Peace is though difficult
Yet not impossible to uphold,
All the kings of the states
Must remain self-concerned,
Without poking noses
Into the affairs of others,
To expand the territories,
Subjugate the nations of the world,
Enforce the so-called personal visions,
And put the humanity
Into new-fangled trials.
All the weapons
Latest, conventional or primitive,
Precious or utterly worthless,
Nuclear or less potential
Made of common explosives,
Be thrown into the deep waters
Of the unexplored seas,
Wherefrom no devilish character
Could ransack them back.
When some is killed
Neither Hindu, nor Muslim,
Neither Christian nor Jew is killed,
But a man: a child of Adam and Eve,
The same red substance
Pours out of his injured ragged body,
And it pains me.
All the weapon producing units,
And the blood spattering gadgets:
The tanks and cannons,
Mortars or machines guns,
With the squadrons of fighter-jets,
Submarines that navigate
Secretly chase the nautical targets,
Catapults and all the missiles launching frames,
Be thrown into furnaces
To be remodelled and redesigned
Into of the earth moving machinery,
Instead of the appliances
Colouring the Earth red.
All the medals or symbols
Of chivalry be taken back,
Combatants and men
With the crowned shoulders,
And medalled chests,
Who often move in the battle-fields
Puffed with the martial pride,
No service to humanity
Be employed to plough the lands,
Plant the gardens,
Make the dams and reservoirs of water,
Feed the cattle and get them milked on time,
To perform some rewarding assignments.
Upon the earth,
There must not be a single
If men are incensed
And fight is unavoidable,
They must fight with knives and rapiers,
Swords and shields made of gossamer,
All the time heeding
Lest they should break;
And all inhabitants of the world
At least once a day must trim their nails,
Lest when they are indignant
And resentful should scratch
The skin of fellow beings or their own.
My opinions are changed,
My heart lacks fervour,
For you lunched the war,
To liberate who are already free,
To enrich who are already rich,
To make the fierce, more ferocious.
When will the time intrude you,
Make you see the brilliant aspect of the affair,
And humanity will sing the song of peace?
When will you peep into your inner-self
To see the reflected image of you own?
When will you obey the divine commands
And make out them that God forbids pollution
Smog and fumes of turmoil wrapping His fair Earth?
Now open your eyes
The shores are red;
The lands are coated with blood,
The skulls are scattered like stones,
For the sake of oil or the reserves of gold,
Be aware a single drop of human blood
Possesses more worth than all treasures
That the earth contains.
Now stop killing; enough, enough,
You neither surrender, nor do deprive others
Of the rights which the divine commands allow,
Go through the lanes with moderate bearing.
Live like a benefactor among the nations,
Share with them your victuals,
Stock of knowledge and skills,
And snatch them not of their own.
Return fathers to the orphans,
Husbands to the widows,
Brothers to the waiting damsels,
And sons to the aged mothers,
If not then compensate them all,
For the broken hearts, shattered dreams.
Hatred against you thrives,
Magma against you grows,
Let the volcano sleep,
Beneath the layers deep,
And only once apply,
The strategy of the weapon of love
Discarding the old devices of uranium.
The amount you spent on the arsenal
Would have been enough to feed the world
Though ten times bigger;
If you had ruled the hearts,
The world might have been a different place
Of love, peace and harmony.
Through force your aims will never be gained,
So amend the ways and stroll on the route
That enhances you in respect and esteem;
Review and revise the modes of actions,
Follow not the path that leads the world
To the chaos, and on the point of no return,
For there will be a dark dungeon of curse,
O! America, for the sake of humanity reverse.
Beside the busy highway,
In the bushes there lay supine’
A despoiled corpse of a splendid damsel,
Scratched, bruised and all nailed,
Her cheeks bore the prints of teeth,
And marble-white neck blue scars,
Her silky white dress was spotted,
With the dots of blood,
Her delicate white soft shoeless feet,
Were still unharmed,
Her hair was disheveled, added to her grace,
Her eyes half opened,
As they were looking afar high beyond the sky,
To her dwelling place,
The wronged lips still bore an elegant smile,
If saying, "O! Dwellers of the world be happy evermore,
I depart to my own celestial place,
Where no one will desecrate my sanctity."
Then from the contents of her handbag,
Some one found out a stained document,
And with blood was inscribed,
"I am Miss Honesty, raped in the dark,
By the custodians of law."
Deep darkness fears me at night,
Sable thoughts surround me tight,
Run I to the dark corners to escape,
Wrestle against inner self and fight,
The conflicting struggle continues,
Till I exhaust and lose the might,
The next day recovers me again,
And the night brings the same plight.
Those who savour do know well the taste,
The rest may form but the images abstract;
Unsubstantial eyes penetrate deep into realities,
But the carnal look with superficial glance.
Spent I time pondering over the baffling puzzle,
Whom He created the Master Scheme for?
One morn, at last at the hour of dawn,
The curtains were raised, the gallery swung,
The door opened wide to show the reality.
Ah! What incredible I did find to see,
Since then my mind burns, my heart smoulders,
To capture the fleeting vision again.
The nourishing celestial taste of experience,
My mind, my eyes my heart did undergo,
The organs of wisdom can not explain.
The words symbols suffice not to impart,
The festive taste relished by the inner being.
A huge mirror of brilliance hanging down,
In vacancy, extended from the south to the west,
I viewed glistening with stillness of dazzling glare,
Brighter than hundreds of moons if gathered;
Emerged then slowly in the shining surface,
Half portrait of the Masterpiece, the Beautiful,
With magnificence adequate to the starved yes,
But thousands of times more prominent,
Than the brightening ground of exhibition.
Beheld I the Redeemer, the Pivot of creation,
Wearing turban green with no end lurking on the sides,
Trimmed beard, neither too long nor too short,
Seemed as if the vanished hands laboured hard,
To adorn the Matchless with the regal splendour.
Cold flashes emitting out from the countenance,
Dazzled the force of frail seeing eyes;
The spectrum seemed a true manifestation,
Of the Being who from far behind reflected,
In the enormous screen stretched in front.
The mystery was revealed, but I should keep silence,
For when “Yes” and “No” both are the ruinous extremes,
Silence is the moderate route to survive.
A Gardener with saintly vision,
Planted a garden making its division,
Into the zones two.
Fed he each plant and tree,
With the pure blood of his hopes;
And soon each nook and corner,
Began to flourish and blossom too.
Before they bore the mellow fruit,
And fragrant flowers with shades,
Light, deep and dark;
And enjoyed he the days of solace,
Death made him depart to the world next.
How sooner the garden changed;
Into a forest teeming with wild animals,
The hogs, the wolves, the snakes, the rats,
Came out of the kennels, hovels and holes,
Move they freely, with liberty, unafraid.
Their avaricious bellies are possessed,
With ever enhancing increasing appetite,
And each victual adds fuel to flames,
No laws, no scruples, no morals they obey.
The seats where cuckoos and nightingales,
Were to build up nests for the descendants,
Are usurped, snatched by crows and owls,
Their voices irritate the more indwellers.
From morn to eve they serve but themselves,
Feeding upon the leaves, flowers and fruit,
They even gnaw crust hard around the stems,
Yet night comes with the healing air and dew.
The eyes amaze at the miraculous game,
When on the morn next it appears unharmed,
For it was planted by a saintly man,
The eaters are to pass away,
The garden is to behind remain.
When indelible memories of the past,
Torment my heart and mind; I write.
When mist floats in front of the eyes,
The light comes from behind; I write.
When the men of the callous world,
Compel me to be confined; I write.
When my heart weeps wailing upon
The wise being led by the blind; I write.
When in self schemed distribution I see
The deserving limping behind; I write.
Ah! I do know the winds shall blow,
And the same old Titanic will me row,
To the distant promised harbour,
Where were placed my dear parents,
And grandparents long, long ago.
I shall complain and tell them the tale,
“On the Earth, on each dale and vale,
Thunder thunders flaming the lands,
Ravaging the green or purple peaks,
Each tree you planted is dry or pale.”
My heart does beat,
Pulse does pulsate,
Our bones are of iron made,
And bombs are the bodies.
Whether you challenge
On the snow clad lofty peaks,
Or in the frosty valleys,
Or on planes of the Punjab,
Or onto the adjoining waters
Of the boundaries,
Or in the thick forests,
Or upon the hot sand,
We are a nation that cares least
Of life, of wealth or property,
Or of fatal consequences
When our honour is at the stake;
We pluck out the eyes
When they look with dingy intentions,
Break the jaws that ajar
To devour us.
We promote not turmoil in the world,
We believe in respect of others
And be respected,
We are a nation that writes
History not in ink or on the sheet of paper,
But in blood on the sacred soil and sand.
Let me take vintage from the looks,
Blue, reddish and deep dreamy,
For transient is the taste of wine,
But a drop sipped from the eyes,
Intoxicates quality of permanence.