How can you know how much you mean to me?After all the heartache, there is love.Pierce life, and you are where the angels move,Praising with their joy the mystery.You know well the cost of sacrifice,Mothering the wounded as you bleed,Opening your anguish to their need,Taking heed of neither pain nor price.How you have paid, dear soul, for that abandon!Even as you’ve sunk into despair.Reason has no reason to be there‘Ere love supply the grace, wellearned or wanton.So let me show you how you look from here,Depicted as an icon dearly treasured,An image of an ecstasy unmeasured,Yearning with more need than it can bear.

Happiness can also be a haunting,A text one can recite but cannot read.Peace need not erase the need for need,Pressed to a perfection one finds daunting.Yet often one can win with little warning,Mothering the plant without the seed,Of help in breeding though of different breed,Taking pleasure in another’s dawning.How one feels depends on how one chooses,Embracing always less that what one wills,Redeeming even tragedy with passion‘Mid the sinking tapestries of night.So may you find the courage that refusesDominion to the clarity that kills,Awakening the mother that might fashionYearning strong enough to see the light.

gesue tabadar ko aur bhi tabadar karhoshokhirad shikar kar qalbonazar shikar kartu hai mahitebekaran main zara si aabajuya mujhe hamkinar kar ya mujhe bekinar karmain hun sadaf to tere hath mere gohar ke aabarumain hun khazaf to tu mujhe gauhareshahawar karnagmaenaubahar agar mere nasib mein na hois dam e nim soz ko tairakebahar karishq bhi ho hijab mein husn bhi ho hijab meinya tu khud aashakar ho ya mujh ko aashakar karbagebahisht se mujhe hukmesafar diya tha kyonkarejahan daraz hai ab mera intazar karrozehisab jab pesh ho mera daftareamalaap bhi sharmasar ho, mujh ko bhi sharmsar karPoet of the poem/ghazal or Nazam: Allama Iqbal

Daughtersinlaw are our grandchildren’s mothers.As such, they carry our fortunes downstream.Under their guidance, our hopes become others’,Giving their force to a much larger dream.How lucky we are to have you for the carerThat nurtures the hearts of our hearts, that they mayEach be a lover, a giver and sharer,Remaking the world in their image each day.So do we all, like streams from the mountains,In time become joined in the souls we have made,Now mingled forever, eternal companions,Linked by our love in a bond that won’t fade.As you in your noontime your work of love do,We watch from the hillside, grateful for you

ek pal mein ek sadi ka maza hum se puchiyedo din ki zindagi ka maza hum se puchiyebhule hain unhen rafta rafta mudatton mein humqishton mein khudkushi ka maza hum se puchiyeaagazeashiqi ka maza aap janiyeanjameashiqi ka maza hum se puchiyejalate diyon mein jalate gharon jaise zau kahansarakar raushni ka maza hum se puchiyewo jan hi gaye ki hamen un se pyar haiaankhon ki mukhbari ka maza hum se puchiyehansane ka shauq hum ko bhi tha aap ki tarahhansiye magar hansi ka maza hum se puchiyehum tauba kar ki mar gaye bemaut ae ‘khumar’tauhinemaikashi ka maza hum se puchiyePoet of the poem/ghazal or Nazam:  Khumar Barabankvi

Love has never been about the genes,But about beauty, and unforgiving grace.The wolf that suckled Romulus and RemusHad nothing in her heart but wrenching joy.Oh, yes, of course, love also is a means,Serving the survival of the race.But more, it is a longing that redeems us,An end itself no ending can destroy.And so it is with mothers who love childrenNot of their flesh, but of their nurturing.The origin fades, the years of love remainVivid in the background of a life.For Rome, the wolf will always be its kindred,Ancestor who took fate’s offeringAnd made it hers through sacrifice and pain,The legacy that would her long days light

Love has never been about the genes,But about beauty, and unforgiving grace.The wolf that suckled Romulus and RemusHad nothing in her heart but wrenching joy.Oh, yes, of course, love also is a means,Serving the survival of the race.But more, it is a longing that redeems us,An end itself no ending can destroy.And so it is with mothers who love childrenNot of their flesh, but of their nurturing.The origin fades, the years of love remainVivid in the background of a life.For Rome, the wolf will always be its kindred,Ancestor who took fate’s offeringAnd made it hers through sacrifice and pain,The legacy that would her long days light.

Although a daughter, I write this as a mother.We’re both mothers now, of childdaughters:You, a grandmother forced to be a mother,And I, a widow, alone with my fatherless daughter.Death has thus shaped both our lives in waysWe would not have chosen. Yet life is still the bright,Painfully lovely thing it was always:Our children like dancers on a dark, splendid night,Needing our loves as I needed yours; your loveThe same song as ever, a lullaby I rememberSo well from my time in your arms. We moveIn slow spirals towards the stars. SeptemberHas weeks like June, yet is closer to the fall.Love has no answers, yet its beauty answers all.

faqirana aaye sada kar chalemiyan khush raho hum dua kar chalejo tujh bin na jine ko kahate the humso is ahd ko ab wafa kar chalekoi naummidana karte nigahso tum hum se muh bhi chipa kar chalebahot aarzoo thi gali ki teriso yan se lahu mein naha kar chaledikhai diye yun ki bekhud kiyahamen aap se bhi juda kar chalejabin sajada karte hi karte gaihaqebandagi hum ada kar chaleparastish ki yan tain ki ayei but tujhenazar mein sabon ki khuda kar chalegai umr dar bandefikregazalso is fan ko aisas bada kar chalekahen kya jo puche koi hum se “meer”jahan mein tum aaye the, kya kar chalePoet of the poem/ghazal or Nazam: Meer Taqi Mee

cheharon ke dhup aankhon ke geharai le gayaaaina sare shahar ke binai le gayadube huye jahaz pe kya tabsara karenye hadasa to soch ke geharai le gayahalanki bezuban tha lekin ajib thajo shakhs mujh se chin ke goyai le gayais waqt to main ghar se nikalne na paungabas ek kamiz thi jo mera bhai le gayajhute qaside likhe gaye us ke shan meinjo motiyon se chin ke sachai le gayayadon ke ek bhid mere sath chod karkya jane wo kahan meri tanhai le gayaab asad tumhare liye kuch nahi rahagaliyon ke sare sang to saudai le gayaab to khud apani sansen bhi lagati hain bojh siumron ka dev sari tavanai le gayaPoet of the poem/ghazal or Nazam: Rahat Indori

Kehne Ko Woh Pehli Chahat ThiWoh Jis Mein Junoon Tha, Shiddat ThiPakeeza Thi, Anmol Thi WohKhwabon Ke Jahan Ki Ulfat ThiMehboob Ko Bhi Malum Na ThaAisi Khamosh Mohabbat ThiKhamosh Rahi Bekaar HuiNa Jeet Hui Na Haar HuiPhir Waqt Ne Apni Chaal ChaliWoh Furqat Se DoChaar HuiKaisi Khamosh Mohabbat ThiGulzaar Se Phir Woh Khaar HuiFurqat Se Junoon Mein Aag LagiIs Dilke Sukoon Meom Aag LagiAshqon Ki Ladi Aankhon Se BandhiIs Jism Ke Khoon Mein Aag LagiPhir Waqt Ne Apni Chaal ChaliDil Se Woh KhumaarEPreet GayaHonthon Se Wafa Ka Geet GayaKehne Ko Woh Pehli Chahat ThiUska Bhi Zamana Beet GayaHijraan Ki Shabon Se Lad Lad KarDil Haar Gaya, Gam Jeet Gaya

Happy Mother’s Day to a dear aunt,As loving as a mother ought to be,Pleased to act when parents won’t or can’t,Pleased to act when moms go out to sea.Yet yearning cannot make an aunt a mother,Melding aptitude with milk and blood.One finds joy in giving joy to others;The other has her joy, if she but would.Heaven knows the way across the darkness,Enduring through all manner of regret,Returning, turning to the fount of stillness‘Mid mountains of accumulated debt.So may you this day be satisfiedDespite the grace that fortune has denied,Alive with love, both given and returned,Yet blessed with nothing less than you have earned.

KHUDAA WOH WAQT NA LAAIKhudaa woh waqt na laai keh sogawaar ho tusakoon ki neend tujhay bhi haraam ho jaaiteri musarratepeham tamaam ho jaaiteri hayaat tujhay talkh jaam ho jaaiGhamoon say aainaedil gudaaz ho terahajoomeyaas say baytaab ho kay reh jaaiwafooredard say seemab ho kay reh jaaitera shabaab faqt khawaab ho kay reh jaaiGharoorehussn sarapa nayaz ho terataweel raatoon main tu bhi qaraar ko tersayteri nigaah kissi ghum gusaar ko tersaykhazaan raseedah tamanna bahaar ko tersayKoi jabeen naan teray sangeaastaan pay jhukaykeh jinseijzoaaqeedat say tujh ko shaad karayfaraibewaadaefarda pay aaitamad karaykhudaa woh waqt na laai keh tujh ko yaad aai

Happy Mother’s Day to my darling wife!All my love to you this special day!Pleased to have you perched upon my life;Pleased to feel your passion in our play!You are the muse of my else bloodless song,Mother of my evening and my moon,Of all the Earth, the place where I belong,Trellis on which my frail emotions bloom.How might I bring you basketfulls of beauty,Eliciting the smile I would see,Reflecting in the midst of drudge and duty,‘Twixt world and woe the simple fact of we.So might my love be all you need to knowDeep within our longlived afterglow,A certitude on which your joy might rest,Yearning for the life with which we’re blessed.

Happiness is like a sunny day:All one’s bitterness is drowned in light.Praise be the light, though it must pass away,Perhaps because compassion needs the night.Yet when one feels like swallowing barbed wire,More or less does nothing for the pain.Old memories return as if on fire,Tormenting one with unforgiving shame.How can I, who love you, come inside,Each wound to bind up with an ointment rare,Restoring the once effervescent bride‘Neath misery no happiness can spare?So shall I sing to you of all life’s beauty,Doing through the night my daytime duty.A song of love may not bring back your noon,Yet in your darkness, let me be your moon.