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By Raghib Akhtar
The current temperament of Urdu poetry—particularly the ghazal—reflects the same restlessness and sensationalism found in the subcontinent’s media landscape. Noise, spectacle, and superficial excitement dominate the scene. In the frenzy to attract attention, anything that shocks or startles is being written and applauded. On social media, many new poets stamp their approval on verses that, otherwise, deserve no better resting place than the wastebasket. To surprise the reader is not, in itself, undesirable—but poetry must remain poetry even while doing so.
As a reader, the contemporary Urdu poetic scene has not left a particularly uplifting impression on my mind in recent years. Yet, amidst this dissonance, a few names have brought a certain sweetness to the bitter experience: Abhishek Shukla, Ameer Imam, Salem Saleem, Ghalib Ayaz, Mahendra Kumar Saani—and now, Moeed Rashidi.
Sareer-e-Khaama
Before me lies the collection of Moeed Rashidi’s poetry, particularly the section titled Sareer-e-Khaama (“The Whisper of the Pen”), which proves genuinely compelling. I have always believed that a true artist must possess mastery over the medium through which he expresses himself. For the poet and the writer, language itself is that medium; and it is this mastery that grants style, depth, and individuality.
Reading Sareer-e-Khaama, the reader becomes intuitively prepared for an encounter with layered verses—poetry that does not unveil itself at a glance. These are not the kind of poems that yield immediate understanding or easy surprises. This, I believe, is one of the collection’s greatest strengths.
Moeed’s poetry does not strike the reader like thunder but rather absorbs him, subtly and imperceptibly, into its emotional current. A few examples illustrate this effect vividly:
فضا میں چپ کی سیاہی گھلی ہے آج کی رات
لہو سے حکم کی تعمیل ہونے والی ہے
Fizaa mein chup ki siyaahi ghuli hai aaj ki raat / Lahoo se hukm ki tameel hone waali hai.
The ink of silence spreading in the night and obedience purchased with blood—these lines encapsulate the grim aura of our present age. Rashidi avoids the crudeness of political commentary and, in doing so, transforms the experience into poetry.
— is a powerful reflection on the tense stillness that precedes violence and the haunting price of obedience.
In the first line, “the ink of silence spreading in the night” evokes an atmosphere thick with unspoken fear. Silence here is not peace—it is suppression. The darkness of the night blends with the ink of silence until even the air seems heavy with complicity. Rashidi’s imagery paints a moment when the world holds its breath, when quiet is no longer calm but a signal of something dreadful about to occur.
The second line deepens this atmosphere of foreboding: “obedience purchased with blood.” The expression suggests a society in which compliance is enforced through violence—commands executed not out of conviction but coercion. Blood becomes the currency of submission, and the poet’s tone carries both sorrow and restraint.
What makes this couplet remarkable is Rashidi’s refusal to turn the scene into a direct political statement. Instead of naming culprits or pointing fingers, he transforms the collective anxiety of an age into a timeless allegory. The silence of the night and the crimson price of obedience serve as metaphors for any time and place where power extinguishes truth.
Through these two lines, Moeed Rashidi achieves what only mature poetry can: he allows horror to manifest through suggestion rather than declaration. The verse lingers not because of what it says outright, but because of what it implies in its chilling quietness—the awareness that beneath silence, something irrevocable is about to unfold.
ہیں کشتگان صدا آخری کنارے پر
اے خامشی تری ترسیل ہونے والی ہے
Hain kushtagaan-e-sadaa aakhri kinaare par / Ae khaamoshi teri tarseel hone waali hai.
In an age deafened by uproar, silence itself becomes a message, and this verse gives that silence a voice of its own.
— stands out as a subtle meditation on the dialectic between noise and silence, chaos and contemplation.
The opening line, “Hain kushtagaan-e-sadaa aakhri kinaare par” (“the slain of sound have reached the final shore”), is layered with metaphor. The phrase kushtagaan-e-sadaa—those slain by sound—suggests victims of endless noise, the casualties of an era overwhelmed by hollow clamour. It is an image of people suffocated not by swords or shackles, but by incessant voices, arguments, and declarations that crowd truth into obscurity. The “final shore” (aakhri kinaara) implies a state of exhaustion, as though humanity has reached the end of its ability to listen, having been battered by perpetual sound.
The second line—“Ae khaamoshi teri tarseel hone waali hai” (“O silence, your message is about to be delivered”)—is a lyrical inversion of the first. Here, silence emerges as a saviour, a messenger ready to reclaim its rightful space amid the ruins of speech. The tone is almost prophetic: when noise consumes everything, only silence remains capable of meaning. Rashidi’s artistry lies in transforming khaamoshi from mere absence of sound into a positive, almost sacred force—an act of communication loftier than words.
In the clamorous world of social and political expression where slogans often drown sincerity, this verse restores dignity to reticence. Silence, in Rashidi’s vision, is not passive withdrawal but the final eloquence—the moment when the unsaid begins to speak with more power than speech itself. Through this couplet, he reminds us that in every epoch of uproar, there comes a point when silence itself becomes the only remaining language of truth.
ریت سے دنیا بنانے میں بکھر کر رہ گیا
ہر گھڑی احساس ہوتا تھا کہ بس پوری ہوئی
Ret se duniya banaane mein bikhar kar reh gaya / Har ghadi ehsaas hota tha ke bas poori hui.
This universal truth touches every heart—one tries to build a world of one’s own, yet the sense of incompletion persists, as though something vital always remains unfinished.
— distills into verse one of the most universal human experiences: the persistent incompleteness of our endeavors.
The image of building a world out of sand immediately evokes both fragility and impermanence. Sand, by its very nature, resists permanence—its grains slip away, structures crumble, and winds scatter it no matter how carefully one shapes it. In this metaphor, Rashidi captures the vulnerability of human aspirations: no matter how tirelessly we toil, time and circumstance can dismantle our efforts with ease.
The second line deepens the sentiment into a cycle of perpetual near-completion. The phrase “har ghadi ehsaas hota tha ke bas poori hui” (“at every moment there was the sense that it had just been completed”) is paradoxical—it suggests the constant feeling of being on the verge of achievement, only to discover that the work or dream remains unfinished. This sensation is familiar to anyone who has sought perfection: the closer we believe ourselves to completion, the more we notice the flaws, the gaps, the fragility in what we have built.
By binding these two images together, Rashidi speaks to both the physical and emotional dimensions of human creation. Our “worlds” may be literal constructions, relationships, ambitions, or identities—all subject to erosion, all burdened by the elusive nature of fulfillment. The couplet does not lament failure outright; rather, it acknowledges the inevitability of imperfection as part of the human condition.
In the end, this verse resonates because it reflects a truth we live repeatedly: we build, we shape, we hope, but like a sandcastle at the mercy of wind and tide, the completion we yearn for always slips just beyond our grasp.
اے زمانے کی ہوا اب تو رہا کر مجھ کو
عشق کے بعد بھی کچھ کام سا رہ جاتا ہے
Ae zamaane ki hawa ab to riha kar mujh ko / Ishq ke baad bhi kuch kaam sa reh jaata hai.
The poet delicately frames the conflict between worldly affairs and the frenzy of passion—reminding us that even after love, life demands its duties.
— captures with quiet grace the tension between human passion and the enduring responsibilities of worldly life.
In the first line, “Ae zamaane ki hawa ab to riha kar mujh ko” (“O wind of the world, now release me”) conveys a weary plea to be freed from the turbulent forces of time and circumstance. The “wind of the world” (zamaane ki hawa) symbolizes the relentless pressures of existence—the shifting expectations, social demands, and emotional tempests that buffet the individual from every side. The poet stands at a threshold of fatigue, seeking respite from the storm of living. Yet, this is no escapist cry; it is the sigh of someone who has journeyed through both passion and pain and now yearns for stillness.
The second line, “Ishq ke baad bhi kuch kaam sa reh jaata hai” (“Even after love, some task still remains”), introduces a profound irony. Love, often glorified as life’s ultimate fulfillment, is here acknowledged as incomplete—another stage, not the destination. Rashidi suggests that even after the fever of passion has subsided, life continues to whisper its unfinished demands. Duties linger, attachments remain, and the quiet necessities of existence reclaim their place once love’s tempest has passed.
Together, the two lines form a meditation on balance. Moeed Rashidi neither renounces love nor glorifies it as supreme. Instead, he situates ishq within the continuum of life—a powerful, transformative experience, yet one that does not absolve us of the ordinary. The poet’s voice carries both exhaustion and acceptance: the recognition that even after the ecstasy of emotion, one must return to the rhythm of responsibility.
In this way, the couplet transcends romantic lament to touch a deeper philosophical chord. It reveals the poet’s awareness that the soul’s longings and the world’s demands coexist, and that perhaps wisdom lies in learning to breathe between them.
آنگن کا آہٹ سے رشتہ اور آہٹ کا بنجر پن
کتنے موسم بیت گئے ہیں اس دل کو سمجھانے میں
Aangan ka aahat se rishta aur aahat ka banjar pan / Kitne mausam beet gaye hain is dil ko samjhaane mein.
The courtyard’s bond with footsteps and the barrenness of those footsteps reflect both longing and the persistent hope that defines the human heart, even after repeated disappointment.
— is a tender meditation on expectation, loss, and the endurance of hope.
The courtyard’s bond with footsteps in the first line evokes an intimate space, a place that has learned to recognize the sound of approach—whether of loved ones, familiar visitors, or the return of someone long absent. The courtyard here is more than architecture; it is a metaphor for the heart, open and waiting, attuned to signs of connection. Yet the image turns bittersweet with aahat ka banjar pan (“the barrenness of footsteps”). Footsteps usually signal arrival, promise, or companionship, but in Rashidi’s vision they carry emptiness—either they lead to no lasting presence or they have ceased altogether, leaving the space bereft of fulfillment.
The second line, “Kitne mausam beet gaye hain is dil ko samjhaane mein” (“how many seasons have passed trying to convince this heart”), underscores the persistence of hope despite repeated disillusionment. Seasons here mark time’s passage, each one offering chances for change, for new arrivals, for renewed joy. Yet with every cycle, the heart has had to learn—perhaps unsuccessfully—that the anticipated steps will not come, that promises dissolve as years unfold.
Together, the two lines form a quiet portrait of human resilience: the heart continues to wait, to listen, even when reason counsels against it. Moeed Rashidi preserves the dignity of longing, suggesting that the beauty of life lies not only in the fulfillment of hopes but also in the refusal to abandon them. The courtyard remains open, the ear attuned—because to hope, even in barrenness, is to affirm life itself.
زہر سی رات، لہو اور یہ گھمسان کا رن
دیدہ تر سے قیامت نہیں دیکھی جاتی
Zehr si raat, lahoo aur yeh ghamsaan ka ran / Deedah-e-tar se qiyamat nahi dekhi jaati.
A powerful depiction of war, bloodshed, and violence—the imagery captures the turmoil of our times without preaching.
— is among his most striking illustrations of chaos and devastation, rendered through a language both vivid and restrained.
The first line, “Zehr si raat, lahoo aur yeh ghamsaan ka ran” (“a poisonous night, blood, and this furious battlefield”), instantly immerses the reader in an atmosphere thick with dread. The “poisonous night” (zehr si raat) suggests not only physical darkness but a moral and existential toxicity — a night that has absorbed the venom of hatred and conflict. Lahoo (blood) and ghamsaan ka ran (a tumultuous battlefield) complete the apocalyptic tableau, where destruction has become both the backdrop and the rhythm of living. Rashidi’s choice of imagery is deliberately sharp yet economical; he evokes violence without graphic excess, allowing the emotional weight to speak for itself.
In contrast, the second line — “Deedah-e-tar se qiyamat nahi dekhi jaati” (“the moist eye cannot bear witness to the apocalypse”) — introduces a quiet, humane sorrow. After the harshness of the preceding images, the poet’s voice turns inward, acknowledging the unbearable sensitivity of those who still feel. The deedah-e-tar—the tearful or compassionate eye—symbolizes empathy amid horror, the inability of a tender heart to confront destruction’s magnitude. The line is an elegy for sensitivity itself, mourning not only the tragedy of war but the pain of witnessing it.
Together, these two lines form a complete moral landscape: a world steeped in blood and poison, yet illuminated by the faint light of compassion. Rashidi does not condemn, moralize, or idealize; he merely presents the scene, allowing the silence between the lines to convey the futility of violence. The result is a haunting equilibrium between fury and tenderness—proof that true poetic power lies not in anger, but in the depth of feeling that survives beyond it.
اک منظر تحلیل ہوا تھا جب سانسوں کے جنگل میں
کچی خواہش کے جگنو سے اک منظر تعمیر کیا
Ek manzar taheel hua tha jab saanson ke jungle mein / Kachchi khwahish ke jugnu se ek manzar taameer kiya.
When a vision fades in the forest of breath, the poet rebuilds another from the fireflies of fragile desires—a luminous symbol of hope born from despair.
— captures with remarkable delicacy the cyclical rhythm of loss and renewal that marks human existence.
The phrase “a vision dissolving in the forest of breath” is steeped in metaphor. The forest of breath suggests the dense and mysterious terrain of life itself—each breath like a leaf, each inhalation a moment of existence in a living wilderness. Within this living forest, one vision, one dream, or perhaps one cherished hope fades away, dissolving into the endless rhythm of mortality. Rashidi does not describe death in a literal sense; rather, he portrays the quiet extinction of idealism, of faith, of something once luminous that has now merged into the dusk of experience.
Yet, the poet’s sensibility refuses to let despair have the final word. When one manzar—one scene of meaning—disappears, another is patiently rebuilt, this time not from sturdy certainties but from kachchi khwahishen, unripe desires, tender and incomplete longings. The image of fireflies (jugnu) intensifies this contrast: fleeting, fragile, and faint, yet luminous enough to pierce the surrounding darkness. The firefly, as used here, becomes a symbol of fragile persistence—the small, trembling light of hope that refuses to extinguish even when surrounded by loss.
By constructing a new vision out of these fragile sparks, Moeed Rashidi articulates a profound human truth: that creativity and faith are not born from perfection, but from the courage to reimagine amid ruin. His art transforms impermanence into possibility, proving that transience itself holds regenerative power.
Thus, the couplet does not mourn dissolution—it celebrates the quiet miracle of reconstruction. The poet teaches that when one vision perishes in the forest of breath, it is within those very depths that another begins to glow, kindled by the trembling yet persistent light of human desire.
جب ظلم حصار بناتا ہے تب خوف کی سرحد بنتی ہے
جب عشق حصار بناتا ہے زنجیر سے خوشبو آتی ہے
Jab zulm hisaar banaata hai tab khauf ki sarhad banti hai / Jab ishq hisaar banaata hai zanjeer se khushboo aati hai.
This philosophical reflection blends tyranny with romance; unlike many, Moeed does not seek freedom from the chain of oppression—he seeks to perfume those chains with the fragrance of love.
— is among the most thought-provoking pieces in his collection, revealing the poet’s rare ability to unite philosophical reflection with emotional subtlety.
Here, the first line constructs an image of tyranny and fear so vivid that it almost takes physical form. When oppression raises its walls (hisaar), the boundaries of fear automatically take shape; terror becomes institutionalized, and confinement finds legitimacy in the system of power. The poet does not merely describe political despotism—he symbolically portrays every inner and outer form of subjugation, whether imposed by authority, society, or one’s psychological limits. The wall of tyranny thus represents not only an external barrier but also an internal paralysis: the shrinking of courage, the surrender of the human spirit before coercive might.
In the second hemistich, Rashidi performs a subtle inversion. When love builds a wall, it does not create fear but fragrance. The same image of confinement that embodied brutality in the first line becomes a vessel of beauty and tenderness in the second. Love’s bonds—unlike tyranny’s chains—do not restrain the soul; they refine it, transform pain into perfume. The fragrance rising from the chain is, therefore, not resignation but sublimation: the alchemy through which suffering is turned into meaning.
This duality—tyranny and love, iron and scent, wall and bloom—displays Rashidi’s mastery over symbolic paradox. He recognizes that not all forms of captivity are destructive. Some forms of surrender, especially those born of love, liberate rather than suffocate. In embracing this philosophy, Moeed distances himself from the modern obsession with rebellion as the only path to dignity. Instead, he turns toward transformation: the idea that even within confinement, there exists a space where beauty can arise, where even bondage can become a metaphor for devotion, creativity, or faith.
Thus, unlike the poet of protest who demands the breaking of chains, Rashidi envisions a higher aesthetic of endurance—a state where the spirit, unbroken by oppression, learns to exude its own fragrance through the very links that meant to imprison it.
The Human Shade behind the Verses
Throughout this collection, the reader senses an implicit bond between the poet’s private emotions and public consciousness. Some verses mirror the present nation’s turbulence, while others draw from deeply personal wells of feeling. Those who know Moeed Rashidi personally will instantly recognize glimpses of his temperament—his reluctance to declare anything directly, his quiet strength, and his understated sensitivity—all woven into his verse.
It is true that certain couplets in the collection seem poised on the edge of greatness but fall short by a breath. Yet such moments are a natural part of ghazal tradition, where incompleteness itself sometimes becomes a form of beauty. This book marks the beginning of a poetic journey, and one can say with confidence that Moeed Rashidi’s future verses will only grow richer in depth and refinement.
Last modified: October 14, 2025
