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
I went down yesterday to fix a leak in my tire. Off Bridge street there's a place 95 cents flats fixed, smeary black paint on warped wood plank between two bald tires. I go in, an old Black man with a Jackie Gleason hat greasy soft with a mashed cigar stub in mouth and another old Chicano man working the other pneumatic hissing tire changer. The walls are black with rubber soot blown black dust everywhere and rows of worn tires on gnawed board racks for sale, air hoses snaking and looped over the floor. I greet the two old men 'Yeah, how's it going!' No response. They look up at me as if I just gave them a week to live. 'I got a tire needs a tube.' Rudy, a young Chicano emerges from the black part of the room pony tailed and plump walks me out to my truck and looks at the tire. 'It'll cost you five bucks to take off and change.' I nod. He tells the old Chicano, who pulls the roller jack with a long steel handle outside, and I wait in the middle of the grunting oval tire changing machines, while the old guy goes out and returns with my tire. He looks at me like a disgruntled Carny handling the ferriswheel for the millionth time and I'm just another ache in the arm, a spoiled kid. I watch the two old men work the tire machines step on the foot levers that send the bars around flipping the tire from the rim and I wonder what brought these two old men to work here on this gray evening in February – are they ex-cons? Drunks or addicts? He whips the tube out,' Rudy ' he yells and I see a gaping hole in the tube, 'Can't patch that,' Rudy says Then in Spanish Slang says, 'no podemos pachiarlo,' 'we got a pile of old tubes over there, we'll do it for ten dollars.' At first I think he might be taking me but I hedge away from that thought and I watch the machines work the spleesh of air the final begrudging phoof! of rubber popped loose then the holy clank of steel bar against steel and every gently the old Chicano man, instead of throwing the bar on the floor, takes the iron bar and wipes it clean of rubber bits and oil and slides it gently into his waist belt, in such a way I've only seen mother wipe their infant's mouth. And I wonder where they live these two old guys I turn and watch MASH on a tv suspended from the ceiling six '0 clock news comes on Hunnington beach blackened with oil. Rudy comes behind me and says, 'Fucking shame they do that to our shores.' I suddenly realize how I love these working men working in half dark with bald tires like medieval hunchbacks in a dungeon. They eat soup and scrape along in their lives – how can they live I wonder on 95 cents a tire change in today's world? I am pleased to be with them and feel how barrio Chicanos love this too – how some give up nice jobs in foreign places to live by friends working in these places and out of these men revolutions have started. The old Chicano is mumbling at me how cheap I am when he learns my four tires are bald and spare flat, shaking his head as he works the tube into the tirewell. I notice his heels are chewed to the nails his fingernails black his face a weary room and board stairwell of a downtown motel given over to drunks and derelicts, his face hand worn by drunks leaning their full weight on it wooden steps grooved by hard soled men just out of prison, a face condemned by life to live out more days in futility. I bid goodbye to the Black man chomping his ancient cigar the Chicano man with his head down and I feel ashamed, somehow, that I cannot live their lives a while for them. Grateful they are here, I respect such men, who have stories that will never be told, who bring back to me my simple boyish days, when men in oily pants and grubby hands talked in rough tones and worked at simply work, getting three meals a day on the table the hard way. They live in an imperfect world, unlike men with money who have places to put their shame these men have none, other put their shame on planes or Las Vegas these have no place but to put their shame on their endurance their mothers their kids themselves unlike men who put their shame on new cars condos bank accounts so they never have to face their shame these men in the tire shop have become more human with shame. And I thought of the time my brother betrayed me leaving me at 14 when we vowed we'd always be together he left to live with some rich folks and I was taken to the Detention Center for kids with no place to live – I became a juvenile filled with anger at my brother who left me alone. These tire shop men made choices never to leave their brothers, in them I saw shame with no place to go but in a man's face, hands, work and silence. And as I drove away, nearing my farm I saw a water sprinkler shooting an arc of water far over the fence and grass it was intended to water -- the fountain of water hitting a weedy stickered spot that grew the only single flower anywhere around in the midst of rubble brush and stones the water hit and touched a dormant seed that blossomed all itself into what it was despite the surroundings. Something made sense to me then and I'm not quite sure what -- an unconditional love of being and living, and taking what came one's way with dignity. That night in my dream I cried for my brother as he was leaving, all the words I used against myself rotten, no good, shitty, failure, dissolved in my tears, my tears poured out of me in my dream and I wept for my brother and wept when I turned after he left and I reached for my sister and she was having coffee with a friend -- I wept in my dream because she was not available for me when I needed her, and all my tears flowed, and how I wept, my feeling my pain of abandonment, all my tears became that arc of water and I became the flower, by sheer accident in the middle of nowhere, blossoming.... Jimmy Santiago Baca
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.