musaafir-e dasht

Israeli jets have launched a second day of air attacks on the Gaza Strip, amid warnings that operations will continue until Hamas ends rocket fire from Gaza. Palestinians now say at least 280 people have died, while Israel is said to be considering a ground assault and has authorised the call-up of reserves. At the UN, the Security Council called for an end to all violence in Gaza, including rocket attacks from Gaza. Israel says militants have fired 110 rockets into Israel since Saturday. The country's cabinet has authorised the call-up of reserve soldiers, with unconfirmed reports saying as many as 6,500 could be summoned for duty. Source This reminds me of a poem I read long ago, and I do not know who the poet is... It is a poem of hope. Hope, for which a heavy price is being paid. Hope, which gives me another hope that all this would simply not go to waste. Hopefully... "Meray tan ke zakhm na gin abhi Meri aankh mein abhi noor hai Meray baazoo'on pe nigaah kar Jo ghuro...

... I am unable to view my updated blog. In fact, I am not even able to view the updated sites of those who are on my blog list. Whenever I visit any of the sites, I am shown an old page with no new posts! This is definitely weird. I am only able to operate my blog through the dashboard. And I do not know how to fix this thing up... Hope the problem gets resolved on its own.

Some words simply have the ability to cast spell over you. I recently had an experience of coming across some such words. No, they were not poetry. They were assembled to form a prosaic piece of writing. They radiated spiritual light. They were the words of a mentor. Perhaps, it is not always about the words, but the hand that puts them on paper. It puts on paper the words that heal wounds. The words that suddenly bring into the parched-lipped-desert-traveller's view, an oasis. Words that instantly make one feel: Jaisay veeraanay mein chupkay se bahaar aajaye Jaisay sahraa'on mein haulay se chalay baad-e naseem Jaisay beemaar ko be-waja qaraar aajaye! --Faiz --N.A. Poets' Corner, Us Magazine (The News)

Poet: Faiz Ahmad Faiz http://mosaafir.blogspot.com/2005/12/tragedy-of-errors-is-it.html

Today, I had to visit the campus for some reason and there were hardly any people around. A class-mate of mine was accompanying me. After our research meeting we went to the canteen to have tea. We sat right in front of the main-library stairs and talked endlessly about various things in life. People, relationships, university, du'as and what not! Then we both got up and started walking towards the parking lot. It was officially her last day at the university. And while walking, both of us continuously reflected on the passage of time and shared our views with each other on the topic. Wasn't it eerie how moments just elapsed. Never to return. Where were those steps that we had just taken, when we began our walk from the canteen to the parking lot. My friend said, "it was scary!" Indeed it is. I smiled at her remark and for some unknown reason said, "Derrida wasn't really a fool, after all!" And both of us started laughing. We stayed quiet for a few more...

Yesterday, I saw a wonderful picture on a website showing too many pligrims thronging the land of Hijaz. And beneath the picture it was written: Bana kar faqeeron ka hum bhays Ghaalib Tamasha-e-ehl-e-Karam dekhtay hain ... And the verse went so well with the view in the picture. No explanations needed to explain this kind of love. "It is all the labour of Love." What is there which is beyond Love? Darmiyaan-e-parda-e-khoon ishq ra gulzaarha Aashiqaan ra ba-Jamaal-e-ishq-e-bay-chun kaarha Aql guyad "shish jehat huddst, beeroon raah neest" Ishq guyad "raah hast wa raftay am mann baarha..." (Transation of Professor Lateefullah's Urdu Translation in Rumi (RA) ka payaam-e-ishq : Between the curtains of blood, there are countless gardens of Love. Lovers have a lot to do with the beauty of Love of the Unmatched! Intellect says, there's no way beyond the limits of six directions Love ( Ishq ) says, there is the way, for I have traversed it several times!) ...

Two days back when I was working on my take-home exam, my brother said something really strange on listening to the message alert tone in my phone ring . "What kind of a sound is this?" He asked. And then without waiting for me to reply, he further said, "it seems so 'incomplete'! It leaves a lot to be desired!" I was kind of taken aback at such a serious comment coming from someone who I always considered to be quite non-serious. However, on hearing this comment a lot of 'incomplete' and mysterious associations resurfaced on the surface of my mind. Incompleteness. Leaving a lot to be desired. The last sip of tea not drunk but deliberately left in the cup. Deliberate Unfulfillment. Deliberate avoidance of complete satisfaction. It was one of the most wonderful classes. One of those after which you feel as if something has metamorphosed in you. And a new horizon of thoughts, ideas and reflections lies before you...

... where have all the 'comments' to my earlier posts, gone? I think it's because of the change of the template and I do not have the strength to go through the hassle of incorporating that 'haloscan' thing again into the HTML code of this template! So, I am telling myself ... never mind!

"Ilaahi! ... nazr bay-soo'ay ma farma keh nazr-e-ma bay-soo'ay tuu'st" -Khwaja Abdullah Ansari Harvi (RA) From: Rumi (RA) ka payaam-e ishq by Professor Lateefullah

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes around in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk now drinks wine & honey mixed. God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box from cell to cell. As rainwater down into flowerbed, as roses up from ground. Now it looks like a plate of rice & fish, now a cliff covered with vines, now a horse being saddled. It hides within these till one day it cracks them open.

Roughly, a prosaic translation would read as follows: Since I am a slave of the Sun, so I will, of course, speak about it only. I am neither night nor its patron that I may speak of dreaming! From: Rumi (RA) ka payaam-e ishq by Professor Lateefullah

Repetition is a great phenomenon. I just realised this a while ago. I was listening to something and it just occurred to me how much of it I had forgotten. Forgetting is something I do not appreciate. I want to remember everything good thing that I hear or read. And I get highly irritated when I am unable to do that. Just few moments back the importance, of repeating things to oneself, occurred to me as an insight. What a blessing repetition can be at times, I just realised. It is, I think, one of the best ways to learn!

It is extremely frustrating to see the abysmal condition city has fallen into. People from the up-north are being almost exterminated. Ethnic cleansing. Do we purge ourselves of our own people? I cannot think beyond this... What about those whose entire families consist of people of various ethnicities? I do not know why but I fear the situation might get worse. Language has never been a problem for the 'people' of Pakistan and that I can say with immense confidence. Why? Because we have been living since ages in localities where no one seems to be even bothered as to the language you speak. It is not an issue. However, it is of course a big issue for those who have 'hired' people to create deliberate unrest in the city. Something is definitely wrong due to which "things fall apart/ the centre cannot hold..." What is that 'something', I think each of us must pose this question to ourselves. For how long will we be able to enjoy living comfortably in ou...

I am changing the font in which I used to write my blog. I have a weird reason for doing so. I was actually going through my earlier posts. Posts that I wrote when I started blogging for the first time. Posts that I continued to write for two years. Posts that make me feel different about my own self. About who I was back then. About what I am right now! Time passes swiftly. It does not only passes but it leaves its imprints on your being. On your self. Now when I read my previous writings, I feel as if I am seeing an older 'me' (or is it supposed to be an I? What is an I anyway?) from a distance. What is this distance? I do not know. Is it a gap between my older self and my present self? Or is it just that the older self has metamorphosed into a newer one. Whatever it is, I know I have transformed. Is there any moment in life when we are not being transformed? I don't think so...

Reminds me of Faiz's khwaab basera... courtesy: Iqbal Cyber Library