nuktaachii.N hai Gam-e-dil us ko sunaaye na bane

nuktaachii.N hai Gam-e-dil us ko sunaaye na bane
kyaa bane baat jahaa.N baat banaaye na bane


mai.n bulaataa to huu.N us ko magar ae jazbaa-e-dil
us pe ban jaaye kuchh aisii ki bin aaye na bane

khel samajhaa hai kahii.n chho.D na de, bhuul na jaaye
kaash yuu.N bhii ho ki bin mere sataaye na bane

Gair phirataa hai lie yuu.N tere Khat ko ki agar
koii puuchhe ki ye kyaa hai to chhupaaye na bane

is nazaakat kaa buraa ho vo bhale hai.n to kyaa
haath aaye.n to u.nhe.n haath lagaaye na bane


kah sake kaun ki ye jalvaa_garii kisakii hai
pardaa chho.Daa hai vo usane ki uThaaye na bane


maut kii raah na dekhuu.N ki bin aaye na rahe
tum ko chaahuu.N ki na aao to bulaaye na bane

bojh wo sar pe giraa hai ki uThaaye na uThe
kaam vo aan pa.Daa hai ki banaaye na bane

ishq par zor nahii.n, hai ye vo aatish 'Ghalib'
ki lagaaye na lage aur bujhaaye na bane

yuN chup rahanaa Theek nahiin koii miiThii baat karo

yuN chup rahanaa Theek nahiin koii miiThii baat karo
mor, chakor ,papihaa, koyal sab ko maat karo

saavan to man bagiyaa se bin barase beet gayaa
ras men Duube naGhme kii ab tum barasaat karo

hijr kii ik lambii manzil ko jaanevala huuN
apanii yaadon ke kuchh saaye mere saath karo

main kirnon kii kaliyaaN chunakar sej banaa luuNgaa
tum mukhaDe kaa chaaNd jalaao raushan raat karo

pyar burii shay nahi hai lekin phir bhi yaar "Qateel"
galii-galii taqasiim na tum apane jazabaat karo

Hamary Soch Ke Parwaz Ko Roky Nahi Koi

Hamary Soch Ke Parwaz Ko Roky Nahi Koi
Naye Aflaq Pey Pehra Bitha Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

Koi ik Aadh Sapna Ho Tu Phir Acha Bhi Lagta hai
Hazaron Khawab Ankhon Men Saja Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

Usey Kehna Ke Palkon Per Na Tanky Khawab Ke Jahlar
Samandar Ki Kinary Ghar Bana Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

Ye Acha Hai ke Aapis Ke Bharam Na Totney Payeen
Kabhi Bhi Doston Ko Aazma Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

Faqat Tum Sey Hi Karta Hoon Men Sary Raz Ke Baten
Har Ik Ko Dastan-E-Dil Suna Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

Amal Ki Sokhty Rag Men Zara Sa Khon Shamil Kar
Mery Ham Dam Faqat Bateen Bana Kar Kuch Nahi Milta

mohabbat ki kahani tou musafat hi musafat hai

mohabbat ki kahani tou musafat hi musafat hai
mohabbat ki musafat aur
zaroorat ki musafat mein
numaya farq hota hai
zaroorat ki musafat mein
musafir wapsi k sarey imkan pass rakhta hai
mohabbat ki musafat main palatney ka koi rasta nahin hota
wo sari kashtiyan apni
jala detey hain sahil pay
k na-umeed honey per
paltna bhi ager chahen
tou wapis ja nahin payen
WAHIN GHARQAAB HO JAYEN...

At a Solemn Music

John Milton (1608-1674 / London / England)

At a Solemn Music


Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd fantasy present
That undisturbed Song of pure concent,
Ay sung before that saphire-colour'd throne
To Him that sits thereon
With Saintly shout and solemn Jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubic host in thousand choirs
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In first obedience, and their state of good.
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To His celestial consort us unite,
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light.

John Milton Light

John Milton

Light
HAIL holy light, ofspring of Heav'n first-born,
Or of th' Eternal Coeternal beam
May I express thee unblam'd? since God is light,
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from Eternitie, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,
Whose Fountain who shall tell? before the Sun,
Before the Heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a Mantle didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I re-visit now with bolder wing,
Escap't the Stygian Pool, though long detain'd
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne
With other notes then to th' Orphean Lyre
I sung of Chaos and Eternal Night,
Taught by the heav'nly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sovran vital Lamp; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that rowle in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;
So thick a drop serene hath quencht thir Orbs,
Or dim suffusion veild. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Cleer Spring, or shadie Grove, or Sunnie Hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief
Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath

That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit: nor somtimes forget
Those other two equal'd with me in Fate,
So were I equal'd with them in renown.
Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus Prophets old.
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntarie move
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful Bird
Sings darkling, and in shadiest Covert hid
Tunes her nocturnal Note. Thus with the Year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of Ev'n or Morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summers Rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud in stead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me, from the chearful waies of men
Cut off, and for the Book of knowledg fair
Presented with a Universal

On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough

On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough

Jonh MIlton I

O fairest flower no sooner blown but blasted,
Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie,
Summers chief honour if thou hadst outlasted
Bleak winters force that made thy blossome drie;
For he being amorous on that lovely die
That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss
But kill'd alas, and then bewayl'd his fatal bliss.

II

For since grim Aquilo his charioter
By boistrous rape th' Athenian damsel got,
He thought it toucht his Deitie full neer,
If likewise he some fair one wedded not,
Thereby to wipe away th' infamous blot,
Of long-uncoupled bed, and childless eld,
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held.

III

So mounting up in ycie-pearled carr,
Through middle empire of the freezing aire
He wanderd long, till thee he spy'd from farr,
There ended was his quest, there ceast his care
Down he descended from his Snow-soft chaire,
But all unwares with his cold-kind embrace
Unhous'd thy Virgin Soul from her fair hiding place.

IV

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate;
For so Apollo, with unweeting hand
Whilome did slay his dearly-loved mate
Young Hyacinth born on Eurotas' strand,
Young Hyacinth the pride of Spartan land;
But then transform'd him to a purple flower
Alack that so to change thee winter had no power.

On The Death Of A Fair Infant Dying Of A Cough

V

Yet can I not perswade me thou art dead
Or that thy coarse corrupts in earths dark wombe,
Or that thy beauties lie in wormie bed,
Hid from the world in a low delved tombe;
Could Heav'n for pittie thee so strictly doom?
O no! for something in thy face did shine
Above mortalitie that shew'd thou wast divine.

VI

Resolve me then oh Soul most surely blest
(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear)
Tell me bright Spirit where e're thou hoverest
Whether above that high first-moving Spheare
Or in the Elisian fields (if such there were.)
Oh say me true if thou wert mortal wight
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight.

VII

Wert thou some Starr which from the ruin'd roofe
Of shak't Olympus by mischance didst fall;
Which carefull Jove in natures true behoofe
Took up, and in fit place did reinstall?
Or did of late earths Sonnes besiege the wall
Of sheenie Heav'n, and thou some goddess fled
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectar'd head

VIII

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before
Forsook the hated earth, O tell me sooth
And cam'st again to visit us once more?
Or wert thou that sweet smiling Youth!
Or that c[r]own'd Matron sage white-robed Truth?
Or any other of that heav'nly brood
Let down in clowdie throne to do the world some good.

Note: 53 Or wert thou] Or wert thou Mercy -- conjectured by
John Heskin Ch. Ch. Oxon. from Ode on Nativity, st. 15.

IX

Or wert thou of the golden-winged boast,
Who having clad thy self in humane weed,
To earth from thy praefixed seat didst poast,
And after short abode flie back with speed,
As if to shew what creatures Heav'n doth breed,
Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heav'n aspire.

But oh why didst thou not stay here below

To bless us with thy heav'n-lov'd innocence,
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe
To turn Swift-rushing black perdition hence,
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence,
To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art.

XI

Then thou the mother of so sweet a child
Her false imagin'd loss cease to lament,
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild;
Think what a present thou to God hast sent,
And render him with patience what he lent;
This if thou do he will an off-spring give,
That till the worlds last-end shall make thy name to live.

John Milton