Contemporary World Literature Poetry from India
By Khan Hasnain Aaqib
Khan Hasnain Aaqib, renowned Indian poet, writer, translator and literary critic, was born Qadam Hasnain Khan to Mohammad Shahbaz Khan on July 08, 1971 in Akola city of the Maharashtra State of India. He graduated from Akola and settled in Pusad where he teachers to graduate students. He has degrees of higher education such as M.A. in Urdu, English and History; Master of Education (M. Ed); Master of Social Work (M.S.W); L.L.B and now pursuing his Ph. D in English Literature.
He has 18 books so far to his credit, two of which are taught in B.A final year syllabus of YCMOU University; he wrote 6 books for Diploma in Elementary Education Syllabus of Maharashtra State (4 in English and 2 in Urdu) with 10 books covering his own creative and research writing. He is invited in the length and breadth of the country for literary and curricular lectures. He is a skillful translator too. He translated from and into Urdu, English, Marathi, Hindi and Persian. By profession, he is a teacher of English at G. N. Azad College, Pusad.
Autumn In Life
Aman I see, with clothes tattered
Empty stomach, wanting eyes, grey hair scattered
Wealth he seeks not, nor desires any comfort
What he aspires, is his death, to avert.
Stood he, in the midst of my way
Giving his words of a heavenly pray
Slowly, trembling, hi heavy hands rose
With no choice but this way to pose
‘Sir” humbly he said, ‘This wrinkled face
Has once been the sign of baronial grace
And prosperity gladly dwelled at my palace
My neck unbowed standing on fame’s terrace
These were the hands of pride and ego
That let the mercy and pity by me go,
And doped my conscience for an unfair time
That saw humanity bleed, scream in painful rhyme.
Then the wheel of fortune at once turned
And bereaved me of what I had earned;
Wealth I lost, wandered for my own people
Slowly descended my life and became dull.
This day, I am standing before you, my lord,
Mourning my fate, joining time’s broken cord
Now, I sublimate my soul by saying so fair
From zenith, no human for nadir should uncare!
To My Love…
Everywhere, anytime and forever
My soul, I will be your
You are dearer to me than heaven
Why do you stay, reside in my eyes?
Come, share s room in my heart, it’s a fun.
It beats for you, for you it sighs.
You are my only love…
My darling dove.
How Many Iraqs?
It took me two years to build my home
Of five rooms, with no tower and no dome
With all my resources and labor spent,
In due course, my back had got a little bent.
How difficult it seems, I simply thought
To erect a structure on a barren plot!
Construction isn’t so easy, as they say
“Rome wasn’t built in a single day”.
But destruction takes not more than a minute
And the earth gets ugly, wounded bit by bit.
This red substance is pure human blood
Flowing tide after tide like a Tsunami flood
These millions who die, aren’t any rulers
Then why they are targeted by merciless killers?
And to bring down so called despotic rules,
Is it fair to destruct hospitals, homes and schools?
With thousands stuffed dead in each building,
The songs of victory, how can anyone sing?
Such war is a fight, which looks so wild,
Between a professional wrestler and a feeble child
It is the debris of humanity, Uncle, and its values
On which you stand, proudly buckling your shoes.
Just be brave and focus at your home,
It needs you more than to roam
In places, thousands of miles away
Let you, and let me, let us to god pray
Same beautiful, let’s make our planet earth
As it was at the time of its birth..
The Expansionist Columbus!
Is it the same land that Columbus discovered?
Then Columbus is still alive, I have heard.
And lo, to what limit has grown his appetite!
That he fights with those, who do not wish to fight.
Is it a crusade, or a deadliest simple war
To grab fuel for driving his lusty car
The appetite of Columbus seems funded by mystery
This fact no one can forget, not even history.
But Columbus must have a mind of his own
Otherwise, how long does a boat take to drown?
He has grown into an expansionist
And his hopes are just fog and mist.
He is deceiving, of course, he is deceiving
His own people, thinking himself a democratic king
Can we imagine, the fire that we lit, l
Won’t return a spark or a flame out of it?
He thinks the fire he lit on a remote land
In mountains, plains or Syrian sand,
Would keep him out of the whole fuss
His role, no one, nowhere would discuss.
But it is the nature’s simple doctrine
Every act wins a reward, a feat or a sin.
So, my dear expansionist Columbus, listen to me
If you can, with your own eyes, see,
Do it in present, if you haven’t got Alzheimer
Future will turn you into past, on is its timer.
Death of a Butterfly
Shssss! angels, walk with the dumb feet
She rests here, serenely, in solitude
Rachel. How can I forget?
The sanctity in your open eyes
That remained unshut posthumously in a whining vogue!
Who would imagine?
The last strings of your breath
Of your so vibrant, amateur life
Shall fall scattered and broken
And will be soaking in blood.
Who would dare to eliminate
Your august and immortal words
(The last words, being, ‘ My back is broken)
The leaves may flutter
Away; but the words
That you did utter
Ah! The innocent tone of agony
And the cruel clutches of tyranny!
The sands and waters of Palestine
Shall ever be thine.
Let me spray a few drops
Of my blood into air
To commemorate your martyrdom
The bud of your life didn’t bloom evenly
But attainment of heavenly
That you brought in possession
Is envied by thousands
Heaven, O heaven!
Boast of Rachel’s soul….