We lost you, today, each one of us. But what we never lost, and what we can never lose is your beauty which is safe and locked inside your poetry. I still do consider you my Prophet, and I always will, and it is your poetry that I turn to when there is nothing in life to turn to at all. No matter how many years will pass by, no matter how many different kinds of poetry would come, no matter what---your poetry will remain in the heart of all, in the same way that blood is inseparable from the heart and the body, you are inseparable from our souls, and our lives. [link]

Before I move on to sharing his poems with you guys, let me give you a little bit of introduction. Faiz Ahmed Faiz is one of the most famous poets of Pakistan, and the South East Asian subcontinent. He was a revolutionary poet, a love poet and a life poet. Above all, he was a wonderful person, and a pillar of strength to complete strangers even until this day. I consider him my Prophet, and because today is his Death anniversary, I wanted to make a journal entry as a tribute to him. Also, these poems are simply translations, and naturally they aren't as beautiful as the original ones but I hope you people would enjoy them nevertheless!

The Flowers have All Withered

The flowers have all withered.
The tears of sky will not stop.
The lamps are without light.
The mirrors are shattered.
The music is dead.
The dance is over.
And far beyond those clouds
Is the darling of this night-
The star of pain.
It glimmers
rattles
smiles.

The Day Death Comes

How will death come the day she comes?
Maybe like the first kiss
When the evening is young,
A kiss not asked for,
A kiss that throws magic doors open,
Letting in the strange smell of distant roses,
A sudden shiver across the bosom of the moon.

Or maybe it will come at the end of night,
When the morning is breaking out
In the chamber of the beloved
With its half-opened buds,
Maybe it'll come like string music
Wafting in through silent windows.

How will death come the day she comes?
Like a body that cries out, anticipating pain
When the tip of sword hovers over it,
The shifting shadow of a vengeful sword
Hovering over the earth's stretches.

The day death comes, the way she comes,
Whether assassin-like or with the touch of a lover
The heart will speak these words in farewell:
' Praise to the Lord for we were true lovers
And on our lips is a song for the beloved's honey breath.'