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Best Poems Written by Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah

Below are the all-time best Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

When We Die

When we die: A war cry
To all people who gave their life for Kashmir in pursuit of justice for suppressed.

We are murdered. Bodies are shattered. Our Jhelum to Euphrates, Our Kashmir to Karbala.
My eyes hear. My fingers speak. And my heat pains.
Lovers of Husain rip your limitations with chains.
Stand resolute in Karbala-reborn. In its heat. Vanish not! Your flames.

Show no fear in your eyes but give a cry
Death will bring us home. So we die

Times of glory went into ruins, but don’t sigh
The days of hope will be reborn. So we die

Blood bathed infants are we: this no one can deny
Water of freedom waits for us. So we die

Handicapped soldiers they have turned us, still our zeal is high
With weapons of light we will march. So we die

OH! You bureaucrats from the plains, your innocence is a lie,
We will set your tongues ablaze. So we die

One day you will cry that you can’t deny
We will bring the time soon. So we die

Keep your eyes dry my mothers, for you must know why
Your tears will cause floods. So we die

Don’t loose hope! My people, you still have threads to tie
Every drop of our blood will be resurrected. So we die

A coffin runs out in Lal chowk, scratch the earth for space
The white, will wake up angles of wrath. So we die

Land of Hamadan has been painted with blood
The lava of agony will burst. So we die

Keep the bangles in your arms, you widowed brides
Their music will shake the earth. So we die

Suppressed mortals are we, but Listen OH! Self made immortals
Immortal passion of Muhammad runs into us. So we die.

This fire of celestial blaze! Fuel it up with your rage. Defy the impossibilities with might
You will go down through history as the brightest stars shinning in darkest nights.

SOME WORD MEANINGS:

Karbala: place in Iraq where grandson of prophet Muhammed(SAW) were killed.
Husain: Grandson of Prohet Muhammed killed in Karabala

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

My Kashmir Burns (Part 4)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. I see Kashmir through deserted eyes.
I am writing an elegy. While my Kashmir burns.
My blood has contents of a coward. 
What results my thoughts will forward.
Tears have dried. Heart has cried.
My pen drops dead. Its enough, there is nothing to hide.

It’s his anniversary again. I forgot this day again.
I pray for his soul. While my Kashmir howls.
I can write no more. My pen drops dead.
But mouj Kashir wails:
Bullets won’t stop
Young souls will depart.


MEANING OF SOME WORDS FROM PART 1,2,3,and 4

Kashmir: Usually called "Switzeland of east".A disputed state. Presentely annexed by
India. There are almost 1 million army personals in kashmir. People are fighting against
their opression and anarchy. UN still declares kashmir as indepent country.

KL : Kuala lumpur. Capital of Malaysia.

Karbala: place in Iraq where grandson of Prophet Muhammed(PBUH. prophet of Islam) and his
followers where murdered.

Imaam: Person who is incharge of a mosque(muslim worshipping place)

Patan and Sopor: two districts in Kashmir

Kupwara: A district in kashmir were Indian army violates human rights at its best.

Mahjoor: Romantic Kashmiri poet

Khayam’s: A place in kashmir known for its barbeques.

Jhelum: a river that flows through Kashmir

Shah-Hamdan: A scared place to kashmiri's.

ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale: kashmiri translation of "Let you
sleep.Goobye May God protect you" 

Madrasa: Place where children are taught Quran(holy book of muslims)

Gulistans: gardens of exquisite flowers

kaasmir: Kashmir in Indian accent. Usually people from other states of India pronounce
like that.

Dastegeer’s: scared place to kashmiri's

Maisuma : a place in kashmir where confrontations with Indian army are common.

Azadi: freedom in Urdu language.

Jinazah: a prayer offered when a muslim dies

khansaib-bun: a village in kashmir. known for its hills.

mouj Kashir : kashmiri translation of " mother Kashmir"

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

My Kashmir Burns (Part 1)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

My Kashmir Burns (Part 2)

Another son is dead, until five he lived.
For his long life at Shah-Hamdan he had threads tied
“Shehij ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale”, his mother cries.
No news can penetrate across the mountains. Satellites work here no more
My Kashmir burns. And no one knows.
An old woman with torn scarf sits besides fire. While feeding her neighbor’s child
She sighs. Is my son dead or alive? She silently cries.
In Madrasa I hear children reciting Quran. A girl’s come out dragging her feet.
I remember her from somewhere. I remember her seeing naked. 
Oh! God she is the one who was raped.

Nights have turned pitch black. My eyes are losing the habit of sight
Midnight soldier’s set another house ablaze. At least there is some sort of light.
Many letters have been written to God. Postcards posted of those raped girl’s 
But its curfew again. No post office deliver’s the message again.
Death comes from everywhere. Close your windows mother
For bullet respects no womb. It turned Gulistans into tombs.
From the plains the visitors come to visit their God’s
They are our only witnesses but hypocrites at heart.
They say paradise is kaasmir. While my Kashmir is ablaze
They testify against us. Is anybody witnessing this? No one at all
Be witness to at least this. Open up your eyes my Lord!

When paradise is painted with colors of hell, certainly divinity loses its grace
In the news the reporter is beaten. Bamboo sticks are hungry for human blood.
Let Kashmir go to hell. A new promise in their portfolio.
Threads have given up at Dastegeer’s place. Even they are horrified at our fate.
In Maisuma boys are dragged by police. They close their dreams, end their screams
In a police gypsy.
Men shape into monsters when they are given right to anarchy.
The gypsy drives them into the dark cantonments. They will remember this day
Interrogation officer comes. After celebrating his son’s birthday.
The winds from the cantonments bring their news
Burned tires around their necks. Burning stoves near their heads.
The knife tearing up their flesh.
And the boys cry, “We haven’t batted yet. Cricket. We know nothing”.

Death wants children to be headlines
Hunger has affected the heavens as well.
Graves are full. No more space left.
We need land of the plains. For our graves.
In the ac car the bureaucrat goes. The mother’s with search full eyes
Ask about their sons they lost. They drink their tears
And he sips champagne.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

Acid Rain

My dark deeds
Of shame and filth,
My coward confessions
of cupidity and sin,
My redblooded eyes
Murders of innosense,
Yahweh! to you I cry,
Wash away my stains
Pour some acid rain.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

Bribed By Hell

I click the dark gates again,
As if the dark winds have spun black threads around their fingers,
Their magic drives me towards the emptiness,
I know my soul inside craves for light,
My lips have been closed with locks of horror,
The keys have been thrown deep inside my throat,
Neither can I cry for help, neither can I swallow the keys,
What misery will befall on such a desolate man. When hell bribed him, 
For the place in heaven.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

God's Image

My numb soul. I peep inside its dark hole. Many sins done rinda! Now pay the toll.
Mad heart thinks. My mind scolds. What I have turned into. A man in monster’s fold
The ink of my pen. Comes from my bleeding heart. My head hangs in shame but my 
emotions aghast. I write these lines: my blasphemous attire. He prepares for me – The Fire

Fire, you Gnostic element! burn me till I turn to – ash
Ash, on the floors of my dreams – washed
Washed, by the waves that advent from my – fate 
Fate, which bewilders my – mind
Mind, which has become the prisoner of my – heart
Heart, a criminal without any – charge
Charge, my emotions with – redemption
Redemption, which I pursuit for – an assumption
Assumption, tricks my conscience – laid to rest
Rest, a fugitive living in life by alias of – death
Death, cover my deeds of filth and – shame
Shame, a paradigm shift from pride and – gain
Gain, nothing in this world but comfort of – pain
Pain, I bleed from my bloodshot – eyes
Eyes, trade my soul for the place in – hell
Hell, which burns fueled by – stains
Stains, of sin which fill megalomaniac vessel of my – human mire
Human mire, the brush that paints my soul’s – caricature
Caricature, is what I have become of God’s Image.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

Soundtrack To My Escape

I am the fallen one, one casted away,
A reminant of a broken promise
Man shakled for one dying wish,
My vissicitudes haunt me everytime
The sound of those blazing drums,
I heard the music mystifies us all,
Saves a man from a Fall,
The strings are being pulled and the chorus chants,
The melody which melts us all,
I heard music has power: To cure and transform
I am still the same; The Man with a broken promise
Caught in the realmn of this heaven and earth
My body becometh the prison of my soul
I am a composer, A composer in oblivion – Looking
Looking, for the soundtrack to my escape.

Details | Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah Poem

My Kashmir Burns (Part 3)

Azadi bleeds from every razored lip
And then dries up near the throat. The call for prayers is not heard
Fear of death deserts mosques. 
It’s the land where death has proven inability of faith.
I see one of those Maisuma boys. Which were taken under the blanket of night.
His face was burnt but I could recognize his voice.
“Don’t tell my mother I have died. No Jinazah for me, as I am in shattered pieces.
Tell my brother to stay inside. A red dot on his forehead might protect his pride.
Tell my sister to be brave. Grooms visit unexpected wearing garlands of guns.
Tell them not my blood has turned into red rubies. Valueless 
Worth no cost.”

My memory runs through its history. I taken back to khansaib-bun
I still have memoirs of that sight. My uncle. An advocate is shot.
Dragged and ragged. His bravery is raped. Now lying in the mud.
A big roar fills my ears. I wake up. It’s my alarm clock.
It’s raining in here. It’s bleeding there.
I sip warm ginger tea.
And my Kashmir burns.