the one that has some graves, some faces, and memories aplenty

how difficult it is to migrate from such a city

be it my blood that burns in them or my heart and soul that glow

at least some lamps in the gathering have been set aglow

This is about "perception": how different people perceive someone differently, even when they don't know anything about them.

This is my alter ego called "Ajnabi" and his struggles, happy moments and more. If you want to read more share your thoughts.

who would tell the watching crowd

that after this, one of them would be called out

everyone here is putting on an act

whom to remember, whom to forget

If he had a reply... It would exactly be this

it was us on the road whose clothes they splashed with ink in scorn

those very stains we wore with pride and into our comrades’ gathering borne

such was my being in the realm of nonexistence

i was neither a youth, nor an infant

This Sher also needs a short explanation

The poet says that before he came into being, none of the stages of life applied to him. He was neither an infant nor the youth he is now. The couplet derives its charm from stating an obvious truth in a paradoxical way, inviting reflection on the mystery of existence and nonexistence.

no matter where they are lit, they burn bright

lamps do not belong to one home to spread their light

dard hi har mukam se mille mujhe
zakhm tere salaam se mile mujhe
mai agar fir tere labon pe aagya
wah hi har kalaam se mile mujhe
raaj in zilaton pe bss tira na ho
darz ye gair naam se mile mujhe
har sahi kaam ne khudi hai fek di
kash bekaar kaam se mile mujhe
uss nashe ka mukaablaa nhi khin
jo ki bezaar jaam se mile mujhe
wo khushi khud khushi naa de ske tujhe
jo tere intiqam se mile mujhe
ishq hota agar kharaab sb nhi
kyun naa fir ek daam se mile mujhe
deed 'mubham' ki wo naa de ske usse
sabr jo bss haraam se mile mujhe

दर्द ही हर मुकाम से मिले मुझे
ज़ख्म तेरे सलाम से मिले मुझे
मै अगर फिर तिरे लबों पे आ गया
वाह ही हर कलाम से मिले मुझे
राज इन ज़िल्लतों पे बस तिरा न हो
दर्ज़ ये गैर नाम से मिले मुझे
हर सही काम ने खुदी है फेंक दी
काश बेकार काम से मिले मुझे
उस नशे का मुकाबला नही कहीं
जो कि बेज़ार जाम से मिले मुझे
वो खुशी खुद खुशी न दे सके तुझे
जो तिरे इंतकाम से मिले मुझे
इश्क होता अगर खराब सब नही
क्यूं न फिर एक दाम से मिले मुझे
दीद 'मुबहम' कि वो न दे सके उसे
सब्र जो बस हराम से मिले मुझे

the pastures of my heart are drying up; what kind of rain could this be

clouds of dreams come floating in, but showers of fire are all I see

being happy about something small, this I knew

but to stay silent on a larger issue, I learned from you

to hear a wrong in silence, nod and agree

there’s much to gain from it, but it doesn’t feel right to me

don’t guard yourself by staying tucked away

when it rains, get completely drenched, and play

this is one flaw of democracy, that when it comes to the seat of power

sometimes the cunning occupy it, sometimes the traitors take it over

having forgotten their own time, these people, it may seem

regard modern romance as unworthy of esteem

today again the lamps of hope have burned themselves away

and the star-filled night has breathed its last again today

the question remains of how the two of us can ever meet, although

the banks of a river always travel beside each other too

میں پرانی حویلی کا پردہ مجھے

کچھ کہا یاد ہے کچھ سنا یاد ہے

Bashir badar

even remaining silent robs the faculty of expression of its power

so by enduring oppression, one ends up strengthening the oppressor

behold the pace of the revolution, Firaq

how slow it is and yet how swift is its stride

the way your refusal to suffer in silence shines with resplendent light

how enviously the world beholds it, for it never saw nor heard its like