The unreasonable

“A reasonable man adapts himself to the world while an unreasonable man tries to adapt the world to himself, so all the the progress depends on the unreasonable men”
(George Bernard Shaw)

Its not just today,
That I’ve been scorned,
For venturing into,
A land; unseen.

That I’ve been contempted,
For deviating the norms,
Set by the normal beings.

I have been criticized,
And penalized,
For defying the logic,
Of the logical,
From eternity.

I’m endowed with instincts,
Of liberty; hence my evolution,
And evolution of the world,
That is dependent,
Over each of my deviation,
And each of my exploration,
Of all the unseen.

Yet there are those,
To whom I’m insane,
The ones, if I comply with,
Will embrace me,
But doing so,
Will be a disgrace,
On my part, to the instincts,
I carry; of liberty and creativity.

Thus, I’d gleefully take,
The tag of insane,
The unreasonable!

Random stanzas…

Mind’s locked,
Heart’s stolen,
By the time,
A vicious magician.

The air,
I’m breathing,
Is toxicated,
By haunting despair,
And fear,
Amid spring.

I’m seeing,
And passion,
Of the multitude,
Around me,
But am caught,
By melancholy,
Without you.

I yearn a re-union,
Of me and thee,
For completion,
I’m a desert,
You; the reluctant drop,
Of a much waited rain.

Let us join, O’my fairy!

We’ve grown together,
Right from eternity,
Side by side like two bodies,
Inhibited by a solitary soul,
Yet you’re out of my limits!

Your whispers soothe my senses,
And my heart beats,
When touched by those delicate fingers,
But my longing is too intese,
To hold your hand.

Shrug this hesitance!
Let us join, O’my fairy,
For I’m not supposed,
To long for something,
That is an inseparable,
Entitiy of my ever self.

Intellectual Homelessness!

I do not know much about the poet Tufail Dara, but what I’ve gauged from his poetry after reading one of his books ‘Jashn-e-Zulmat‘ is that he lived a life extremely miserable. He was an immense poet with a captivating style of writing poems. His poetry is unique in more than one way, for his philosophy, fluency and command over the language are exceptionally brilliant. Yet, he remained comparatively unknown courtesy his poverty.

Below here is an effort to translate one of his poems which in original is a real gem.

Intellectual Homelessnes!

There exist in my land,
The happiness of a heaven,
But there are burning hells,
Among its people,
Some are setting the cruel fire,
While the others are burning in it.

My land is a town of a mirror maker,
But people here are carrying stones,
Of different colors in their thought,
To everyone I say “ Don’t pelt any shop!
All of the town is yours,
And all the people,
Are the peices of your body,
Their filled shops,
Are your ways of survival”
Listening to me; the poet,
All who are burning in the fire,
And the objects of contempt,
Start to look at the shops,
As the centers of their hopes,
The stones in their hands,
Melt into puppets,
With the flames,
Of their optimistic reverence!

These hunger sticken people,
Sleep; gazing at the decorated shops,
With the eyes of their emply bellies,
Then open the doors,
Of the deocrated shops quitely,
Heaping the eyes and bellies,
Of those sleeping,
With the bottles of wine,
Emptied all the night long!

Thus read the news papers,
Of the next morning,
“The hunger stricken were given,
Each and every bounty of the world,
By the shop keepers of the filled shops,
And their sorrows have been shared,
Those who were burning in the fire,
Of povery; are seen celeberating,
Singing and dancing,
Over the foot paths of the road”

The hungry ones,
When try to prove,
All that is untrue,
Their truth are conclealed,
From the eyes of the world,
By those who own the decorated shops.

How should I stay here!
For everybody is carrying,
Stones of different colors,
In their thoughts.

How should I leave this land!
For the stones are of those,
Who are my own,
How will I tolerate!
Stones of others,
How should I stay!
How could I cease!
Let us see!
When the stones of my land,
Can die!