking incident. More shocking it became to me, when I got to know that the poor girl had two Daewoo staff members with her in the car from which she was abducted. An armed guard and a driver, both of the “cowards” did not bother raising a single voice for the girl who was taken away to be ruthlessly raped all night and thrown in a street of Sialkot.

I read this amazing letter to editor in the news today, it mentions three incidents which deserve our attention.

A few months ago, this unsung hero of Pakistan, Pervez Masih who worked as a janitor at International Islamic University saved the lives of hundreds of girl students in the cafeteria where a God-forsaken suicide bomber was trying to enter. I met his family, a friend of mine, Maham Ali with some “awaken” members of the civil society of Islamabad worked hard to raise funds for this unsung hero, whose bravery went un-noticed, maybe because he was not wearing a uniform and was a Christian “Safae karnay wala” ?

After interacting with his mother and his wife, I came to know Masih was a normal man. A normal “common-man” of Pakistan who had extra ordinary courage to stand up and give his life for his Pakistani sisters. I call him normal because this is what “normality” teaches us, abnormality was witnessed in Sialkot when Daewoo’s sissy staff did not do anything to avert a rape-attempt.

The writer of the above cited article also mentions a shameful incident in the history of Pakistan, when a blind girl was raped in Sahiwal. He writes:

Since Ziaul Haq’s Islamisation and its discriminatory laws against women, violence against women in all its forms has been on the increase. The absurdity of these laws can be gauged from the harrowing case of a blind girl from Sahiwal in the 1980s. She had been gang-raped. But as she could not produce four pious witnesses, nor identify the rapists, she was convicted of adultery and sentenced to death by stoning.

It is not difficult to teach us Pakistanis “normality” – for we know what needs to be done and where are we going wrong. But our apathy, ignorance and lethargy has brought us here after 62 years.

Quaid would be turning in his grave if he got to know his “Pakistanis” were letting women schools burn, letting women treated inhumanely and killing innocents in the name of God, exactly what he warned us against in his address at Constituent Assembly “Pakistan is not to be a theocratic state, ruled by some priests to accomplish their divine mission” and some odd cases like the Hero of IIU blast, Pervez Masih, were going un-noticed.

family of Masih

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Dr Aafia Siddiqui


Dr Shazia


Every Pakistani feels the pain of Dr. Aafia, tortured brutally and subjected to most inhumane treatment since her disappearance in 2003. The “Satan” outside did not even leave her children untouched. All of Pakistan is angry and champions of justice and human rights rally to show solidarity with Dr. Aafia, understandably.  

I being an activist, realize how important it is to voice out our concern regarding any issue we feel was dealt with a biased attitude. Pakistan came into being through street activism, not sit-at-home concern.  

The story of Dr. Aafia melts the heart of any passionate and patriotic Pakistani, for even if proved guilty by a US court, she is a Pakistani and we should have held the trial of allegations labeled against her for a crime committed in neutral soil (Afghanistan). Even if she is guilty of the charges proven against her, the violent torture and her disappearance from 2003 onwards, till a foreign journalist reported her needs to be condemned by all and sundry  

The activism for Dr. Aafia needs to be carried on with greater energy, BUT there lies an important issue that is left unaddressed.  

Dr Aafia was handed over to USA by Pakistani forces, the same Pakistani forces who are single handedly responsible for 2000 + missing persons. The same Pakistani state agencies that are single handedly responsible for selling their brothers and sisters to foreign agencies. Not only that, our own State agencies are responsible for despicable crimes like sex slavery, torture, rape, murder and mysterious disappearance of people from selected ethnic backgrounds. Dr Shazia, Zareena Marri and others are just the tip of the ice-berg. No real investigation was ever carried out to address the plight of families of missing persons (women included). None of the protests for Aafia voice out to identify the people within us, responsible for handing over Aafia to USA, or people responsible for injustice with other Aafias.  

Having took part in the struggle for missing persons and subsequent discussions with Amina Masud Janjua I came to realise the picture is broader then any one individual or human being. After meeting many Baluch students, who carry pictures of their cousins (male and females) and are not heard by media, government and other human rights activists, I realised the bias will not do any good to the cause unless the broader picture and the satan within is addressed with the same zeal and fervour. State agencies and its machinery prevents the word from spreading in media (it still does, but not with the same masala) for crimes they commit/ted.  

Who is to blame? The “Satan” outside or the “Satan” within? We must realize that more Aafia’s will go missing and subjected to inhumane torture if we don’t address the real cause of this issue. Any protest against the “Satan” outside will not suffice the cause, in broader perspective, as the Satan within will keep on doing the same. Most of the protests that are held for Dr. Aafia slander the Satan outside without addressing the core of problem, the traitors within us responsible for hundreds of Dr. Aafia’s who are still missing and who sell our citizens to satan outside, for God-knows-what price!  

It is easy to blame the Satan outside, and get so blinded by the hate that we become biased in our human right’s activism. Cleansing within can only make us so strong that no one from outside casts an evil eye on our people. We cannot blame a miscreant somewhere else, if we tolerate miscreants within our homes. The blaming-foreign-elements for every disaster in Pakistan has gone too far. Are we learning from our mistakes or still going round in circles without addressing the real issue? Are we still using the Islam/Jew/America/Hindu/RAW/Mossad/CIA/Democracy/Bhutto card to find solutions to our problems? Are we tolerating the Satan within and misdirecting our anger to Satan outside? Have we located the menace within before sloganeering against the menace outside? Is there bias in our ranks? Why are we quiet for Dr Shazia, Shazia Masih, Zareena Marri and others and only protest violently when Satan outside is to blame?  

Khuda nay aj tak uss qoum ki haalat nahi badli
Na ho jisku khayal, ap apni halat key badalnay ka!

– Iqbal 

Susan Marie’s Two Part Interview with Amina Masood Janjua, Voice of Missing Persons: Chairperson, Defence For Human Rights. Part
Part I: http://www.thinktwiceradio.com/sue-marie/audio/100205/1.mp3 

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