Faiz Ahmad Faiz MBE, NI , was a Pakistani Marxist, poet, and author in Urdu. He was one of the most celebrated writers of the Urdu language in Pakistan. Outside literature, he has been described as “a man of wide experience” having been a teacher, an army officer, a journalist, a trade unionist and a broadcaster.
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Famous Faiz Ahmed Faiz Poems
My Heart, My Traveler
My heart, my fellow traveler
It has been decreed again
That you and I be exiled,
go calling out in every street,
turn to every town.
To search for a clue
of a messenger from our Beloved.
To ask every stranger
the way back to our home.
In this town of unfamiliar folk
we drudge the day into the night
Talk to this stranger at times,
to that one at others.
How can I convey to you, my friend
how horrible is a night of lonliness *
It would suffice to me
if there were just some count
I would gladly welcome death
if it were to come but once.
We Shall See
We shall see
Certainly we, too, shall see
that day that has been promised to us
When these high mountains
Of tyranny and oppression
turn to fluff and evaporate
And we oppressed
Beneath our feet will have
this earth shiver, shake and beat
And heads of rulers will be struck
With crackling lightening
and thunder roars.
When from this God’s earth’s (Kaa’ba)
All falseness (icons) will be removed
Then we of clean hearts-condemned by Zealots those keepers of
Faith,
We, will be invited to that altar to sit and Govern-
When crowns will be thrown off- and over turned will be thrones
We shall see
Certainly we, too, shall see
that day that has been promised to us
The God’s name will remain (Allah will remain)
Who is invisible and visible too
Who is the seer and is seen
There will rise one cheer- I am God!
Who I am too
and so are you
Then the masses, people of God will rule
Who I am too
and so are you
There will rise one cheer- I am God!
Who I am too
and so are you
Be Near Me
Be near me now,
My tormenter, my love, be near me—
At this hour when night comes down,
When, having drunk from the gash of sunset, darkness comes
With the balm of musk in its hands, its diamond lancets,
When it comes with cries of lamentation,
with laughter with songs;
Its blue-gray anklets of pain clinking with every step.
At this hour when hearts, deep in their hiding places,
Have begun to hope once more, when they start their vigil
For hands still enfolded in sleeves;
When wine being poured makes the sound
of inconsolable children
who, though you try with all your heart,
cannot be soothed.
When whatever you want to do cannot be done,
When nothing is of any use;
—At this hour when night comes down,
When night comes, dragging its long face,
dressed in mourning,
Be with me,
My tormenter, my love, be near me.
SHORISH-E-BARRABT-O-NAY
PEHLI AAWAZ
AB SAAI KA IMKAN AUR NAHIN PERWAZ KA MAZMOON HO BHI CHUKA
TARON PEH KAMANDAIN PHAINK CHUKAY MEHTAB PEH SHAB KHUN HO BI CHUKA
AB AUR KISI FARDA KAY LIAY IN AANKHON SAY KIA PAIMAN KEJAY
KIS KHAB KAY JHOTAY AFSOON SAY TASKEEN-E-DIL-E-NADAN KEJAY
SHERINI-A-LAB, KHUSBO-E-DAHAN, AB SHOQ KA UNWAN KOI NAHIN
SHADABI-E-DIL, TAFREEH-E-NAZAR, AB ZEEST KA DARMAN KOI NAHIN
JEENAY KAY FASANAY RAHNAY DO AB IN MAIN ULAJH KAY KIA LAIN GAY
IK MOT KA DHANDA BAQI HAY JAB CHAHAIN GAY NIPTALAINGAY
YEH TERA KAFAN WOH MERA KAFAN YEH TERI LAHAD WHO MERI HAY
DOSRI AAWAZ
HASTI KI MATAI BAY PAYAN JAGEER TERI HAY NA MERI HAY
ISS BAZM MAIN APNI MISHAL-E-DIL BISMIL HAY TO KIA RAKHSHAN HAY TO KIA
YEH BAZM CHARAGHAN RAHTI HAY IK TAAQ AGAR WEERAN HAY TO KIA
AFSURDAH HAIN AYYAM TERAY BADLA NAHIN MUSLAK-E-SHAM-O-SAHAR
TTHEHRAY NAHIN MOSAM-E-GUL KAY QADAM, QAYAM HAY JAMAL-E-SHAMS-O-QAMAR
AABAD HAY WADI-A-KAKUL-O-LUB SHADAB-O-HASEEN GULGASHT-E-NAZAR
MAQSOOM HAY LAZZAT-E-DARD-E-JIGAR, MOJOOD HAY NIMAT-E-DEEDA-E-TAR
ISS DEEDA-E-TAR KA SHKR KARO ISS ZOAQ-E-NAZAR KA SHKR KARO
ISS SHAM-O-SAHAR KA SHKR KARO ISS SHAMS-O-QAMAR KA SHKR KARO
PEHLI AAWAZ
GAR HAY YEHI MASLAK-E-SHAMS-O-QAMAR IN SHAMS-O-QAMAR KA KIA HO GA
RANAI-E-SHAB KA KIA HOGA ANDAZ-E-SAHAR KA KIA HO GA
JAB KHON-E-JIGAR BARFAB BANA JAB AANKHAIN AAHAN POSH HOIN
ISS DEEDA-E-TAR KA KIA HO GA ISS ZOAQ-E-NAZAR KA KIA HO GA
JAB SHE’R KAY KHAIMAY RAKH HOAY NAGHMON KI TANABAIN TOOT GAIN
YEH SAZ KAHAN SAR PHORAIN GAY ISS KALK-E-GOHAR KA KIA HO GA
JAB KUNJ-E-QAFAS MASKAN TTHEHRA AUR JAIB-O-GARAIBAN TOQ-O-RASAN
AAIY KEH NA AAIY MOSAM-E-GUL ISS DARD-E-JIGAR KA KIA HO GA
DOSRI AWAZ
YEH HAATH SALAMAT HAIN JAB TAK ISS KHON MAIN HARARAT HAY JAB TAK
ISS DIL MAIN SADAQAT HAY JAB TAK ISS NUTQ MAIN TAQAT HAY JAB TAK
IN TOQ-O-SALASIL KO HUM TUM SIKHLAINGAY SHORISH-E-BARRABT-O-NAY
WOH SHORISH JISKAY AAGAY ZUBOON HANGAMA-E-TABL-E-QAISAR-O-KAY
AZAD HAIN APNAY FIKR-O-AMAL BHARPOOR KHAZINA HIMMAT KA
IK UMR HAY APNI HAR SAAT IMROZE HAY APNA HAR FARDA
YEH SHAM-O-SAHAR YEH SHAMS-O-QAMAR YEH AKHTAR-O-KOKAB APNAY HAIN
YEH LOH-O-QALAM YEH TABL-O-ALAM YEH MAL-O-HASHAM SAB APNAY HAIN
Wasteland Of Solitude
In the wasteland of solitude, my love, quiver
shadows of your voice, illusions of your lips.
In the wasteland of solitude, from the dusts of parting
Sprout jasmines and roses of your presence
From somewhere close by, rises the warmth of your breath
and in its own aroma smolders, slowly, bit by bit.
Far-off, across the horizon, dropp by glistening drop
Falls the dew of your beguiling glance.
With such overwhelming love, O my love,
your memory has placed its hand on my heart?s cheek,
that it looks as if (though it?s still the dawn of the adieu)
the sun of parting has set; the night of union has come.
Solitude
Is someone there, oh weeping heart? No, no one there.
Perhaps a traveler, but he will be on his way.
The night is spent, the dust of stars begins to scatter.
In the assembly halls dream-filled lamps begin to waver.
Small streets sleep waiting by the thoroughfare.
Strange earth beclouds footprints of yesterday.
Snuff out the candles, put away wine-cup and flask.
Then lock your eyelids in this morning dusk.
For now there’s no one, no one who will come here.
It Is Spring Again
It is spring, And the ledger is opened again.
From the abyss where they were frozen,
those days suddenly return, those days
that passed away from your lips, that died
with all our kisses, unaccounted.
The roses return: they are your fragrance;
they are the blood of your lovers.
Sorrow returns. I go through my pain
and the agony of friends still lost in the memory
of moon-silver arms, the caresses of vanished women.
I go through page after page. There are no answers,
and spring has come once again asking
the same questions, reopening account after account.
We Who Were Executed
(After reading the letters of Julius and Ether Rosenberg)
I longed for your lips, dreamed of their roses:
I was hanged from the dry branch of the scaffold.
I wanted to touch your hands, their silver light:
I was murdered in the half-light of dim lanes.
And there where you were crucified,
so far away from my words,
you still were beautiful:
color kept clinging to your lips?
rapture was still vivid in your hair?
light remained silvering in your hands.
When the night of cruelty merged with the roads you had taked,
I came as far as my feet could bring me,
on my lips the phrase of a song,
my heart lit up only by sorrow.
This sorrow was my testimony to your beauty?
Look! I remained a witness till the end,
I who was killed in the darkest lanes.
It?s true? that not to reach you was fate?
but who?ll deny that to love you
was entirely in my hands?
So why complain if these matters of desire
brought me inevitably to the execution grounds?
Why complain? Holding up our sorrows as banners,
new lovers will emerge
from the lanes where we were killed
and embark, in caravans, on those highways of desire.
It?s because of them that we shortened the distances of sorrow,
it?s because of them that we went out to make the world our own,
we who were murdered in the darkest lanes.
Do Not Ask My Love
Do not ask, my love, for the love we had before:
You existed, I told myself, so all existence shone,
Grief for me was you; the world?s grief was far.
Spring was ever renewed in your face:
Beyond your eyes, what could the world hold?
Had I won you, Fate?s head would hang, defeated.
Yet all this was not so, I merely wished it so.
The world knows sorrows other than those of love,
Pleasures beyond those of romance:
The dread dark spell of countless centuries
Woven with silk and satin and gold braocade,
Bodies sold everywhere, in streets and markets,
Besmeared with dirt, bathed in blood,
Crawling from infested ovens,
My gaze returns to these: what can I do?
Your beauty still haunts me: what can I do?
The world is burdened by sorrows beyond love,
By pleasures beyond romance,
Do not demand that love which can be no more.
Highway
A despondent highway is stretched,
its eyes set on the far horizon
On the cold dirt of its bosom,
its grayish beauty spread
As if some saddened woman
in her lonely abode, lost in thought.
In contemplation of union with her Beloved
every pore sore, limbs limp with exhaustion
(Lamenting Caricature)
We, Who Were Slain In Unlit Pathways
Inspired by the letters of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg
Wishing for the roses of your lips
we offered ourselves to a gallows’ twig
Longing for the radiance of your glowing hands
we let ourselves be slain in unlit pathways
On the gallows away from our face
darted the redness of your ruby lips,
waved the playfulness of your youthful locks,
shone the glow of the silver palms.
When the evening of suffering settled in your alleys
we came, as far as our steps could bring
Words of poetry on our lips, a lamp of anguish in our hearts
Our suffering was a testimony to your beauty
See, we were faithful to our pledge
We, who were slain in unlit pathways.
If failure was our destined end
your love was indeed our own doing.
Who is to blame if all the roads of passion
led to the killing grounds of separation.
Picking up our flags from these grounds
will march forth more caravans of your lovers
For whose journeys’ sake, our footsteps have
shortened the lengths of the agonizing quest
For whose sake we have made universal
by losing our lives, the pledge to your faithfulness
We, who were slain in unlit pathways.
(Montgomery Jail, 15 May 1954)
(Prison Journal)
My Interview
The wall has grown all black, upto the circling roof.
Roads are empty, travellers all gone. Once again
My night begins to converse with its loneliness;
My visitor I feel has come once again.
Henna stains one palm, blood wets another;
One eye poisons, the other cures.
None leaves or enters my heart’s lodging;
Loneliness leaves the flower of pain unwatered,
Who is there to fill the cup of its wound with color?
My visitor I feel has come once again,
Of her own will, my old friend–her name
Is Death: a friend in need, yet an enemy–
The murderess and the sweetheart!
Let Me Think
You ask me about that country whose details now escape me,
I don’t remember its geography, nothing of its history.
And should I visit it in memory,
It would be as I would a past lover,
After years, for a night, no longer restless with passion,
With no fear of regret.
I have reached that age when one visits the heart merely as a courtesy.
Tonight
Do not strike the chord of sorrow tonight!
Days burning with pain turn to ashes.
Who knows what happens tomorrow?
Last night is lost; tomorrow’s frontier wiped out:
Who knows if there will be another dawn?
Life is nothing, it’s only tonight!
Tonight we can be what the gods are!
Do not strike the chord of sorrow, tonight!
Do not repeat stories of sufferings now,
Do not complain, let your fate play its role,
Do not think of tomorrows, give a damn–
Shed no tears for seasons gone by,
All sighs and cries wind up their tales,
Oh, do not strike the same chord again!
Speak
Speak, 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.
Loved a little, Worked a little…
Ku’ch Ishaq Ki’ya Ku’ch Kaam Ki’ya.
Who Log Bohat Khush Qismat Th’ay,
Jo Ishaq Ko Kam Samujhty Th’ay,
Ya Kam Say Aashqi Karty Th’ay,
Hum Jeety Jee Masroof Ra’hay,
Kuch Ishaq Kiya Kuch Kam Kiya,
Kam Ishaq Kay Aary Aata Ra’ha,
Or Ishaq Say Kam Uljh’ta Ra’ha,
Ph’ir Aakh’er Tang Aaker Hum Nay,
Dono Ko Adhoora Cho’d Diya’.
English Translation.
Loved a little, Worked a little…
Those were very fortunate people,
Who considered Love an obligation,
Or they just loved their task,
I remained busy all my life,
Loved a little, worked a little,
Sometimes love was a snag in the way of my work,
While sometimes duty didn’t allow me to love with passion,
Ultimately I got upset of the situation,
And left both my love and my work incomplete.
Some Lover To Some Beloved!
Down the memory lanes, on which
you’ve strolled since ages past
They will end if you walk farther a step or two
Where exits the turn towards the wilderness of forgetfulness
beyond which, there isn’t any Me, nor any You
My eyes hold their breath, for any moment you
may turn back, move ahead, or at least turn to look back
Although my sight knows that the wish is just a farce
For if ever it were to run across your eyes again
right there will spring forth another pathway
Like always, where ever we run into, there will begin
another journey of your lock’s shadow, your embrace’s tremor
The other wish is also in error, for my heart knows
There is no turn here, no wilderness, no mountain-range
beyond whose horizon, my perpetual sun-of-your-Love can set
May you continue walking these pathways, its better this way
If you don’t even turn to look back, it is okay
The Incarceration Of Loneliness
On the far horizon waved some flicker of light
My heart, a city of suffering, awoke in a state of dream
My eyes, turning restless, still dreaming,
the morning, dawning in this vacuous abode of separation
In the wine-cup of my heart, I poured my morning wine
Mixing in the bitterness of the past, the poison of the present
On the far horizon waved some flicker of light
far from the eye, a precursor to some morning
Some song, some scent, some unbelievably pretty face
went by unknowingly, carrying a distressful hope
Mixing in the bitterness of the past, the poison of the present
I proposed a toast to the longings on this day of prison-visit
To the fellow drinkers of my homeland and beyond
To the beauty of the worlds, the grace of beloved’s lip and cheek
(Prison of Lahore Fort, 1959. Taken from the collection: The hand under the stone)
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.
Loneliness
Someone is at the door again, my weeping heart, no, no one
Perhaps a passerby, who will go somewhere else
The night has passed, waiting, the star-dust is settling
Sleepy candle-flames are flickering in distant palaces
Every pathway has passed into sleep, tired of waiting
Alien dust has smudged all traces of footsteps
Blow out the candles, let the wine and cup flow
Close and lock your sleepless doors
No one, no one will come here now.
“Dont ask me for the same love, my sweetheart”
Dont ask me for the same love, my sweetheart
I thought that life was radiant because of you
Why complain of worldly woes, once in your love-affliction
Your countenance brings eternity to the youth of spring
What else is there in the world but for the beauty of your eyes
If you were mine, my destiny would surrender to me
This was not so, only my wish for it to be
There are sufferings in the world other than the suffering of love
There are pleasures other than the delight of our union
Dark, heinous spells of uncountable centuries.
Woven into rich silk and precious brocades
being sold in every corner, bodies,
covered in dirt, drenched in blood.
Bodies, burning in hot ovens of disease
Pus seeping from open, lacerating wounds.
My sight returns to this as well, I am helpless
Your beauty is heart-warming still, but I am helpless
There are sufferings in the world other than the suffering of love
There are pleasures other than the delight of our union
Dont ask me for the same love, my sweetheart!
A Prison Evening
Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
as if someone just happened to speak of love.
In the courtyard,
the trees are absorbed refugees
embroidering maps of return on the sky.
On the roof,
the moon – lovingly, generously –
is turning the stars
into a dust of sheen.
From every corner, dark-green shadows,
in ripples, come towards me.
At any moment they may break over me,
like the waves of pain each time I remember
this separation from my lover.
This thought keeps consoling me:
though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed
in rooms where lovers are destined to meet,
they cannot snuff out the moon, so today,
nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed,
no poison of torture make me bitter,
if just one evening in prison
can be so strangely sweet,
if just one moment anywhere on this earth.
My Heart, My Traveler with English Translation
Dil e man Musafir e man
Meray dil meray musafir
hua phir sey hukm sadir
k watan badar hon hum tum
dein gali gali sadain
karein rukh nagar nagar ka
ke suraagh koi paein
kisi yar e nama bar ka
har ik ajnabi sey poochein
jo pata tha apney ghar ka
sar e kooey nashenayan
hamein din sey raat karna
kabhi iss sey baat karna
kabhi us sey baat karna
tumhein kya kahoon key kya hey
shab e gham buri balaa hey
hamein yeh bhi tha ghaneemat
jo koi shumaar hota
hamein kya bura tha marna
agar eik baar hota
English translation:
My heart, my fellow traveler
It has been decreed again
That you and I be exiled,
go calling out in every street,
turn to every town.
To search for a clue
of a messenger from our Beloved.
To ask every stranger
the way back to our home.
In this town of unfamiliar folk
we drudge the day into the night
Talk to this stranger at times,
to that one at others.
How can I convey to you, my friend
how horrible is a night of lonliness *
It would suffice to me
if there were just some count
I would gladly welcome death
if it were to come but once.
When Autumn Came
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
left their ebony bodies naked.
It shook out their hearts, the yellow leaves,
scattered them over the ground.
Anyone could trample them out of shape
undisturbed by a single moan of protest.
The birds that herald dreams
were exiled from their song,
each voice torn out of its throat.
They dropped into the dust
even before the hunter strung his bow.
Oh, God of May have mercy.
Bless these withered bodies
with the passion of your resurrection;
make their dead veins flow with blood again.
Give some tree the gift of green again.
Let one bird sing.
Ghazal
I am being accused of loving you, that is all
It is not an insult, but a praise, that is all
My heart is pleased at the words of the accusers
O my dearest dear, they say your name, that is all
For what I am ridiculed, it is not a crime
My heart’s useless playtime, a failed love, that is all
I haven’t lost hope, but just a fight, that is all
The night of suffering lengthens, but just a night, that is all
In the hand of time is not the rolling of my fate
In the hand of time roll just the days, that is all
A day will come for sure when I will see the truth
My beautiful beloved is behind a veil, that is all
The night is young, Faiz start saying a Ghazal
A storm of emotions is raging inside, that is all
