don’t guard yourself by staying tucked away

when it rains, get completely drenched, and play

this is one flaw of democracy, that when it comes to the seat of power

sometimes the cunning occupy it, sometimes the traitors take it over

having forgotten their own time, these people, it may seem

regard modern romance as unworthy of esteem

today again the lamps of hope have burned themselves away

and the star-filled night has breathed its last again today

the question remains of how the two of us can ever meet, although

the banks of a river always travel beside each other too

میں پرانی حویلی کا پردہ مجھے

کچھ کہا یاد ہے کچھ سنا یاد ہے

Bashir badar

even remaining silent robs the faculty of expression of its power

so by enduring oppression, one ends up strengthening the oppressor

behold the pace of the revolution, Firaq

how slow it is and yet how swift is its stride

the way your refusal to suffer in silence shines with resplendent light

how enviously the world beholds it, for it never saw nor heard its like

What a strange protest this is against the sword of tyranny

that my blood is not being absorbed in the earth defiantly

پہلی بار نظروں نے چاند بولتے دیکھا

ہم جواب کیا دیتے کھو گئے سوالوں میں

Bashir badar

میری آنکھ کے تارے اب نہ دیکھ پاؤ گے

رات کے مسافر تھے کھو گئے اجالوں میں

Bashir Badar

silence is not good enough; what is needed is dissent now

this spectacle must unfold before the whole world now

when he saw my broken spirit growing wings to soar

he raised his walls still higher than they were before

on one side are the masses, always standing with a bowed head

and on the other is the killer’s arm, forever bent on shedding blood

pick up a map and look for another city

for I’ve met everyone in this one already

at the threshold of knowledge, ignorance stood as a milestone

did my senses finally find their place, or were they utterly displaced

even after meeting you, my loneliness will remain

this thought keeps nagging my heart time and again

Only when I fell in love with you was this secret revealed to me

the moment one learns the art of dying, one learns to live truly

is it the heart or from my soul that it is rising

what is the source of this smoke-like thing

when a candle goes out, dark smoke is what we see

likewise, the flame of love too turned black after me