yahii mausam hain aao mar jaayein phool khiltey hain is mahiney mein

A Sher \\ Shahbaz Rizvi

I almost wish we were butterflies; lived but three summer days. Three such days with you I could feel with more delight than 50 common years could ever contain.

Letters To Fanny Brawne \\ John Keats

A Mary Shelley journal entry where she writes about Percy Shelley and Lord Byron (Albé) only three months after Percy has died — “when Albé speaks and Shelley does not answer, it is as thunder without rain,—the form of the sun without light or heat,—as any familiar object might be shorn of its best attributes; and I listen with an unspeakable melancholy that yet is not all pain,” — October 19, 1822:

“How painful all change becomes to one, who, entirely and despotically engrossed by [his] own feelings leads, as it were, an internal life, quite different from the outward and apparent one! Whilst my life continues its monotonous course within sterile banks, an under-current disturbs the smooth face of the waters, distorts all objects reflected in it, and the mind is no longer a mirror in which outward events may reflect themselves, but becomes itself the painter and creator. If this perpetual activity has power to vary with endless change the everyday occurrences of a most monotonous life, it appears to be animated with the spirit of tempest and hurricane when any real occurrence diversifies the scene. Thus, to-night, a few bars of a known air seemed to be as a wind to rouse from its depths every deep-seated emotion of my mind. I would have given worlds to have sat, my eyes closed, and listened to them for years. The restraint I was under caused these feelings to vary with rapidity; but the words of the conversation, uninteresting as they might be, seemed all to convey two senses to me, and, touching a chord within me, to form a music of which the speaker was little aware. I do not think that any person’s voice has the same power of awakening melancholy in me as Albé’s. I have been accustomed, when hearing it, to listen and to speak little; another voice, not mine, ever replied—a voice whose strings are broken. When Albé ceases to speak, I expect to hear that other voice, and when I hear another instead, it jars strangely with every association. I have seen so little of Albé since our residence in Switzerland, and, having seen him there every day, his voice—a peculiar one—is engraved on my memory with other sounds and objects from which it can never disunite itself. I have heard Hunt in company and in conversation with many, when my own one was not there. Trelawny, perhaps, is associated in my mind with Edward more than with Shelley. Even our older friends, Peacock and Hogg, might talk together, or with others, and their voices suggest no change to me. But, since incapacity and timidity always prevented my mingling in the nightly conversations of Diodati, they were, as it were, entirely tête-à-tête between my Shelley and Albé; and thus, as I have said, when Albé speaks and Shelley does not answer, it is as thunder without rain,—the form of the sun without light or heat,—as any familiar object might be shorn of its best attributes; and I listen with an unspeakable melancholy that yet is not all pain. The above explains that which would otherwise be an enigma—why Albé, by his mere presence and voice, has the power of exciting such deep and shifting emotions within me. For my feelings have no analogy either with my opinion of him, or the subject of his conversation. With another I might talk, and not for the moment think of Shelley—at least not think of him with the same vividness as if I were alone; but, when in company with Albé, I can never cease for a second to have Shelley in my heart and brain with a clearness that mocks reality—interfering even by its force with the functions of life—until, if tears do not relieve me, the hysterical feeling, analogous to that which the murmur of the sea gives me, presses painfully upon me. Well, for the first time for about a month, I have been in company with Albé for two hours, and, coming home, I write this, so necessary is it for me to express in words the force of my feelings. Shelley, beloved! I look at the stars and at all nature, and it speaks to me of you in the clearest accents. Why cannot you answer me, my own one? Is the instrument so utterly destroyed? I would endure ages of pain to hear one tone of your voice strike on my ear!”

show, don't tell:

anticipation - bouncing legs - darting eyes - breathing deeply - useless / mindless tasks - eyes on the clock - checking and re-checking

frustration - grumbling - heavy footsteps - hot flush - narrowed eyes - pointing fingers - pacing / stomping

sadness - eyes filling up with tears - blinking quickly - hiccuped breaths - face turned away - red / burning cheeks - short sentences with gulps

happiness - smiling / cheeks hurting - animated - chest hurts from laughing - rapid movements - eye contact - quick speaking

boredom - complaining - sighing - grumbling - pacing - leg bouncing - picking at nails

fear - quick heartbeat - shaking / clammy hands - pinching self - tuck away - closing eyes - clenched hands

disappointment - no eye contact - hard swallow - clenched hands - tears, occasionally - mhm-hmm

tiredness - spacing out - eyes closing - nodding head absently - long sighs - no eye contact - grim smile

confidence - prolonged eye contact - appreciates instead of apologizing - active listening - shoulders back - micro reactions

switch up your verbs (part one) ~

walked - hiked - moved - shuffled - toddled - sauntered - ambled - tiptoed - meandered - strolled

laughed - chortled - chuckled - giggled - snorted - guffawed - howled - snickered - shrieked

wanted - ached for - wished - craved - coveted - fancied - pined - aspired

ran - sprinted - galloped - scampered - bolted - trotted - dashed - raced - jogged

jumped - bounced - hopped - leapt - hurtled - vaulted - barged - bounded

Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson; from ‘I measure every Grief I meet’

ae mere khudaa mere rehbar mere rehnuma mere humsafar mere jaan se hain tu azeeztar tu kahaan gayaa mujhe chhod kar mere sheesha-e-dil ko tod kar tu kahaan gayaa muhh mod kar mujhse baat kar mujhse baat kar

A Nazm \\ Karim Mayur

राँझा ढूँड-ड़न मैं चली, मैनू राँझा मिल्या नाहीं 

रब मिलेया, राँझा ना मिलेया 

रब राँझा वर्गा नाहीं 

वारिस शाह की "हीर" में से एक वाक़या बहुत प्रचलित हैं। राँझा गाय चराता था हीर के परिवार की, जिस बीच हीर उसके लिए चूरी (गुड और घी में चूरी हुई रोटी) लेकर जाती थी। एक दफ़ा हीर जब जा रही थी तब जाते वक़्त किसी मौलवी की क़ुरान पर हीर का पेर लग गया, पर बिना रुके हीर आगे चूरी लेकर राँझे की ओर चलती रहीं। जब वो लौटकर आई तो मौलवी ने पूँछा -

"हीर, तुम्हें दिखा नहीं मैं क़ुरान पढ़ रहाँ था और तुम क़ुरान को पेर लगाकर चली गयी।" 

हीर ने जवाब दिया - "मौलवी साहब, आप क़ुरान खुदा की पढ़ रहे थे तो आपको आते जाते मैं कैसे दिखी? मेरा पेर क़ुरान को लगता हुआँ कैसे दिखा? इतना कुछ दिखा पर आपको खुदा क्यूँ नहीं दिखा? मैं तो सीधे राँझे की तरफ़ चली जा रहीं थी मुझे ना तो आप दिखे, ना ही क़ुरान दिखी, पर मुझे वो दिख गया। मैने उसे देख लिया।"

रूमी भी कहते हैं - 

हमने बेपर्दा तुझे माहजबीं देख लिया

अब ना कर पर्दा के ओ पर्दानशीं देख लिया

हमने देखा तुझे आंखों की सियाह पुतली में

सात पर्दों में तुझे पर्दानशीं देख लिया

हम नज़र-बाज़ों से तू छुप ना सका जान-ए-जहां

तू जहां जाके छुपा हमने वहीं देख लिया

तेरे दीदार की थी हमको तमन्ना, सो तुझे

लोग देखेंगे वहां, हमने यहीं देख लिया

शकील बदायूनी भी मीरा के लेहज़े को इतनी मासूमियत से बयाँ करते हैं, ख़ुद एक मुस्लिम घराने से तालुकात रखने वाले शकील, मीरा के राज-पाठ से लेकर दुनिया तक को छोड़ देने वाले प्रेम के बारे में लिखते हैं - 

जोगन बन आई हूँ सैंया तोरे कारन 

सैंया तोरे कारन, बलमा तोरे कारन 

मैं रसिया तोरे मन में रहूँगी, प्यार से अपनी झोली भरूँगी 

ओ मनबसिया ओ अलबेले 

छोड़ के ऊँचे महल-दोमहले 

मैं तेरे गली आई हूँ बनके भिखारन 

जोगन बन आई हूँ सैंया तोरे कारन 

mere laddakpan ka zamaana tha. baba mujhe shumaali kamre mein le gaye. na-jaane woh bahut udaas thhe, main bhi udaas ho gayaa. woh khidki ke baraabar khade hokr mujhse kehne lage -

"tum mujhse ek waada karo"

"btaaiye baba kya waada" maine pucha

"tum bade hokr meri kitaabe zruur chhapwaaoge"

"babaa main wadaa karta hoon jab badaa ho jaunga aapki kitaabe zruur chhapwaaunga"

magar main baba se kiyaa hua waada puraa nahin kar sakaa. main badaa nahin ho sakaa. baba, main kabhi badaa nahin hounga

Niyaz-Mandana (Preface of Shayad) \\ Jaun Elia

John Keats, “Letter to Fanny Brawne,” 8 July 1819

… I stepped into those woods and my life began.

1. Clarissa Pinkola Estés | 2. John William Waterhouse | 3. Franz Kafka | 4. Grigoriy Myasoyedov | 5. Mary Oliver | 6. John William Waterhouse | 7. Madeline Miller | 8. Aron Wiesenfeld | 9. Anna Akhmatova | 10. Friedrich Heyser | 11. Mary Oliver

“Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.”

— Franz Kafka

1. Meg Day 2. Haruki Murakami 3. Edouard Labrosse 4. Rainer Maria Rilke 5. Ron Hicks 6. Virginia Woolf 7. Joan Didion 8. Ron Hicks 9. Sylvia Plath 10. Anne Magill 11. Franz Kafka 12. Peter Wever 13. Vi Khi Nao 14. Peter Wever 15. Anna Akhmatova

Pyari Aapa ♥️ and some of her most uplifting words. She was a beacon of light, mashaAllah.

A loose English translation:

Neither did I promise to return

Nor did he promise to forget me

I don’t wrap my sorrows around myself during times of happiness

I do not let my life be colored by my sadness

Whatever I have suffered, I have carried the weight myself

I do not burden myself with intoxicants

—Parveen Shakir

No copyright infringement intended. All rights belong to respective parties.

fasl tumhari acchi hogi jao hmaare kehne se apne gaon ki har gori ko nai chunariyaa laa dena

aaj ki raat koi bairaagan kisi se aansu badlegi behte dariyaa udte baadal jahaa bhi ho thehra dena

Ghazal \\ Rais Farogh

uddhed de gar iraada nahin pehanne kaa ye kyaa ki ek taraf rakh diyaa hain bun ke mujhe

A Sher \\ Umair Najmi

fazaa garm hokr pinghal bhi chuki hain december ka mausam nahin aa rahaa hain salaai mein faskar udhhad hi naa jaaye jo resham ka sweater bunaa jaa rahaa hain

A Sher \\ Aqib Sabir

जिंहा अब्र नू होनदा ए सावन ते दरकार

बूंदा बरस रियाँ, नी मैं तरस रियाँ

मिलने को आया मेरा टूटा हुआ झुमका

'छन' की आवाज़ गूंजे लागे तेरी धुन का

मेरी ना तो सुनजा इन गहनों की पुकार

बूंदा बरस रियाँ, नी मैं तरस रियाँ

सोचू तेरी यादों को तो चले इक कहानी

रखनी छुपाके सबसे नहीं ये सुनानी

मेरी आँख जो लग जाये तारों संग हज़ार

बूंदा बरस रियाँ, नी मैं तरस रियाँ

गीत \\ विश्लेष 'विष'