Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Faiz Ahmad Faiz was an influential left-wing intellectual, revolutionary poet, and one of the most famous poets of the Urdu language from State of Pakistan. A rising figure and notable member of the Progressive Writers' Movement (PWM), Faiz was an avowed Marxist-communist, long associated member of Russian-backed Communist Party and was a recipient of Lenin Peace Prize by the Soviet Union in 1962. Despite being repeatedly accused of atheism by the political and military establishment, Faiz's poetry suggested his complicated relationship with religion in general and Islam in particular. He was, nevertheless, inspired by South Asia's Sufi traditions.
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Faiz Ahmed Faiz Poems
A Prison Evening
Each star a rung, night comes down the spiral staircase of the evening. The breeze passes by so very close
Before You Came
Before you came things were just what they were: the road precisely a road, the horizon fixed, the limit of what could be seen, a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.
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,
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
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
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:
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,
Speak, your lips are free. Speak, it is your own tongue. Speak, it is your own body. Speak, your life is still yours.
We Who Were Executed
I longed for your lips, dreamed of their roses: I was hanged from the dry branch of the scaffold.
Last night, your long-lost memory came back to me as though Spring stealthily should come to a forsaken wilderness A gentle breeze its fragrance over burning deserts blow Or, all at once be soothed somehow the sick soul’s distress.
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
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:
We Shall See
We shall see Certainly we, too, shall see that day that has been promised to us
Loneliness like a good, old friend visits my house to pour wine in the evening. And we sit together, waiting for the moon, and for your face to sparkle in every shadow.
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 ...