PENTASI B WORLD FEATURED POET 2018
LET US WELCOME
Our dear friend, our fellow poet,
our dear lovely Brother,
Ayub Khawar is one of the most renowned contemporary poets from Pakistan. His family name is Muhammad Ayub Khan. He was born in District Chakwal (Punjab) on 12th October, 1948. He got his early education from the local school. He did his Master Degree in Urdu Literature from Karachi University in 1974.
The detail of Ayub Khawar’s contribution to Urdu poetry and production of PTV programs are very long. He worked in PTV as Producer, Director and Playwright of drama serials, series, and long plays. He also produced quiz shows, talk shows, musical shows; reality shows and literature based programs and got retirement in 2005. In reward of his huge contribution he was bestowed several awards like PTV National Awards, Graduate Awards, Bolan Awards, Nigaar Awards, Lux Style Awards. Upon his remarkable services for TV drama industry, in year 2013-2014. He was Awarded “Pride of Performance Award” from the government of Pakistan.
Recently, he has been awarded “CROSS OF PEACE 2016” and “STARS OF THE WORLD 2017” by The World Union of Poets. “ICON OF PEACE AWARD 2017” by The World Institute of Peace Nigeria and Naji Naman’s Literary Honour prize 2017 Naji Naman’s Foundation for Gratis Culture (FGC) Lebenon and the award Best Poet Of 2017 by the “International poetry translation and research center CHONGQING China”. Moreover, his poem “A Cry of a Syrian Child “was also acclaimed and nominated by the “Different Truths” and won Editor’s Choice Award For The Peace Anthology. The Last Of 2017 award is, ‘World Laureate in Literature-2017’ awarded by World Nations Writers’ Union, Kazakhstan, on 26th independence anniversary. As a poet his work included Gul-e-Mausam-E-Khizaan (1992 First Edition), Tumhain Janay Ki Jaldi Thi (1998 First Edition), Bohat Kuch Kho Gaya Hai (2009 First Edition), Mohabbat Ki Kitab (2012 First Edition), and Symphony And Other Poems (selected poems translated from Urdu to English 2016)
After retirement from PTV he joined GEO TV as Senior Executive Producer/Director of Soaps, Serials and special projects such as thematic long plays. Moreover, he was selected as a project head to convert the most criticized Islamic Film “THE MESSAGE” from English to Urdu. He revamped, National Anthem of Pakistan amongst more than 40 well known singers for the first time in history of GEO TV. From 2013 to onwards, he has been working as a Project Head of renowned comedy program “Mazaaq Raat”. His professional career led him to work at different PTV Stations throughout Pakistan. Being one of the most innovative producers, he transformed short stories of the very prominent and stalwart epoch making literacy figures of the country into a very potent dramatic format and they were presented on PTV and other channels; consequently his efforts as a producer engendered a very positive trend that the viewers who had disconnected themselves from urdu fiction again inclined to book-reading. Among those whose works were converted into dramatic format and appreciated in the sub-continent, were Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi, Ashfaq Ahmed, Intizar Hussain, Ghulam Abass, Sa’adat Hassan Manto, Bano Qutsia, Khadija Mastoor, Hajira Masroor, Abdullah Hussain and Gulzar (the indian short story writer and famous film director and lyricist).
Along Ayub Khawar’s creativity, he has a unique approach towards writing lyrics for feature films and theme songs for TV drama. Ayub Khawar’s SYMPHONY AND OTHER POEMS is an English version of his poems selected from his books mentioned above. These poems have been translated into English by Muhammad Shanazar: an internationally recognized poet and translator. This creative work of Ayub Khawar will open new doors of recognition for him in English speaking countries of the western world across the globe.
POEMS OF AYUB KHAWAR
I Have To Do Yet A Lot of Chores
Someone plucked out my lashes,
And twisted them into a cord,
Then fastened my dreams,
With the same cord,
Into the dark cell of my own torso.
Nothing is perceptible in blackness,
But a glow resembling a drop of blood,
In the twinkle of which these dreams
Like grim shadows cling to arcs of my chest,
And wait for to get released.
But I have to do yet a lot of chores,
I don’t have time to see my own eyes sans lashes,
The world spreads all around me,
There are thousands of chores I have to perform,
But I am alone.
I stand stunned
For moments of life are slipping away
From my fist just as sand slips grain by grain,
Hands are becoming empty.
I have to do yet a lot of chores,
Like an old shepherd,
I have to yet lead the flock of this eve
To the farm of yellow morn,
I have to see lest a petty star from my flock
Should vanish into the dust of
Blind journey, stretched to the skies.
I have to do yet a lot of chores,
I have to get released feet of my fellow beings
From the grip of shoes made of mud,
I have to harvest yet the crop of thirst
Sown in throats of the people of bygone seasons,
And clad with the dress of roses
Some brunette beings.
O! My imprisoned dreams,
I have no time to get you released
For I have to do yet a lot of chores.
I am imprisoned in a mirror house,
What kind of house it is,
Where all around,
I see your face,
Instead of mine,
No chance of acquittal is there,
On each particle of the vessel,
Extending from body to soul,
Your lascivious eyes and lips,
Guard like sentinels,
From all directions.
Think A While
What kind of this discourse is of acrimonious moments, On one side I
And on the other you,
In between is a mound of ice,
In this spectacle of aloofness
Nothing but a pang of separation,
The sounds of moments shatter,
Striking against the mound of ice.
That this unreasonable remoteness
Becoming a prayer of whose eyes?
Enters in your body and soul like an iceberg
At the moment,
Just think for a while,
That in the lonely spectacles of unreasonable remoteness
Who is remembered more by whom?
O! Futile Wind
The wall of prison, the roof of dirge,
And an arc of ignorance make a sight,
And we are in between.
This is the sight that has bound,
Parted rotten breaths of the captives,
With the yellow autumn-tide,
But we the captives bother it not.
O! Futile wind, till the moment,
The sap of parting-pang
Dribbles from the edge of your heart,
These eyes and lips will remain motionless.
It is to be seen yet
Behind the frozen moments,
In the window,
That opens in the lane of my beloved
When the petal of desire breathes
And when in the frosty season
The rose-cheeks blossom
Upon the neckline of a decanter.
It is a little earlier than the dawn,
There is an illusion in the air,
Of the sparkle of glow-worms,
And the tongue has the tang of green dreams,
It is a lovely time when the wind
Wearing green anchal strolls
Placing feet upon the hem of fragrance,
And passes like a mystery
By the washed leaves and fresh twigs of the trees,
This lovely time is the moment,
Of a discourse with you,
But still silence stands
Like a sentinel by the telephone bell;
Arms of the watch pierce like daggers in my chest,
The thorn of time has choked my throat,
Just a single “Hello”
Sunk in the taste of intimacy
Each pore of my existence waits for
O! The soul of my entire passion,
In the arcs of my hollow chest,
Why pulsation of my heart has halted
Like a telephone bell?
Why the desire to talk to me has frozen,
In the phalanges of your hands,
Awake the desire to talk,
In the pores of pink petals,
Dial the number,
So that halted pulsation
In the chest should begin to move on,
May the bell ring,
Then for the long time,
To the farthest end,
Drizzling of the dew and fragrance,
Should begin to pour down.
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The author reserved all his/her rights over the poem.
The biography has been edited and reformatted by pbt for exclusive use in PENTASI B WORLD Friendship Poetry Exhibitions.
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