Words Of A Poet

Words from a Poet To start with, at this fervent moment I would like to give thanks to the Institute of Regional Studies and all of its office-bearers and staffers. For they have given me the pleasant oppurtunity to see Pakistan for the first time in my life. For historic reasons, I had an ardent quest for seeing Pakistan from the very childhood of mine. I have wandered about along the lanes and by-lanes of Harappa and Mohenjodaro many a time in my dreams. I have dreamt of Shalimarbag as my holiday recluse numerous times. Standing on the Shahdara I have recalled the memories of Jahangir and Noorjahan. On reading the book of Hector Bolitho I have looked for the House of Zinnah Punja, tracked down to the Khaiber Pass, to Lahore of 1940 in my reverie. But that dream has never come true. After 1992, I do not know why, India has yet to issue me VISA. Perhaps, They have taken me for their foe. And Pakistan has never invited me before-- maybe, considering the invitation is an awfully important thing, which is exclusively enshrined for the politicians and journalists. So what is the point in coming of the poets and writers here? Although both of us know very well in our mind that across the world Pakistan is the only country which was envisioned by a poet. At this momentous time I would like to pay my deep and glowing homage to the sacred memories of the poet of the poets, the great luminary Mohammad Iqbal and I pray for the salvation of his departed soul. I would like to say echoing his voice: Only the blind sees the ominous shades But the sun can see no illusion of darkness. Only one year before my birth, the military rule of Ayud Khan fell on Pakistan. As a result, on my very birth I had to see my native land in turmoil. Lack of democracy and freedom would give us much pain even then. My father was a follower of Majlum People’s Leader Moulana Bhasani. He was at the same time respectful to the great poet Iqbal and Kazi Nazrul, Karl Marx, Lenin and Mao Ze-Dong. During my early days I have seen their pictures hanging from the walls of our drawing room. We would recite: Stand up and awake the poor and the hungry of the world Shake the doors of the rich ones with the tremble of terror. And during then in our Family Library I have got introduced with the mystic poet Abdul Latif Vitai: O People do not take these as mere verses These are of Heaven These verses take you to your beloved And invigorate you with the urge of love. My eyes have been welled up reading the love story of Heer-ranjha by the Panjabi poet of Eighteenth Cencury. I have been charmed with the love songs of Balouch poet Zam Durrak: I am a fooI, so I fight with my heart My heart is foolish, so fights with me. And after that came the days of losing myself in the turbulent surge of motion pictures. When the ‘Jago Hua Sabera’ conqured the world, we also shared that delight. I have watched a lot of films by Nadeem, Shabnam, Zeba, Mohammad Ali, Shameem Ara, Rani and Wahid Murad. The humour of Rangeela, Khaiber Mail of Neelo and Road to Swat are still vivid in the memory. To the date the songs of Noorjahan, Mehdi Hassan and Ghulam Ali are highly populars in every nook and cranny of the country. We the college-goers would croon the songs of Ahmad Rushdi, Muzib Alam, Irene Perveen or Naheed Niazi. As now a day we like to drone the songs of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Thus I came close to the poetry of Foyez Ahmad Foyez. As on coming here I feel like shaking hands with poet Ahmad Faraz and Fiction-writer Intizar Hossain so much. In Bangladesh the cultivation of Urdo is still thriving. In the light and shade of Zeneva Camp ‘Mushayera’ is held regularly, where poet Ahmad Ilyas, Zamal Azimabadi, Ahmad Sa’di and their likes are working relentlessly. But who are there to evaluate them?