The Delhi Renaissance - The Urdu Poets
Under the agreeable smell of the reign of Bahadur Shah Zafar
"the drinking vessel of Delhi"
Became filled with the wine of Pleasure
Two factors that stand out in the poetry of Zafar are frustration and gloom
O Zafar, when at last I got a chance to take a walk in the garden
There was no sign of rose left in it
O ye captives in the prison-house of chain
What did ye get by raising a hue and cry?
In the garden of this world I am like the picture of a nightingale
And whether it is spring or autumn makes no difference to me
O captives, your wings have lost the power to fly
What will you get by leaving the net, better stay where you are.
Momin was primarily a poet of romantic disposition with a lifestyle that matched his nature. He lived the life of a playboy who soaked himself in the vices of his times
Momin, if you have any respect for faith
Jihad means battle; so go there now
Be fair, more than God you loved that life
Which you used to sacrifice for idols
The army of Islam has congregated
Heed the Imam of the times
Sacrifice your life for the sake of God
Oh God, make me worth of martyrdom too
Make me worthy of this highest of all forms of worship
Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
Generations of my men have been men at arms
Poetry brings no honour to me
"When I was young, a Perfect guide told me that peity and asceticism did not please him, and he would not forbid gay and sinful living. I could eat and drink and make merry. Only I should remember to be like the fly that sits on crystal sugar, not like the one that sits on honey. I have acted on this advice."
Ghalib believed that one would do well to learn from modern scientific inventions of the British instead of flogging a dead horse of religion and realm. Ghalib's closeness to the British and his repeated criticism of the Mughal house earned him the sobriquet of a 'supercilious sycophant. The poet lauret of the city, Ghalib had great love towards Delhi and he says, 'One should be grateful that such a city exists. where else in the world is the city so refreshing?'
'Delhi in this time, states Percival Spear was an Indian Weimar, with Ghalib for its Goethe.
Under the agreeable smell of the reign of Bahadur Shah Zafar
"the drinking vessel of Delhi"
Became filled with the wine of Pleasure
Two factors that stand out in the poetry of Zafar are frustration and gloom
O Zafar, when at last I got a chance to take a walk in the garden
There was no sign of rose left in it
O ye captives in the prison-house of chain
What did ye get by raising a hue and cry?
In the garden of this world I am like the picture of a nightingale
And whether it is spring or autumn makes no difference to me
O captives, your wings have lost the power to fly
What will you get by leaving the net, better stay where you are.
Momin was primarily a poet of romantic disposition with a lifestyle that matched his nature. He lived the life of a playboy who soaked himself in the vices of his times
Momin, if you have any respect for faith
Jihad means battle; so go there now
Be fair, more than God you loved that life
Which you used to sacrifice for idols
The army of Islam has congregated
Heed the Imam of the times
Sacrifice your life for the sake of God
Oh God, make me worth of martyrdom too
Make me worthy of this highest of all forms of worship
Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib
Generations of my men have been men at arms
Poetry brings no honour to me
"When I was young, a Perfect guide told me that peity and asceticism did not please him, and he would not forbid gay and sinful living. I could eat and drink and make merry. Only I should remember to be like the fly that sits on crystal sugar, not like the one that sits on honey. I have acted on this advice."
Ghalib believed that one would do well to learn from modern scientific inventions of the British instead of flogging a dead horse of religion and realm. Ghalib's closeness to the British and his repeated criticism of the Mughal house earned him the sobriquet of a 'supercilious sycophant. The poet lauret of the city, Ghalib had great love towards Delhi and he says, 'One should be grateful that such a city exists. where else in the world is the city so refreshing?'
'Delhi in this time, states Percival Spear was an Indian Weimar, with Ghalib for its Goethe.
