Popular Asian Poetry: News from Eastlit focused on East Asian Literature and Southeast Asian Literature.
Famous Poems by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
The Himalayas
The Colorful Rose
The Age of Infancy
Mirza Ghalib
The Cloud on the Mountain
A Spider and a Fly
A Mountain and a Squirrel
A Cow and a Goat
The Child’s Invocation
Sympathy
A Mother’s Dream
The Bird’s Complaint
The Interrogation of the Dead
The Candle And The Moth
THE INTELLECT AND THE HEART
The Painful Wail
The Sun
The Candle
A Longing
The Morning Sun
Pathos Of Love
THE WITHERED ROSE
THE TOMB-STONE OF SAIYYID
THE CRESCENT
THE MESSAGE OF DAWN
LOVE AND DEATH
PIETY AND ECSTASY
The Poet
THE HEART
The Ocean Wave
Farewell O World’s Ongregation
The Suckling Baby
The Portrait Of Anguish
Lament Of Separation
The Moon
Hazrat BILAL ( رضي الله تعالى عنه )
The Story Of Man
An Ode To India
The Fire-Fly
The Morning Star Venus
The National Anthem For The…
The New Temple
Nawab Mirza Khan Dagh
The Cloud
A Bird And The Fire fly
The Child And The Candle
On The Bank Of The Ravi
The Traveler’s Request
Do Not Look at the Garden of
If You Had Not Come I Would
O Lord! Strange is the piety
Complaint (Shikwa)
THE ANSWER(Jawab-e-Shikwa) TO THE COMPLAINT
Philosophy
The Recognition Of Qalandar
Democracy
Dawn
Western Culture
Punjabi Muslim
Preaching Of Islam in England
Open Secrets
Hope
Islam
Oneness Of ALLAH
Knowledge And Religion
Destiny
The Decline Of Muslims
Brain And Heart
Solitude
Music
Iqbal
Ray Of Hope
Veil
Death of The Ego
Prayer
Education and Women
Mullah of The Mosque
The World
Indian Islam
Breeze and Dew
The comfort of strangers
The comfort of strangers. Each time
everyone has a new identity and tonight
she is no longer a dancing queen and
a girlfriend of two.
She tells him she makes ends meet
by writing short stories for kids
and he tells her he owns a diamond farm
in Manchester.
Lying on top of layers of lies and personal
regrets, she feels secure
and he is asleep.
Butterfly pin
He insisted that I wear my hair in a bun with
a white butterfly pin and always cut
my fingernails on Sunday before having
milk and bread for breakfast. So there was
a precedent:
like Lolita wasn’t Humbert’s first
Love. When we both looked into the mirror I
saw
In his eyes the reflection of us unable to
disentangle from each other. The butterfly
eventually
dropped dead on the floor and she left, at
that precise moment. I know.
Languages
South China Morning Post, an English newspaper, is delivered
To our doorstep every morning, and we let it
Stay until all other neighbours know
Our language abilities.
We dress well, even when taking out
The garbage or buying a San Miguel
From the store downstairs.
But let’s not boast to our neighbours
How much more beautiful we are,
How much more intellectually-trained.
They don’t care. They live less ambiguously. They speak
One dialect only. Already they are free
From feeling embarrassed when pronouncing
/r/ as /l/, /n/ as /l/ or /z/ as /s/. They don’t feel
Excluded when two real English speakers
Are in the same room, commenting on
Memoirs of A Geisha or
Bill Ashcroft’s postcolonial theories.
We dare not open our mouths, lest our strong HK
Accent betrays our humble origin. The terrible
Flatness of our tone, the inflexibility of our tongue.