Recitation of poetry is deeply regarded for expressing your true feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts the social, cultural surroundings of their era. Last Updated on Sunday, October 14 2018 ... Read more
NOTHING so true as what you once let fall, "Most Women have no Characters at all." Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear, And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair. How many pictures of one Nymph we view, All how unlike each other, all how true! Arcadia's Countess, here, in ermin'd pride, Is, there, Pastora by a fountain side. Here Fannia, leering on her own good man, And there, a naked Leda with a Swan. Let then the Fair one beautifully cry, In Magdalen's loose hair and lifted eye, Or drest in smiles of sweet Cecilia shine, With simpering Angels, Palms, and Harps divine; Whether the Charmer sinner it, or saint it, If Folly grow romantic, I must paint it. Come then, the colours and the ground prepare! Dip in the Rainbow, trick her off in Air; Choose a firm Cloud, before it fall, and in it Catch, ere she change, the Cynthia of this minute. Rufa, whose eye quick-glancing o'er the Park, Attracts each light gay meteor of a Spark, Agrees as ill with Rufa studying Locke, As Sappho's diamonds with her dirty smock; Or Sappho at her toilet's greasy task, With Sappho fragrant at an evening Masque: So morning Insects that in muck begun, Shine, buzz, and flyblow in the setting sun. How soft is Silia! fearful to offend; The Frail one's advocate, the Weak one's friend: To her, Calista prov'd her conduct nice; And good Simplicius asks of her advice. Sudden, she storms! she raves! You tip the wink, But spare your censure; Silia does not drink. All eyes may see from what the change arose, All eyes may see--a Pimple on her nose. Papillia, wedded to her amorous spark, Sighs for the shades--"How charming is a Park!" A Park is purchas'd, but the Fair he sees All bath'd in tears--"Oh odious, odious Trees!" Ladies, like variegated Tulips, show; 'Tis to their Changes half their charms we owe; Fine by defect, and delicately weak, Their happy Spots the nice admirer take, 'Twas thus Calypso once each heart alarm'd, Aw'd without Virtue, without Beauty charmed; Her tongue bewitch'd as oddly as her Eyes, Less Wit than Mimic, more a Wit than wise; Strange graces still, and stranger flights she had, Was just not ugly, and was just not mad; Yet ne'er so sure our passion to create, As when she touch'd the brink of all we hate. Narcissa's nature, tolerably mild, To make a wash, would hardly stew a child; Has ev'n been prov'd to grant a Lover's pray'r, And paid a Tradesman once to make him stare; Gave alms at Easter, in a Christian trim, And made a Widow happy, for a whim. Why then declare Good-nature is her scorn, When 'tis by that alone she can be borne? Why pique all mortals, yet affect a name? A fool to Pleasure, yet a slave to Fame: Now deep in Taylor and the Book of Martyrs, Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres: Now Conscience chills her, and now Passion burns; And Atheism and Religion take their turns; A very Heathen in the carnal part, Yet still a sad, good Christian at her heart. See Sin in State, majestically drunk; Proud as a Peeress, prouder as a Punk; Chaste to her Husband, frank to all beside, A teeming Mistress, but a barren Bride. What then? let Blood and Body bear the fault, Her Head's untouch'd, that noble Seat of Thought: Such this day's doctrine--in another fit She sins with Poets thro' pure Love of Wit. What has not fir'd her bosom or her brain? Caesar and Tallboy, Charles and Charlemagne. As Helluo, late Dictator of the Feast, The Nose of Hautgout, and the Tip of Taste, Critick'd your wine, and analyz'd your meat, Yet on plain Pudding deign'd at home to eat; So Philomede, lecturing all mankind On the soft Passion, and the Taste refin'd, Th' Address, the Delicacy--stoops at once, And makes her hearty meal upon a Dunce. Flavia's a Wit, has too much sense to Pray; To Toast our wants and wishes, is her way; Nor asks of God, but of her Stars, to give The mighty blessing, "while we live, to live." Then all for Death, that Opiate of the soul! Lucretia's dagger, Rosamonda's bowl. Say, what can cause such impotence of mind? A spark too fickle, or a Spouse too kind. Wise Wretch! with Pleasures too refin'd to please; With too much Spirit to be e'er at ease; With too much Quickness ever to be taught; With too much Thinking to have common Thought: You purchase Pain with all that Joy can give, And die of nothing but a Rage to live. Turn then from Wits; and look on Simo's Mate, No Ass so meek, no Ass so obstinate. Or her, that owns her Faults, but never mends, Because she's honest, and the best of Friends. Or her, whose life the Church and Scandal share, For ever in a Passion, or a Pray'r. Or her, who laughs at Hell, but (like her Grace) Cries, "Ah! how charming, if there's no such place!" Or who in sweet vicissitude appears Of Mirth and Opium, Ratafie and Tears, The daily Anodyne, and nightly Draught, To kill those foes to Fair ones, Time and Thought. Woman and Fool are two hard things to hit; For true No-meaning puzzles more than Wit. But what are these to great Atossa's mind? Scarce once herself, by turns all Womankind! Who, with herself, or others, from her birth Finds all her life one warfare upon earth: Shines, in exposing Knaves, and painting Fools, Yet is, whate'er she hates and ridicules. No Thought advances, but her Eddy Brain Whisks it about, and down it goes again. Full sixty years the World has been her Trade, The wisest Fool much Time has ever made. From loveless youth to unrespected age, No passion gratify'd except her Rage. So much the Fury still outran the Wit, The Pleasure miss'd her, and the Scandal hit. Who breaks with her, provokes Revenge from Hell, But he's a bolder man who dares be well. Her ev'ry turn with Violence pursu'd, Nor more a storm her Hate than Gratitude: To that each Passion turns, or soon or late; Love, if it makes her yield, must make her hate: Superiors? death! and Equals? what a curse! But an Inferior not dependant? worse. Offend her, and she knows not to forgive; Oblige her, and she'll hate you while you live: But die, and she'll adore you--Then the Bust And Temple rise--then fall again to dust. Last night, her Lord was all that's good and great; A Knave this morning, and his Will a Cheat. Strange! by the Means defeated of the Ends, By Spirit robb'd of Pow'r, by Warmth of Friends, By Wealth of Followers! without one distress Sick of herself thro' very selfishness! Atossa, curs'd with ev'ry granted pray'r, Childless with all her Children, wants an Heir. To Heirs unknown descends th' unguarded store, Or wanders, Heav'n-directed, to the Poor. Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design, Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line; Some wandering touches, some reflected light, Some flying stroke alone can hit 'em right: For how should equal Colours do the knack? Chameleons who can paint in white and black? "Yet Chloe sure was form'd without a spot--" Nature in her then err'd not, but forgot. "With ev'ry pleasing, ev'ry prudent part, Say, what can Chloe want?"--She wants a Heart. She speaks, behaves, and acts just as she ought; But never, never, reach'd one gen'rous Thought. Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, Content to dwell in Decencies for ever. So very reasonable, so unmov'd, As never yet to love, or to be lov'd. She, while her Lover pants upon her breast, Can mark the figures on an Indian chest; And when she sees her Friend in deep despair, Observes how much a Chintz exceeds Mohair. Forbid it Heav'n, a Favour or a Debt She e'er should cancel--but she may forget. Safe is your Secret still in Chloe's ear; But none of Chloe's shall you ever hear. Of all her Dears she never slander'd one, But cares not if a thousand are undone. Would Chloe know if you're alive or dead? She bids her Footman put it in her head. Chloe is prudent--Would you too be wise? Then never break your heart when Chloe dies. One certain Portrait may (I grant) be seen, Which Heav'n has varnish'd out, and made a Queen: The same for ever! and describ'd by all With Truth and Goodness, as with Crown and Ball. Poets heap Virtues, Painters Gems at will, And show their zeal, and hide their want of skill. 'Tis well--but, Artists! who can paint or write, To draw the Naked is your true delight. That robe of Quality so struts and swells, None see what Parts of Nature it conceals: Th' exactest traits of Body or of Mind, We owe to models of an humble kind. If QUEENSBURY to strip there's no compelling, 'Tis from a Handmaid we must take a Helen. From Peer or Bishop 'tis no easy thing To draw the man who loves his God, or King: Alas! I copy (or my draught would fail) From honest Mah'met, or plain Parson Hale. But grant, in Public Men sometimes are shown, A Woman's seen in Private life alone: Our bolder Talents in full light displayed; Your Virtues open fairest in the shade. Bred to disguise, in Public 'tis you hide; There, none distinguish twixt your Shame or Pride, Weakness or Delicacy; all so nice, That each may seem a Virtue, or a Vice. In Men, we various Ruling Passions find; In Women, two almost divide the kind; Those, only fix'd, they first or last obey, The Love of Pleasure, and the Love of Sway. That, Nature gives; and where the lesson taught Is but to please, can Pleasure seem a fault? Experience, this; by Man's oppression curst, They seek the second not to lose the first. Men, some to Business, some to pleasure take; But ev'ry Woman is at heart a Rake: Men, some to Quiet, some to public Strife; But ev'ry Lady would be Queen for life. Yet mark the fate of a whole Sex of Queens! Pow'r all their end, but Beauty all the means: In Youth they conquer, with so wild a rage, As leaves them scarce a subject in their Age: For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; No thought of peace or happiness at home. But Wisdom's triumph is a well-tim'd Retreat, As hard a science to the Fair as Great! Beauties, like Tyrants, old and friendless grown, Yet hate repose, and dread to be alone, Worn out in public, weary ev'ry eye, Nor leave one sigh behind them when they die. Pleasures the sex, as children Birds, pursue, Still out of reach, yet never out of view; Sure, if they catch, to spoil the Toy at most, To covet flying, and regret when lost: At last, to follies Youth could scarce defend, It grows their Age's prudence to pretend; Asham'd to own they gave delight before, Reduc'd to feign it, when they give no more: As Hags hold Sabbaths, less for joy than spite, So these their merry, miserable Night; Still round and round the Ghosts of Beauty glide, And haunt the places where their Honour died. See how the World its Veterans rewards! A Youth of Frolics, an old Age of Cards; Fair to no purpose, artful to no end, Young without Lovers, old without a Friend; A Fop their Passion, but their Prize a Sot; Alive, ridiculous, and dead, forgot! Ah Friend! to dazzle let the Vain design; To raise the Thought, and touch the Heart be thine! That Charm shall grow, while what fatigues the Ring, Flaunts and goes down, an unregarded thing: So when the Sun's broad beam has tir'd the sight, All mild ascends the Moon's more sober light, Serene in Virgin Modesty she shines, And unobserv'd the glaring Orb declines. Oh! blest with Temper, whose unclouded ray Can make tomorrow cheerful as today; She, who can love a Sister's charms, or hear Sighs for a Daughter with unwounded ear; She, who ne'er answers till a Husband cools, Or, if she rules him, never shows she rules; Charms by accepting, by submitting sways, Yet has her humour most, when she obeys; Let Fops or Fortune fly which way they will; Disdains all loss of Tickets, or Codille; Spleen, Vapours, or Smallpox, above them all, And Mistress of herself, though China fall. And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, Woman's at best a Contradiction still. Heav'n, when it strives to polish all it can Its last best work, but forms a softer Man; Picks from each sex, to make the Favorite blest, Your love of Pleasure, our desire of Rest: Blends, in exception to all general rules, Your Taste of Follies, with our Scorn of Fools: Reserve with Frankness, Art with Truth ally'd, Courage with Softness, Modesty with Pride; Fix'd Principles, with Fancy ever new; Shakes all together, and produces--You. Be this a Woman's Fame: with this unblest, Toasts live a scorn, and Queens may die a jest. This Phoebus promis'd (I forget the year) When those blue eyes first open'd on the sphere; Ascendant Phoebus watch'd that hour with care, Averted half your Parents' simple Pray'r; And gave you Beauty, but deny'd the Pelf That buys your sex a Tyrant o'er itself. The generous God, who Wit and Gold refines, And ripens Spirits as he ripens Mines, Kept Dross for Duchesses, the world shall know it, To you gave Sense, Good Humour, and a Poet. Alexander Pope
Urdu Poetry – Poetry is the language of heart. Emotions and feelings take the shape of words and are delivered in a poetic manner. Urdu poetry draws its existence from past 18th and 19th century which are rich in tradition and composed in various forms. Most of the Urdu poetry derives from Arabic and Persian origin. From time immemorial, Urdu poetry has been written and narrated by renowned poets of all times. Urdu poetry is enriched with such true emotions and feelings. It has been observed that Urdu poets in the past used to say poetry that depicts and highlights the social, cultural issues of their era.
The poets used Urdu poetry as a medium of expression to put their thoughts forward for the readers. The Urdu poets are known for reviving romance, culture, social & political issues in the form of Urdu poetry collections. Urdu poetry is considered as an integral part of Pakistani culture. Our history is rich with numerous poetry collections from renowned poets like Mirza Ghalib, Allama Iqbal, Mir Dard, Mir Taqi Mir, and the list goes on. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib are considered to be the flag barrier of Urdu poetry. Iqbal Urdu poetry is based on philosophy, love, and for encouraging Muslims of India. Mirza Ghalib is regarded as the greatest Urdu poets of all times. They have contributed incredibly in the form of Ghazal, Hamd, Nazm, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. Apart from them, Mir Taqi Mir and Mir Dard are known for romantic and sad Urdu poetry. Several other maestros of Urdu Poetry have been passed who added some valuable pearls and gems to the poetic collections from time to time.
Urdu poetry has evolved and revolutionized from time to time. Previously tough Persian and Arabic words are used for narrating the Urdu poetry. Later use of simpler Urdu words have taken over and are used more oftenly. Poets like Ahmed Faraz, Parveen Shakir, Faiz Ahmed Faiz have added some valuable Urdu poetry collection that are loved and praised by masses to date. New subject matter, themes are used by new poets that has modernized Urdu Poetry. The various forms of Urdu Poetry available for the readers includes Ghazal, Hamd, Marsiya, Naat, Nazm, Qasida, Masnavi, Naat, Qawalli, Ruba’i, Shayari and much more. The poetry lovers can stock their libraries and houses with the enormous treasure of Urdu poetry. The collection of Urdu Poems in the form of Dewan and Kuliyat are preferred by those who have a taste for traditional poetry. Allama Iqbal and Mirza Ghalib have immense contribution to the Urdu poetry.
The Urdu poetry collection of Ghalib and Iqbal are researched, read and shared by masses worldwide.The modern Urdu poets possess a progressive and practical state of mind that is far from the narration of female beauty and romance. Urdu Ghazals has been associated with emotions earlier, but now the trends are changing to give it a completely new domain of expression. Many Urdu poets become popular because of their Romantic poetry include Ghazal Ahmed Faraz, Habib Jalib, Sagar Siddiqui, Muneer Niazi, Mohsin Naqvi, Farhat Abbas Shah and many others.
The archive of HamariWeb provides the evergreen Urdu poetry collection for the viewers. Some of the finest gems of Urdu Shayari are Munir Niazi, Allama Iqbal, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmed Faraz, Mirza Ghalib, Habib Jalib, Parveen Shakir, John Elia, Syed Wasi Shah to name a few. You can even search, post, read, and share the Urdu poetry based on various genres that includes Eid poetry, sad poetry, patriotic poetry, love poetry, rain poetry, mother poetry, Islamic poetry etc. People with great taste in poetry are glued to this page. Find some of the finest and latest collection of Urdu poetry on HamariWeb.