ye āḳhirī saa.at shaam kī hai ye shaam jo hai mahjūrī kī ye shaam apnoñ se duurī kī is shaam ufuq ke hoñToñ par jo laalī hai zahrīlī hai is shaam ne merī āñkhoñ se sahbā-e-tarab sab pī lī hai
kal washington shahr kī ham ne sair bahut kī yaar guuñj rahī thī sab duniyā meñ jis kī jai-jai-kār mulkoñ mulkoñ ham ghūme the banjāroñ kī misl lekin is kī saj-dhaj sach-much dil-dāroñ kī misl raushniyoñ ke rañg baheñ yuuñ
maiñ ki do roz kā mehmān tire shahr meñ thā ab chalā huuñ to koī faisla kar bhī na sakā zindagī kī ye ghaḌī TūTtā pul ho jaise ki Thahar bhī na sakūñ aur guzar bhī na sakūñ mehrbāñ haiñ
ik umr ke ba.ad tum mile ho ai mere vatan ke ḳhush-navāo har hijr kā din thā hashr kā din dozaḳh the firāq ke alaao ro.uuñ ki hañsūñ samajh na aa.e hāthoñ meñ haiñ phuul dil meñ ghaao tum aa.e
ye tirī āñkhoñ kī be-zārī ye lahje kī thakan kitne andeshoñ kī hāmil haiñ ye dil kī dhaḌkaneñ pesh-tar is ke ki ham phir se muḳhālif samt ko be-ḳhudā-hāfiz kahe chal deñ jhukā kar gardaneñ aao us dukh ko pukāreñ
itnā sannāTā ki jaise ho sukūt-e-sahrā aisī tārīkī ki āñkhoñ ne duhā.ī dī hai jaane zindāñ se udhar kaun se manzar hoñge mujh ko dīvār hī dīvār dikhā.ī dī hai duur ik fāḳhta bolī hai bahut duur kahīñ pahlī āvāz
‘farāz’ tū ne use mushkiloñ meñ Daal diyā zamāna sāhab-e-zar aur sirf shā.er tū
na mire zaḳhm khile haiñ na tirā rañg-e-hinā mausam aa.e hī nahīñ ab ke gulāboñ vaale
tū itnī dil-zada to na thī ai shab-e-firāq aa tere rāste meñ sitāre luTā.eñ ham
ujaaḌ ghar meñ ye ḳhushbū kahāñ se aa.ī hai koī to hai dar-o-dīvār ke alāva bhī
mar ga.e pyaas ke maare to uThā abr-e-karam bujh ga.ī bazm to ab sham.a jalātā kyā hai
na terā qurb na baada hai kyā kiyā jaa.e phir aaj dukh bhī ziyāda hai kyā kiyā jaa.e
When a friend calls to me from the roadAnd slows his horse to a meaning walk,I don’t stand still and look aroundOn all the hills I haven’t hoed,And shout from where I am, What is it?No, not as there is a time to talk.I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,Blade-end up and five feet
A speck that would have been beneath my sightOn any but a paper sheet so whiteSet off across what I had written there.And I had idly poised my pen in airTo stop it with a period of inkWhen something strange about it made me think,This was no dust speck by my breathing blown,But unmistakably a
When I see birches bend to left and rightAcross the lines of straighter darker trees,I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen themLoaded with ice a sunny winter morningAfter a rain. They click upon themselvesAs the breeze rises, and turn
He halted in the wind, and – what was thatFar in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?He stood there bringing March against his thought,And yet too ready to believe the most. ‘Oh, that’s the Paradise-in-bloom,’ I said;And truly it was fair enough for flowershad we but in us to assume in marchSuch white luxuriance
The farmhouse lingers, though averse to squareWith the new city street it has to wearA number in. But what about the brookThat held the house as in an elbow-crook?I ask as one who knew the brook, its strengthAnd impulse, having dipped a finger lengthAnd made it leap my knuckle, having tossedA flower to try its
A house that lacks, seemingly, mistress and master,With doors that none but the wind ever closes,Its floor all littered with glass and with plaster;It stands in a garden of old-fashioned roses. I pass by that way in the gloaming with Mary;‘I wonder,’ I say, ‘who the owner of those is.’‘Oh, no one you know,’ she
How could I onlyDream of you all nightYet can not evenBehold you one moment? The more I tryTo come near you,The farther you goAway from me. My love, how longShould I dream of youAnd be part of thisStrangest game ever? I do love youMore than lifeAnd will love youSolely forever. But if you areNot the
You think you holdthe world in your hands.But all you are isA big nothing. Your critical eyesmiss nothing exceptAll the flaws youYourself have. You circle me likea vulture, pointing outEach and every faultOf mine and youCall me a tragedy. I have flaws, I acceptBut I don’t need youTo show me themEvery second in a day.
I accept it, my fault.I shouldn’t haveEven let youInto my heart. My folly, I agreeMade my lifeMiserable than ever.I simply can’t help it. I am foolish,It’s true.I dream of youAll night long. I tried with everyBit of strength leftTo stop loving you. But I’ve falteredLike all times. I used to thinkI was strong. Thought I’d
Whatever I do,You find faults. Never in my lifeHave I doneOne right thing.You think so Nothing I do everSatisfies your eyesThat scrutinizes me24 hours in 7 days. I am despicableTo you for reasonsUnknown to me. You call me obstinateWhen all I do isStand firm on whatI believe in. I’d rather callThat persistenceAnd not obstinacy. You
Tell me, my belovedYou’ll not give up on life. Tell me you’ll hopeFor a better tomorrow. Why does everythingHave to be so difficult? I am persistent.I’ll not let goOf you to die. You are in pain.I do understand,So am I. I have a wounded heartThat will never heal.Your rejection makesThe afflictions deeper. Give me, but
Look into your hearts, O men,And count the good thingsYou ever thought for your fellow beings. See for yourselves the harmYou have wrought forYour brother in need. Why are your hearts not meltedBy anything you perceiveAround your own selves? Why do you stay likeMere gargoyles that neverHad a heart or a mouth? A heart that