Tales of the Ancient Turtle – Dreaming of God

“I slipped out of my mother’s sleeping arms that summer afternoon and wandered into a backyard full of anacondas, deserts, and a talking turtle who had been waiting centuries to teach me about God.”

Introduction

A tender story capturing the magical world of childhood through the eyes of four-year-old Tipu, who befriends a wise ancient turtle in his backyard. This enchanting tale explores profound spiritual questions through innocent wonder, as the turtle gently guides the child to understand that God can be seen and felt through love, dreams, and the beauty of everyday life. Blending magical realism with philosophical depth, the story celebrates the unique perspective of dreamers who can perceive divine presence in nature’s smallest details - from squirrels and “anaconda” earthworms to warm maternal embraces. A beautiful exploration of how children naturally connect with spirituality and the sacred wisdom found in simple conversations between generations.

___________________________________________________

When I was very young, probably four or five, I was friends with a very ancient turtle. He lived in our backyard and talked to me. He told me many stories of times, long past and people, long dead. He was wise, very wise and the mind of a child was no match to his wisdom. But he talked to me because he loved me. And he loved me because I could listen to him for long with my pupils enlarged in astonishment and my brow knitted in curiosity.

___________________________________________________

It was a quiet summer afternoon when we first met. My mother was fast asleep, and I slipped out of her arms very quietly. I missed her warm, sweet smell, but outside, the adventures were waiting for me. Adventures have always waited for me.

It must have been a large house. But to me, it looked enormous. There were rainforests hidden deep within the rose bushes, and anacondas wriggled freely in the moist soil. My mother called them earthworms, but I knew they were anacondas. There was a desert in one corner of the backyard - my very own Sahara. My mother thought it was just construction sand, which was left behind by the workers. Adults can be so wrong sometimes. To me, it was a desert, complete with dunes, and when I planted some saplings, there was an oasis too.

___________________________________________________

I looked up and peeked at the golden sun from under the shadow of my palm. He was furious with the world but was smiling down at me. His golden rays kissed my cheeks and whispered in my ears, ‘Go ahead, son. The adventure is waiting for you.’

‘But it is so hot and you are ferocious today.’ I replied while readjusting my palm.

‘Not for you. You are a dreamer. For you, I will always be kind.’ The sun crackled a deep-throated laughter.

Reassured, I started looking around for adventure.

Suddenly, a squirrel hiding in the mango tree caught my attention. ‘Come down little one. I want to play with your soft bushy tail.’ I called her down kindly.

‘Always be kind. Kindness goes a long way.’ My grandfather said to me often.

The squirrel came down. I called her Sweetie, and we had always been on friendly terms. She shared her nuts with me, and in return, I brushed her soft tail. It was softer than my father’s shaving brush and was of a most marvelous silver-grey color.

‘Hey, have you heard the news? The turtle has woken up.’ She sat on my shoulder and squeaked into my ear.

‘Huh! Turtle? Which turtle?’ I was surprised.

‘The turtle in the backyard, silly.’ Sweetie informed me while breaking a nut and offering me half of it.

‘There is a turtle in our backyard? Wow!’ It was marvelous news to me.

‘There has always been a turtle in the backyard. But he had been asleep for the last few hundred years or so.’ She chattered on, ‘Go meet him. Pay your respects. He would certainly like that.’

So I ran to the backyard, but I couldn’t see any turtle.

___________________________________________________

‘Mr Turtle! Mr Turtle! Where are you?’ I hesitatingly called.

I could hear nothing in response. All was silent, and the brick floor was shimmering in the bright sunlight.

‘Look closely son. He is having his siesta under the rose bushes.’ The sun whispered to me.

‘Where? I cannot see him.’ I desperately searched under the bushes.

The sun laughed quietly and shifted a little. The shadows changed, and I started to see something that was never there before. There was a mottled, hard, and curved shell - all dark green and grey. I poked at it with a small stick, and it moved.

‘Who disturbs me?’ A strange, low voice inquired.

‘I am sorry, sir. I just wanted to meet you and say hi!’ I said very, very respectfully. Turtles were serious business, and I knew my manners.

‘Hmm! Once you grow old, you will realize something very important.’ The turtle said in a tired voice, gradually opening up his small, deep eyes and looking at me. ‘Nothing in this life is more delicious than a siesta in summer afternoons.’

‘I apologize for disturbing your siesta. I am really sorry. You can go back to sleep. We will chat some other time.’ I tried to withdraw.

‘There is something else you will realize once you grow old. No time is better than now.’ He smiled at me kindly. ‘Sit down and let me have a closer look at you.’

___________________________________________________

I sat down with turtle under the rose bushes. It was very pleasant there. The dark soil was wet, and the anacondas were squirming happily. I prodded one with my finger. It was all moist and soft.

‘Now don’t do that. He doesn’t like it.’ The turtle admonished me softly. I withdrew my finger. But the turtle was wrong. The anaconda didn’t care.

‘What are you doing outside, at this ungodly hour?’ The turtle asked me gently.

‘What is wrong with this hour? This is the hour of adventure.’ I was confused.

‘You should get out at another time. It is hot.’ He looked up at the bright sun.

‘No time is better than now.’ I repeated his words, and the turtle laughed. It was a deep rattling sound, pleasant to hear. It was a warm laughter coming straight from his belly.

‘My mother is asleep and I am free. There are lions to hunt and desert gypsies to dance with.’ I explained politely after his laughter died down.

‘Aha!’ he grinned. ‘We have a dreamer here.’

‘Is it bad being a dreamer?’ I asked him. My grandfather always said it was better to act than dream.

‘Bad? Absolutely not. Being a dreamer is rather marvelous.’ The turtle winked at me, ‘It is the dreamers who change the world.’

‘Change the world? But how?’ I found his comment very strange.

‘Dreamers can see things that others can’t, and dreamers can sense things that others can’t. Dreamers can hear things that others can’,t and dreamers can do things that others can’t.’ The turtle said slowly.

It was more of a song than a statement. I loved songs. They were simple, yet meaningful.

___________________________________________________

‘Can dreamers see God?’ I asked him. It was a very important question, as my father always said that God was invisible.

‘Oh yes! They can. You can.’ The turtle raised an eyebrow.

‘Nope, I cannot see Him. Nobody can.’ I pursed my lips determinedly.

‘Hmm! What do you think God looks like?’ He asked an easy question.

‘He is big - bigger than everything. He must be a giant because He is all mighty and powerful. He moves His finger and the earth moves and the mountains crumble.’ I could go on and on, but the strange expression in the turtle’s eyes halted me.

‘Now who told you that?’ He asked concernedly.

‘My teacher has told me that.’ I said while visualizing my teacher’s deep green eyes and golden hair, which made a halo around her lovely oval face. She was probably my very first crush.

‘But she didn’t say what God looked like. I added the giant part myself.’ I said proudly.

‘Of course, you did because you are a dreamer.’ The turtle laughed again.

‘Can I feel your belly when you laugh?’ I asked the turtle hesitatingly. Touching somebody’s belly was not something I normally did. But I wanted to feel the warm vibrations.

‘Oh yes, you can, my boy. You can do anything that makes you happy.’ He answered with a jolly laugh, and I gently placed my palm against his belly. Those were good vibrations. They traveled up my arm and reached my heart. They tickled my heart, and I laughed too.

‘God is somebody you can easily see and feel.’ The turtle finally said after we both finished laughing.

‘How come?’ I was all ears.

___________________________________________________

‘How do you feel about your mother? I mean, what if she gets up when your eyes are closed? Can you feel her leaving?’ He asked.

The turtle had asked a very strange question. I had never thought about it. So I closed my eyes and imagined myself lying in my mother’s embrace. And then the answer came to me, as clear as sunlight kissing a brilliant red rose.

‘I know, I know.’ I answered excitedly. ‘When she gets up and leaves, her warmth and fragrance leave too.’

‘Exactly!’ The turtle nodded with satisfaction. ‘Now tell me, what makes your mother, your mother?’

He saw the confusion dancing in my eyes and so repeated his question. ‘What special quality makes her your mother?’

‘She gave birth to me. I came out of her tummy.’ I was wise, way beyond my years.

‘Yes, true. That is basic. But what quality makes her your mother?’ He asked again.

‘I guess that would be her love. She loves me no matter what. She loves me even when I break a glass. Of course, she is unhappy for a while and frowns, but she still loves me.’ I answered after really thinking hard.

‘Yes!’ the turtle sounded jubilant. ‘Her love makes her your mother. You see the love in her and sense it.’

‘So? What’s that got to do with God?’ I was a bit perplexed.

‘That’s got to do everything with God.’ He said matter-of-factly. ‘He created you, me, your mother, and everything that exists around us. And He loves us all unconditionally.’

‘So my mother is God too?’ I thought I was finally drawing a connection.

‘Hmm! Let’s just say that God is greater than her and different from her.’ The turtle was alert now. He was very alert and was looking at me with eyes sparkling with ancient wisdom.

‘Different how?’ I was mentally ready to start a comparison.

‘Different because, unlike your mother and mine, He runs through us and through everything around us. He makes you sense your mother’s warmth, and He makes you smell her warm fragrance. He makes you move, and He makes you stop. We are alive when He breathes inside us, and we fall dead when He leaves us. He is the sun, the moon, and the stars, and He is the rain forest, the desert, and the earthworms.’

‘Not earthworms. They are anacondas.’ I rudely interrupted him.

‘Yes, I am sorry. He is the Anacondas and not the earthworms.’ The turtle corrected himself with a kind and affectionate smile. ‘And most importantly, God makes you dream. He makes you dream so that you can see Him and sense Him in all His glory and warmth.’

‘Tipu? Tipu? Where are you?’ My mother’s voice echoed in the distance.

‘Oh shit! She is awake.’ I cursed and then suddenly stopped. Cursing was bad, and it was especially bad in front of a grown-up. You could get spanked for that.

‘No problem. You can always curse in front of me.’ The turtle winked at me knowingly.

‘Will I see you again?’ I asked while brushing off the seat of my shorts.

‘Oh yes. I will always be here. We will talk more and then some more. We will keep on talking till it is your time to move on.’ The turtle said while settling back down comfortably in the moist soil.

___________________________________________________

‘Hey, there you are. How many times have I told you not to play outside at this hour?’ My mother asked with a frown.

I ran to her and hugged her legs. She smiled and hugged me back. We started walking towards the cool shade under the verandah. I looked back and waved at the turtle. I could not see him because the sun had shifted again. But I was sure he could see me.

‘Who are you waving at?’ My mother looked back but couldn’t see anybody.

‘I made a new friend today. I was waving at him.’ I smiled at her.

‘A new friend? Who is he?’ She sounded a bit worried.

‘A turtle!’ I happily informed her.

‘A turtle?’ She looked surprised for a moment. But then she bent down and kissed my sweaty forehead. ‘You are a dreamer, my son. You will always be a dreamer.’ She had seen the happiness in my eyes, and she was happy that I was happy. I was happy because I was a dreamer and I could see God.

آؤ اب خود کو فراموش کر دیں

شکوے تو کبھی تھے

بہت کہہ چکے ہیں

وجہیں بھی بہت تھیں

بہت سن چکے ہیں

وہ تھا کہ نہیں تھا

بہت سوچ چکے ہیں

دل کا، انا کا

دم گھونٹ کر اب

دل کو، انا کو،

سیاہ پوش کر دیں

چلو اب خود کو

فراموش کردیں


Read more: آؤ اب خود کو فراموش کر دیں

رستے ہزاروں

بہت چل چکے ہیں

قبروں مزاروں

بہت پھر چکے ہیں

گم ہو چکی ہے

ہمت تھی جتنی

خاک ان رستوں کی

چھانی ہے اتنی

وہ سب خاک ایسے

ہوا دوش کر دیں

آؤ اب خود کو

فراموش کر دیں


بہت رہ لیا ہے

دن تھے وہ جتنے

بہت گن لیا ہے

طعنے تھے کتنے

راتیں بھی لمبی

گزاری ہیں جتنی

ماضی کے سب باب

سپرد آگ کر کے

سب طعنوں تشنعوں کو

خاموش کر دیں

آؤ اب خود کو

فراموش کر دیں


نا تھا کوئی اپنا

نا اپنا کوئی ہوگا

نا تھی کوئی چھاؤں

نا سایہ کوئی ہوگا

خوابوں کے پیچھے

وہ بھگڈر تھی جتنی

بیکار ضائع

خواہش کی جتنی

وہ سب خواب مٹی میں

روپوش کر دیں

آؤ اب خود کو

فراموش کر دیں


بہت رو لیا ہے

بہت ہنس لیا ہے

جدائی کا صدمہ

بہت سہ لیا ہے

لمحے تھے جتنے

مقدر میں لکھے

وہ لمحے مٹانے کا

وقت ہوگیا ہے

آؤ اب چپکے سے

خاموش ہو کر

آؤ اب خود کو

فراموش  کر دیں


#Urdu #poetry #poem #helplessness #sadness #uselessness #fate #effort #failure #love #desire #dream #imagination #end #life #death

شہر کا آخری خواب فروش

‘چاچا جی؟’ میں نے کھنکار کر پوچھا. ‘آپ چپ کیوں ہوگئے؟’

.کہتے ہیں……….’ انہوں نے بدستور گردن جھکائے کہا’

‘جب دور کسی گھنے جنگل کے بیچوں بیچ، کوئی بوڑھا درخت ٹوٹ کر گرتا ہے تو کوئی آواز نہیں گونجتی’

‘کوئی آواز نہیں گونجتی؟’ میں نے حیرانگی سے پوچھا. ‘یہ کیسے ہوسکتا ہے؟’

.جب کوئی آواز سننے والا یا پرواہ کرنے والا نا ہو تو آوازیں نہیں گونجتی.’ انہوں نے میری آنکھوں میں جھانک کر جواب دیا’

.میں ہوں نا چاچا جی!’ میں نے محبت سے ان کے جھریوں بھرے کمزور ہاتھ پر اپنا ہاتھ رکھتے ہوئے کہا’

‘میں ہوں نا سننے اور پرواہ کرنے والا’


Read more: شہر کا آخری خواب فروش

وہ سردیوں کی ایک دھندلکی سپہر تھی اور میں اپنا کیمرہ کندھے پر لٹکائے اندرون شہر کی گنجان آباد گلیوں میں چکر لگا رہا تھا. بہت سے خوبصورت چہرے بھی نظر آئے؛ بہت حسین نقش و نگار والے دروازوں پر بھی نظر پڑی؛ کچھ مسکراہٹوں نے دل موہ لینے کی کوشش بھی کی؛ اور کچھ آنسوؤں نے قدم بھی تھامے. لیکن پتہ نہیں کیا بات تھی کہ میں اپنے کیمرے کا بٹن نہیں دبا سکا. دل پر عجیب اداسی چھائی ہوئی تھی

پھر موچی گیٹ کی بغل میں ایک نسبتاً تاریک اور تنگ سی گلی سے گزرتے ہوئے میری نظر اس بوڑھے کھلونا فروش پر پڑی. وہ ایک بند دروازے سے ٹیک لگائے نجانے کس گہری سوچ میں گم تھا

جس چیز نے مجھے زیادہ متوجوہ کیا وہ تھا اس بوڑھے کھلونا فروش کے پاس ہی دیوار سے ٹکا بانس سے بنا اسٹینڈ. ایک مرکزی عمودی بانس سے جڑے لکڑی کی کئ چھوٹی بڑی پھٹیاں تھیں جن سے پلاسٹک کے چھوٹے چھوٹے کھلونے لٹک رہے تھے

ایسے کھلونا فروش میں نے اپنے بچپن میں ہی دیکھے تھے. چھٹی والے دن اور خاص طور پر عید والے دنوں میں چکر لگاتے تھے. ان میں سے چاچا خیرو مجھے خوب یاد ہے جو مجھے پیار سے بیجو بابرا کہا کرتا تھا

.یہ تم ہر وقت کیا گنگناتے رہتے ہو کاکے؟’ ایک دن چاچا خیرو نے مجھ سے پوچھ ہی لیا’

مجھے دراصل بچپن ہی سے اپنے ہم عصروں سے مختلف نظر آنے کا شوق تھا. لہٰذا ان دنوں میں چھ سات سال کا ہونے کے باوجود کلاسیکی موسیقی میں دلچسپی لے رہا تھا

.جی راگ درگا چاچا جی.’ میں نے بے ساختہ جواب دیا تو وہ ایک دم ہنس پڑا’

‘راگ درگا؟ تم بچے ہو کہ بیجو بابرا؟’

اس دن سے میرا نام ہی چاچا خیرو نے بیجو بابرا رکھ دیا اور میں اس کا مستقل گاہک بن گیا. رنگ برنگی چیزیں ہوتی تھیں اس کے پاس. پلاسٹک کے باجے اور بانس کی پیپنیاں؛ ہلکی سی باریک باریک پہیوں والی چھوٹی چھوٹی گاڑیاں؛ سستی گڑیاں؛ پلاسٹک کے خوفناک ماسک؛ اور سفید سوتی ٹوپیاں جن کے ساتھ مصنوعی سفید داڑھی مونچھیں جڑی ہوتی تھیں. اب چاچا خیرو جیسے لوگ ڈھونڈنے سے بھی نظر نہیں آتے


میں ان کے پاس جا کر بیٹھ گیا

.چاچا جی؟’ میں نے ہلکے سے ان کو مخاطب کیا’

‘ہاں……کون؟’ انہوں نے آنکھیں کھول کر حیرانگی سے میری طرف دیکھا اور پھر مسکرا دیئے. ‘کہو بیٹے کیا چاہئے؟’

‘چاہئے تو کچھ نہیں….’ میں نے سر کھجاتے جواب دیا. ‘بس آپ پر نظر پڑی تو آپ سے بات کرنے کا دل کیا’

‘ضرور کرو بات بیٹے’

‘آپ کون ہیں چاچا جی؟’

.میں؟’ انہوں نے اپنے سینے کی طرف مسکرا کر انگلی سے اشارہ کیا’

‘میں ہوں اس شہر کا آخری خواب فروش’

.خواب فروش؟ آخری خواب فروش؟’ میں نے چونک کر پوچھا’

ہاں کھلونے خواب ہی تو ہوتے ہیں…چھوٹے چھوٹے معصوم اور رنگین خواب. میں یہ خواب بڑی محنت سے بنتا تھا اور پھر انہیں چاہنے والوں کے حوالے کر دیتا تھا

ان کی آنکھوں میں ایک عجیب سی یاسیت اتر آئ

.اب نا خواب دیکھنے والے رہے اور نا ان کھلونوں کو چاہنے والے.’ انہوں نے بےبسی سے ہاتھ ملتے ہوئے کہا’

‘جب خواب دیکھنے والے خواب ہی نا دیکھنا چاہیں، خوابوں میں یقین ہی نا رکھنا چاہیں تو ان کے رنگ بے معںی ہو جاتے ہیں’

.لیکن خواب تو ہمیشہ اہم ہی رہتے ہیں.’ میں نے حیرت سے پوچھا’

.یقین خواب کی روح ہوتی ہے بیٹے.’ چاچا جی نے میرے کندھے پر ہاتھ رکھ کر کہا’

‘یقین چلا جائے تو خوابوں کی کوئی اہمیت باقی نہیں رہتی’


ہم دونوں کچھ دیر خاموش بیٹھے رہے. وہ گلی بڑی عجیب تھی. جب سے میں آ کر وہاں بیٹھا تھا ویران پڑی تھی. دھوپ کا گزر غالباً بالکل ہی نہیں ہوتا تھا وہاں. اسلئے عجیب سبزی مائل پیلا سا رنگ تھا ماحول کا جیسے میں کسی پرانی تصویر کے اندر زندہ تھا اور سانس لے رہا تھا. پھر گلی کے بیچوں بیچ ایک نالی ضرور بہ رہی تھی لیکن بدبو کا دور دور تک کوئی شائبہ تک نہیں تھا. بلکہ میرے نتھنوں میں تو لکڑی کے فرنیچر کی، پنسلوں کی اور مہنگے ربڑوں کی خوشبو مہک رہی تھی. یوں لگتا تھا کہ میں پھر سے اپنے بچھڑے بچپن کے کسی ایک ثانیے میں سانس لے رہا تھا. رنگ بھی وہ ہی تھے اور خوشبویئں بھی وہ ہی، بس ماحول مختلف تھا


.یہ جادو کی چھڑی یاد ہے تمھیں؟’ چاچا جی نے ایک پلاسٹک کی چھڑی میری طرف بڑھاتے ہوئے پوچھا’

.نہیں.’ میں نے چھڑی دیکھ کر نفی میں سر ہلایا’

وہ سرخ رنگ کے پلاسٹک سے بنی تقریباً ایک فٹ لمبی چھڑی تھی جس کے ایک کونے پر چاندی رنگ کے پترے سے بنا پانچ کونوں والا ستارہ لگا ہوا تھا

.یاد کرو بیجو بابرا!’ چاچا جی نے مسکراتے ہوئے کہا’

‘جب تم چھوٹے تھے تو تمھیں یقین تھا کہ چھڑی کو اپنے ہاتھ میں پکڑ کر ہلانے سے تم کچھ بھی کر سکتے ہو’

.بیجو بابرا….؟’ میں بری طرح سے چونک گیا’

.گھبراؤ نہیں…’ بوڑھے خواب فروش نے میرا ہاتھ شفقت سے تھپتھپایا’

ہم خواب فروشوں کا اپنا قبیلہ ہے اور اس قبیلے کی یادیں اور خواب مشترک ہوتے ہیں. خیردین اور میں، ہم دونوں اسی قبیلے سے تعلق رکھتے ہیں

‘ہاں شاید …..’ میں نے سر جھٹکتے ہوئے کہا. ‘اس وقت مجھے یقین تھا کہ یہ جادو کی چھڑی ہے’

لیکن اب اس خواب میں تمھیں یقین نہیں ہے نا. لہٰذا اب نا خواب بننے کی ضرورت رہی نا بیچنے کی. اب مجھے چلے ہی جانا چاہئے

چاچا جی نے رندھی ہوئی آواز میں کہا تو میں بےچین ہوگیا

.نہیں چاچا جی، میں اب بھی خواب دیکھتا ہوں.’ میں نے ان کا ہاتھ پکڑتے ہوئے کہا’

مجھے اب بھی اپنے خوابوں میں یقین ہے. اور میرے خوابوں کی ابتداء انہی کھلونوں سے تو ہوئی تھی. اگر آپ نے خواب فروشی چھوڑ دی تو میری تو خوابوں کی اساس ہی ختم ہوجائے گی

مگر چاچا جی کا ہاتھ میری مٹھی سے ریت کی طرح بہ گیا. میں نے آنسو پونچھتے ہوئے ان کی طرف دیکھا مگر وہاں کوئی نہیں تھا

میں گھبرا کر اٹھ کھڑا ہوا. سامنے دو برقعہ پوش عورتیں کھڑی میری ہی طرف سہم کر دیکھ رہی تھیں. میں شرمندہ ہوا اور اپنے تخیّل کو کوستا کیمرہ اٹھانے کیلئے جھکا اور پھر ٹھٹھک کر رک گیا. وہاں جہاں تھوڑی دیر پہلے شہر کا آخری خواب فروش بیٹھا تھا، وہیں اسی جگہ، سرخ پلاسٹک کی جادو کی چھڑی پڑی میرا منہ چڑا رہی تھی

#Urdu #story #fiction #dream #imagination #toys #oldcity #Lahore #street #nostalgia #memories #past #magic

In the Memory of Wolves & Gypsies

The ancient gods woke from stone to answer my questions about wolves and gypsies, then fell silent again—having shown me humanity’s unforgivable crimes.

A haunting narrative poem about encountering ancient stone gods atop the Bostan mountain, who come alive to share their grief over humanity’s destruction of wild freedom. Through smoking rings and shared sorrow, the gods reveal the fate of the great grey wolves—hunted to extinction—and the nomadic gypsies—persecuted until their music died forever.


I saw them once, the ancient gods,

majestic in stone, holding their golden rods

They were sitting atop the Bostan mountain,

laughing and drinking from an olden fountain

They were there, bathing in the golden light,

knitting random clouds - grey and stark white


I begged for attention, and their laughter froze,

they all looked down and beckoned me close

‘Come sit with us, child, let us smoke for a while,

for you have travelled far, a lonely prince in exile

Your face looks young, yet your eyes look old,

sparkling with a hunger for knowledge and not gold’


I sat with them and smoked for long,

I drank with them and rang their gong

Our rings of smoke danced and played games,

while a great fire burned, the wind stoking its flames

I loved their company and heard their tales,

I walked with them and traced their memory trails


‘Pray tell me, O godsyou are ancient and so old,

where are the wolves, the dwellers of dark and cold?

The wolves that howled, the wolves that reigned,

who loved their freedom and could never be chained?

One could smell their shaggy fur and see their burning eyes,

riding the northern winds, howling their haunting cries’


On hearing my question, the old gods grew all sad,

their mirth grew cold, and their eyes were no more glad

‘The great grey wolves, who were so grand and so bold,

whose stories were woven and were repeatedly told?

The wolves have long gone, their howls are silent forever,

they were hunted by your kind, so merciless and so clever’


We smoked some more and blew more rings,

and thought of death, the end of kings

We drank some more and drank our fill,

and thought of time, our hearts so still

Our sadness made us silent, and our silence ruled the day,

respecting all the dead wolves, our laughter held at bay


‘Pray tell me, O godsso ancient and so wise,

where are the gypsies, with their wild, green eyes?

The ever-free gypsies, who roamed and ruled the plains,

and their powerful shamans, who could call the rains?

I can smell their fires and I can hear their harps,

their songs echoing loudly, rolling down the scarps’


On hearing my question, the old gods grew all silent,

their silence grew somber, and the wind turned violent

‘You ask of the gypsies, who once roamed the great plains,

with wings under their feet, they who hated all chains?

The gypsies have long gone, their music is dead forever,

persecuted by your kind, you have no tolerance whatsoever’


Hearing their accusing answers, seeing the real truth,

tears filled my eyes, and I forgot my own youth

‘If the gypsies have all left and the wolves have all gone,

why are you still here, with your faces sad and drawn?

If the howls are no more and the music is all dead,

why are you still here, with eyes filled with dread?’


The gods fell quiet, with their whispers all hushed,

I looked at them in farewell, my spirits all crushed

I intended to apologize, I wanted to seek forgiveness,

I wanted to just leave, ending all business

On the rich canvas of life, I saw my race, a stain,

but the old gods had all turned to stone again

آؤ محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ!ذرا کچھ دیر

محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں؛

ساتھ چل کر دیکھتے ہیں

Read more: آؤ محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں

،پرانے ساحلوں کی ریت پر

زخم زخم قدم دھرتے؛

نئی منزل تلاش کرکے

دیکھتے ہیں

،ویران خاموش طاقوں میں

انس بھرے معصوم چراغ؛

روشن کر کے

دیکھتے ہیں

،گزری عداوتوں کی راکھ میں

مسکراتے اور دمکتے؛

نئے رشتے تلاش کر کے

دیکھتے ہیں

،رشتوں کے بندھن میں

بدصورت شکوے و شکایتیں؛

پھر سے بھلا کر

دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ!ذرا کچھ دیر

محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں؛

ساتھ چل کر دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

مل کر دیکھتے ہیں

افق کے پار ہیں آباد؛

کئ دھنک رنگ

جگمگاتی بستیاں

،آؤ مل کر ڈھونڈتے ہیں

ان بستیوں میں وہ مکان؛

کہ جس کی کھڑکیاں

روشن ہیں ہمارے

خوابوں سے

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

مل کر سوچتے ہیں

اپنی زندگی کہ وہ باب؛

جو کبھی سوچے نا گئے

لکھے نا گئے

،آؤ مل کر تحریر کرتے ہیں

وہ سب ادھورے باب

لفظ لفظ رقم کر کے؛

محبت کی دمکتی

روشنائ سے

،آؤ! ذرا کچھ دیر

محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں؛

ساتھ چل کر دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

اپنے دلوں میں چھپے

چاہتوں کے معصوم راز؛

گدگدا کر، چھیڑ کر

دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

شانے سے شانہ ملا کر

سانجھی دھڑکنوں کے دم پر؛

وہ سب قدم بڑھا کر

دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

نیّتوں کے پر پھیلا کر

الفتوں کا سانس لیکر؛

 وہ سب خواب دیکھ کر

دیکھتے ہیں

،آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

اک دوجے سے

طاقت پکڑ کر؛

ہر ناممکن کام کر کے

دیکھتے ہیں

آؤ ذرا کچھ دیر

محبت کر کے دیکھتے ہیں،

ساتھ چل کر دیکھتے ہیں

#love #resolve #Urdu #poetry #agreement #dreams #imagination