Akhtar Jawad 8-2-1945

My grandfather at Jamia Nizamia, Delhi
when found himself a failure,
he migrated to Medina whereat,
he obtained his dream's lovely allure,
the degree of Shaikh-ul-Hadith there
(the final degree of a Muslim Schollar) .
A pretty rose after a long endure.

My father, a Moulvi Alim from Nizamiah, Delhi
and Moulvi Fazil from Nadvat-ul-Ulema Lucknow,
when as a Moulvi, found himself a failure,
switched to Aligarh for modern studies,
and secured marks during post-graduation
that is still a record.
Then he studied law at Lucknow,
Practiced as a lawyer at Gorakhpur,
but then he found himself again a failure,
How he could be a successful lawyer?
He could never become a liar!
He said, as a moulvi, he's a failure
As a lawyer, he is a failure
And that's why
he switched to the profession of teaching
He obtained the degree of Bachelor of Teaching from Aligarh
And he was appointed as a lecturer there.

I am also a failure,
As an accountant I always finished my works
in two or three or maximum four hours.
My seniors went on adding more works to my job description,
but they could never force me to earn more
by sitting late and working overtime.
I don't mind taking guidance from any book of wisdom
Besides Holy Koran,
I always remained guided by Bhagvad Gita.
" Karmanye vadhikaraste Ma Phaleshu Kadachana."
(You have the right to work only but never to its fruits.)
I am hopeful,
I don't know what I procure,
but the pains I endure,
make me so much confident and secure,
I'm sure, I'm sure and I am sure,
one day I'll be a master of allure.
Insha Allah!
(If God wishes so.)



Comments (60)

Except Akhtar Jawad Ji! ! ! ! ! !
To write as to the Poet's Comment I recall a beautiful couplet of Maulana Rumi: ،نه ھر کلکی شکر دارد، نه ھر زیری زبر دارد نه ھر چشمی نظر دارد، نه ھر بحری گوھر دارد۔
When reading Altar Jawad's poems, I am inhaling a special fragrance which I can't identify. Perhaps it is rose scent from the garden of Urdu poetry, magically transposed into English. Perhaps it comes from the courtyard of a Sufi shrine. Perhaps it is a breath of wind, sanctified by love, which has blown through the quarters of common people. I want read more to gather clues about where this wind came from!