One of the finest contemporary Balochi poets, Munir Momin is widely revered for his sublime art of poetry.
Meticulously crafted images, fresh metaphors, linguistic finesse and his profound aesthetic sense earned him a distinguished place in Balochi literature. His poetry speaks through images, more than words. Hardly, any contemporary Balochi poet has ever employed images so beautifully as Munir Momin has done with such ease.
In the early days of his poetry his language was more complex and laced with intricacies that rendered his thoughts a tad vague and indistinct. However, with the course of time, it evolves and become inimitably simple.
Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political moment. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life. Immenseness of his imagination and his mastery over language rescued his poetry from becoming the part of any mundane narrative.
So far Momin has published six collections of his poetry. They include Nigaah-e-Baatin-e-Safar, Daryaa Chankey Hoshaam Inth, Istaal Shapaada Gardanth, Paas Janaan Inth Darwaazag, Bicheeley Azmaan and Payaapein Lachchahy Paththo. The latter is the collection of his prose poems.
Momin divides his time between Pasni and Gwadar Balochistan. He also edits a literary journal Gidár.
Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political moment. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life
The Earth & the Sea
The sea,
A scrawled evidence of sails
And the earth
A song chanted by the wind
On the wedding of trees.
Every night
You stay awake hopping for the moment
When the wind falls asleep
And you’d turn all your yearnings into a bird
And let it fly.
To decipher the script of my thirst,
I’ve gulped down the flames of my lamps.
But I know,
The moment the sails come out of their slumber,
The sea will banish all its waves.
You know as well
The earth begins right from the spot
Where tired birds end their flight.
In the Middle of a Tryst
In the void of our separation
A day can break
A night can sleep
A city can rest
A dream can bloom
But this solitude, which is a sleeping soldier,
Would vanquish like the sadness over a snuffed-out lamp
Far from the threshold of our hope
Someone’s imagination sprouts fireflies
Where wind plays with pearls
And moon is a drop of honey
But in a farther premonition
The entire world is a dead street
Neither you exist nor I
Neither a day nor a night
Neither any memory of the moon nor a dead firefly
Not even an encounter in the darkness
Not even a lament over a broken promise
In the void of our separation
There was a bird that flew away
In the void of our separation
There was a needle
Got lost.
You are Beautiful
You are beautiful
Than every elusive moment of happiness
Than every hour of unrelenting grief
You are beautiful
Than the stained robe of the night
Than the sacredness of dawn
You are beautiful
Than the truth
That is the climax of all desires
Than the lamp that has drifted off in night-streets
And can’t make it back to the day
You are beautiful
Than the lie
Every day, I fabricate and unfold to myself
In the name of your love
You are beautiful
Than me, than my hope
You are beautiful
Than yourself,
Than your beauty.
The writer is a lecturer at the Government Atta Shad Degree College and can be reached at [email protected]
Published in Daily Times
