Akhtarul Iman Ka Kharaba

Akhtar ul Iman's Wasteland

Author: Kausar Mazhari

Observing all dimensions of human life, internalizing them, and then blending them with creativity to bring them onto the page is a difficult task. Akhtar ul Iman accomplished this with absolute creative mastery. In the foreword to his poetry collection Sar-o-Saman (1983), he wrote:

The word guzran (the passing of life) lingers in my mind, and I consider it the very foundation of existence. This guzran is not a calculated act; it is a sudden occurrence—whatever befalls a person, they endure and navigate it. In truth, the attempt to give meaning to this passing of life is what we call philosophy, literature, and poetry. (Kulliyat-e-Akhtar ul Iman, Educational Publishing House, Delhi, 2006, p. 37)

When we read Akhtar ul Iman's poems, we realize that it is indeed this guzran whose fleeting moments the poet has embodied in words. Guzran is not a tangible object; rather, it is composed of invisible moments, and Akhtar ul Iman has essentially versified time and space itself. From the Gopi of Vrindavan, Shafqi, and Qaiser, to Rami and Habiba, a web of suppressed longing and melancholic desires stretches across his work. Akhtar ul Iman repeatedly looks back at the days of his boyhood and youth, immersing and intoxicating himself in a flood of memories:

Tum mere zehen mein yun aati ho jaise khushbu / Geet jharnon ke, saba, door khanakti chhaagal

Be-khabar behti hui nadiya, umadti badri / Saat rangon ki dhanak aankhon mein phaila kaajal

Tum meri tifli ka dekha hua ik khwaab sa ho

(Nazm: Vrindavan Ki Gopi)

You enter my mind like a fragrance, like the song of waterfalls, the morning breeze, or a distant chiming anklet. You are like a childhood dream to me.

Iss diyaar mein shayad / Qaiser ab nahin rehti / Woh badi badi aankhein / Ab na dekh paunga

Mulk ka yeh batwara / Le gaya kahan uss ko

(Nazm: Dasna Station Ka Musafir)

Perhaps Qaiser no longer lives in this town, and I will never see those big eyes again; where did the partition of the country take her?

Rangon ka chashma sa phoota maazi ke andhe ghaaron se

Sargoshi ke ghunghroo khanke gird-o-pesh ke deewaron se

Yaad ke bojhal parde utthe, kaanon mein jaani pehchaani

Loch bhari aawazein aayin, jaise koi ek kahani

(Nazm: Shafqi)

A spring of colors erupted from the dark caves of the past, and familiar, melodious voices echoed like an old story as the heavy curtains of memory lifted.

Bheed hai bachon ki chhoti si gali mein dekho / Ek ne gend jo phenki toh lagi aake mujhe

Main ne ja pakda usay, dekhi hui soorat thi / Kis ka hai, main ne kisi se poochha?

Yeh Habiba ka hai, Ramzani qasai bola / Bholi soorat pe hansi aa gayi uss ki mujh ko

(Nazm: Baaz-Aamad - Ek Montage; Bint-e-Lamhaat)

A child's ball hit me in a crowded alley; when I caught the familiar-looking boy and asked whose he was, the butcher replied he was Habiba's, making me smile at his innocent face.

Hayaat naam hai yaadon ka, talkh aur shireen / Bhala kisi ne kabhi rang-o-bu ko pakda hai

Shafaq ko qaid mein rakha, saba ko band kiya / Har ek lamha gurezaan hai, jaise dushman hai

Na tum milogi na main, hum bhi dono lamhe hain / Woh lamhe ja ke jo wapas kabhi nahin aaye

(Nazm: Bint-e-Lamhaat)

Life is just a collection of bitter and sweet memories; just as no one can capture colors, fragrances, or the breeze, we too are fleeting moments that will never return.

Yehi shaakh tum jis ke neeche kisi ke liye chashm-e-nam ho, yahan ab se kuch saal pehle

Mujhe ek chhoti si bachi mili thi, jise main ne aaghosh mein le ke poochha tha, beti

Yahan kyun khadi ro rahi ho, mujhe apne boseeda aanchal mein phoolon ke gehne dikha kar

Woh kehne lagi mera saathi, udhar uss ne ungli utha kar bataya, udhar uss taraf hi

(Jidhar oonche mehlon ke gumbad, millon ki siyah chimniyan aasman ki taraf sar uthaye khadi hain)

Yeh keh kar gaya hai ke main sone chandi ke gehne tere waaste lene jata hoon Rami

(Nazm: Ahd-e-Wafa, Tareek Sayyara)

Under this very branch where you weep today, years ago I found a little girl named Rami crying; she showed me her floral jewelry and pointed toward the city's tall domes and black mill chimneys, saying her companion had gone there to fetch her real gold and silver.

Reading Akhtar ul Iman's poetry, you will have noticed the diverse ways he portrays time and space through his creative mastery. The beloved in his poems is often no more than the fleeting glow of a firefly. However, the poet's unique connection to this beloved is so intense that its emotional tremors can be felt long after. Moving forward, it becomes evident that Akhtar ul Iman constructed his creative wasteland using raw material drawn directly from the daily lives of the people in his society. The practical disparities and contradictions evident in social and moral values are precisely what fueled his creativity.

In the foreword to his collection Aab-e-Joo, he writes:

Read my poetry with the understanding that it was not manufactured in a machine. It is the creation of a human mind that constantly grapples with shifting political, economic, and moral values—a mind living in a society that is far from ideal. It is a place where practical life and moral values are in constant conflict and contradiction. (Foreword: Aab-e-Joo)

Akhtar ul Iman has portrayed this societal decline with profound intensity and a deeply serious tone. His poems vividly illustrate how a person shatters within such a society, capturing the mental anguish and spiritual restlessness that consume them. He himself once remarked that today's poet is a broken man, and his poetry is the voice of that very broken man. (Foreword: Naya Aahang, 1977)

In this context, he specifically highlighted his own poems such as Aasaar-e-Qadeema (Ancient Relics), Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq (I Am Your Creation), Main Ek Sayyara (I Am a Planet), Rah-e-Faraar (Escape Route), and Mera Dost Abul-Hol (My Friend the Sphinx). Consider this excerpt from the poem Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq:

Main toh parwarda hoon aisi tehzeeb ka / Jis mein kehte hain kuch aur karte hain kuch

Shar-pasandon ki aamajgah

Amn ki qumriyan jis mein kartab dikhane mein masroof hain / Main rubber ka bana aisa babwa hoon jo

Dekhta, sunta, mehsoos karta hai sab / Pait mein jis ke sab zehar hi zehar hai

Pait mera kabhi gar dabaoge tum / Jis qadar zehar hai

Sab ulat doonga tum sab ke chehron pe main

(Nazm: Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq: Naya Aahang, 1977)

I am raised in a hypocritical culture that is a haven for mischief-makers; I am like a rubber doll filled with poison, and if you squeeze me, I will vomit all this venom onto your faces.

Since we are discussing a society shaped by mischief-makers—a culture steeped in hypocrisy—it is essential to examine how Akhtar ul Iman portrays the various shades of this cultural life in his poetry. In two of his most famous poems, Masjid (The Mosque) and Purani Faseel (The Old Rampart), he depicts this cultural decay with tremendous force. The sharp bite of his satire is palpable. Purani Faseel features a broken, dilapidated city wall revealing the dark secrets buried in its chest. The poem consists of sixteen stanzas. Its barren, salt-ridden earth, the prevailing misfortune, the reflections of lust and superficial glamour, and the deep-seated marks of sycophancy and moral bankruptcy are all vividly captured. This is the very raw material from which Akhtar ul Iman constructs his creative wasteland. Consider these stanzas:

Kharaab-o-shora aalooda zameen khamosh rehti hai / Yahan jheengar na jaane kis zabaan mein geet gaate hain

Yahan choohey mataa-e-zindagi se surkh-roo ho kar / Muhazzab bastiyon mein ja ke aksar laut aate hain

The ruined, barren earth remains silent while crickets sing in an unknown tongue, and rats, enriched by the spoils of life, often return after plundering civilized settlements.

Wahan sehmi hui thithri hui raaton ne dekhe hain / Dareeda pairahan, ismat nigoon sar, baal aawara

Garebaan chaak, seena wa, badan larzaan, nazar teera / Kham-e-abroo mein darmanda jawani mahv-e-nazzara

The terrified, freezing nights have witnessed torn garments, bowed heads of lost honor, disheveled hair, and trembling bodies where helpless youth is reduced to a mere spectacle.

Kahin rote bhinakte phir rahe hain, har taraf har soo / Ghilazat aashna, jhulse hue insaan ke pille

Yeh woh hain jo na hote kokh phat jaati mashiyyat ki / Tamannaon mein in ki raat din khenche gaye chille

(Nazm: Purani Faseel: Girdaab 1943)

Everywhere, the filthy, scorched offspring of humanity wander crying; they are the wretched products of endless, desperate desires.

Regarding the last two stanzas, Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi offers the following perspective:

Amidst this chaos and crisis, the poet witnessed horrific and deeply agonizing scenes. Little did anyone know that the harsh realities Akhtar ul Iman unveiled in his poem would, just a few years later in 1947, manifest in absolute nakedness on the open streets—a tragic spectacle that human history will remember for centuries. (Reference: Zaviya-e-Nigah, p. 41, National Council for Promotion of Human Resources, New Delhi, 2008)

The aforementioned poem belongs to a 1943 collection. While Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi attempts to link it to the bloody events of the 1947 Partition, the truth is that such scenes of shattered human values and cultural crises have existed in every era. Regardless, Akhtar ul Iman has beautifully articulated his agonizing distress in this poem. The poet's intense fury is palpable in the line: Ghilazat aashna, jhulse hue insaan ke pille (The filthy, scorched offspring of humanity).

Much like Purani Faseel, the poem Masjid (The Mosque) also illustrates a profound cultural crisis. In this poem, the relentless concept of time has laid siege to both faith and culture. Just as the old rampart stands merely as a physical relic, the mosque too has been reduced to a mere religious symbol. Here, the mosque represents the fading legacy and dimming identity of a community. The character of Time in this poem acts as a tyrant—or, in modern terms, a tsunami—determined to wash away the very existence of this mosque.

To build the poem's atmosphere, Akhtar ul Iman's choice and application of diction are remarkably precise. He uses evocative imagery such as a banyan tree, silent and sorrowful, a dark shroud, a broken pinnacle, a lark, a dust-covered lamp, an old dozing donkey, the pale laughter of the moon, the funeral of God's beloved, a grimy clay lamp, and trembling hands. Because this mosque is no longer a thriving place of worship but has transformed into a wasteland, the poet deliberately curates this vocabulary to cultivate an environment of doom, decay, despair, and profound melancholy.

Look at this stanza:

Ek veeran si masjid ka shikasta sa kalas / Paas behti hui naddi ko taka karta hai

Aur tooti hui deewar pe chandol kabhi / Geet pheeka sa koi chhed diya karta hai

——

Ek boorha gadha deewar ke saye mein kabhi / Oongh leta hai zara baith ke jate jate

Ya musafir koi aa jata hai, woh bhi dar kar / Ek lamhe ko thehar jata hai aate aate

——

Farsh jaroob kashi kya hai samajhta hi nahin / Kal-adam ho gaya tasbeeh ke danon ka nizam

Taaq mein shama ke aansoo hain abhi tak baqi / Ab musalla hai na minbar, na moazzin, na imam

——

Ek maila sa, akela sa, fasurda sa diya / Roz raasha-zada hathon se kaha karta hai

Tum jalate ho, kabhi aake bujhate bhi nahin / Ek jalta hai magar ek bujha karta hai

The ruined pinnacle of a desolate mosque stares at the flowing river, while a bird sings a dull song on its broken wall. The floor has forgotten the broom, the prayer beads are gone, and a lonely, flickering lamp complains to the trembling hands that light it but never return to put it out.

Here, the tsunami of time has not struck suddenly; rather, Akhtar ul Iman has depicted a gradual, evolving destruction. These trembling hands belong to the last remaining person who occasionally comes to light a lamp in the mosque. There is no one left to look after the mosque anymore. It is as if the mosque is no longer needed. According to Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi, the river in this poem is a symbol of time, which is the architect of tragedies and which destroys everything that has outlived its usefulness (Zaviya-e-Nigah, p. 39). It is also worth noting here that in the final stanza, Akhtar ul Iman has personified the wave, and this wave screams like a villain:

Tez naddi ki har ik mauj talatum bardosh / Cheekh uthti hai wahin door se faani faani

Kal baha loongi tujhe torr ke sahil ke quyood / Aur phir gumbad-o-meenar bhi paani paani

Every turbulent wave of the swift river screams from afar that everything is mortal, threatening to break the shores tomorrow and wash away even the domes and minarets.

In this way, Akhtar ul Iman has powerfully portrayed the tyranny of time. Whether it is the fleeting moment in Bint-e-Lamhaat, Ramzani the butcher in Baaz Aamad, the process of creation and destruction of the populated wasteland in Yaadein, the explosion or knock in Maut, the cycle of day and night in the poem Kahan Tak, the damp caves of the past's mountain in Aakhir-e-Shab, the winding grand highway of waiting, the cypress of the garden and the daughter of spring in Yeh Daur, or the fading day and evening melancholy in Pukaar—it seems that Akhtar ul Iman could never escape the confines of time during his moments of creative process. In fact, I have no hesitation in saying that time is an indispensable part of his psyche. This is also because time holds dominion over all things in the world. This sense of time dominated Akhtar ul Iman's existence through his childhood, adolescence, youth, and beyond. In human life, time is a circular journey from the beginning of creation to this world and then to eternity, continuing alongside the wheel of time. Akhtar ul Iman's creative journey has also continued alongside this very wheel.

The roughness in Akhtar ul Iman's poetry stems from the anguish of life and the earth. The earth's anguish is Akhtar ul Iman's own. The earth, too, endures sorrows, and Akhtar ul Iman finds himself closely connected to these sorrows. In the foreword to his collection Zameen Zameen, he writes:

In reality, the pain of the earth is synonymous with the anguish that constantly arises within me as an individual, and which, as a citizen, is a massive issue for me.

Human society is established on this very earth. Therefore, alongside the noble and decent people of this society, Akhtar ul Iman also keeps his eyes on the wicked—the rogues and vagabonds. Perhaps this is why Professor Shamim Hanfi wrote:

Like Nazeer Akbarabadi, Akhtar ul Iman's perspective is also of the 'he too is a man' variety, in which elements of moral tolerance, sensory materialism, and breadth of thought can be seen shining from afar.

(Reference: Urdu Adab, Akhtar ul Iman Issue, October 2015 to March 2016, p. 406)

It is here that one also understands that humans have played a greater role than animals in turning this earth into a wasteland. The imprints of localism and earthliness in Akhtar ul Iman's work grant him a prominent place among his contemporaries. He played a vital role in making individual consciousness a part of collective consciousness. Frustrated by the breakdown of relationships in human society and the unnecessary commotion, crowds, and rat race, Akhtar ul Iman says:

Is bhare shehar mein koi aisa nahin / Jo mujhe raah chalte ko pehchaan le

Aur aawaz de 'O be O sarphire' / Dono ik doosre se lipat kar wahin

Gird-o-pesh aur mahool ko bhool kar / Gaaliyan dein, hansein, hatha-payi karein

Paas ke perr ki chhaon mein baith kar / Ghanton ik doosre ki sunein aur kahein

Aur is nek roohon ke bazaar mein / Meri yeh qeemti be-baha zindagi

Ek din ke liye apna rukh morr le

(Nazam: Tabdeeli, Tareek Sayyara)

The poet longs for a true friend in the crowded city who would casually call out to him, embrace him, and share a moment of carefree banter and laughter, offering a brief escape from the superficial market of noble souls.

This poem strikes a severe blow against the glare and busy life of the city. A phrase like 'O be O sarphire' (Hey you, crazy guy) infuses the art of this poem with a sense of casual intimacy. Calling the city a market of noble souls is also a sharp irony. Consider the diverse characters Akhtar ul Iman has brought to life on the canvas of the modern poem. His awareness had internalized the meanness and volcanic eruptions occurring on earth, which is why the reflection of the agony of awareness is visible in both his tone and his text. If you look at the poem Raah-e-Faraar (The Escape Route), you will realize the various ways the addressee is being shown an escape route. Do not go this way, for here an old man rubs such ash on faces that all wrinkles burst open; he is also called a decrepit old man. Do not go that way either, for there a man stops the youth and says the same things Socrates used to say in Greece; perhaps he too will have to drink poison. Do not go that way either, for you will be caught in the light; it is better to hide in the basements built by the kings of Delhi, as this might be the only strategy to escape disasters and chaos. Then it is said, do not go that way, for though King Nader is not here today, the same massacre continues. Moving forward, he talks about smoking marijuana, bhang, and opium, and about pederasty; he recalls the riots during the partition of India, and then says to find such an escape route that we might mistake the hell of life for heaven.

This is Akhtar ul Iman's wasteland. These are the imprints of local and earthly culture, where the breathing process of human society continues to flow within the poet's individual consciousness. Look at some excerpts from the aforementioned poem:

Idhar se na jao / Idhar raah mein ek boorha khara hai / Jo peshaniyon aur chehron

Pe aisi bhabhoot ek mal de ga sab jhurriyan phat parein gi

——

Idhar se na jao / Idhar Shah Nader nahin aaj koi bhi lekin / Wahi qatl-e-aam aaj bhi ho raha hai

Chalo samne ke andhere mein ghus kar / Utar jayen teh-khane ki khamoshi mein

Yeh sab khirkiyan band kar dein

Koi cheekhne, bain karne ki aawaz hum tak na aaye

——

Fasadat dekhe the taqseem ke waqt tum ne

Hawa mein uchhalte hue danthalon ki tarah sheer-khwaron ko dekha tha kat-te

Aur pistan-bureeda jawan larkiyan tum ne dekhi theen kya bain karte? / Faramosh-gari ka ehsan mano

Yeh sab kal ki baatein hain, boseeda baatein / Jinhein bhool jana hai behtar

Faramosh-gari bhi / Ik ni'mat-e-be-baha hai

(Nazam: Raah-e-Faraar: Naya Aahang)

The poet warns against taking paths filled with the horrors of aging, historical massacres, and the brutal violence of the Partition, ultimately suggesting that forgetting these traumatic, decaying memories is an invaluable blessing.

It has been said before regarding Akhtar ul Iman that, for him, the attempt to give meaning to existence is the very essence of philosophy, literature, and poetry. This is why stories of human existence constantly recur in his poems. A few of these stories are romantic and joyful, but most of them depict the anguish and sorrows of life and society. Among modern poets, Akhtar ul Iman charted his creative journey independently, much like N.M. Rashid and Meeraji did. Rashid and Meeraji were still placed under the banner of the Halqa-e-Arbab-e-Zauq (Circle of Men of Good Taste); in fact, with the passage of time, these two names became the guarantors of the Halqa's identity. Akhtar ul Iman could neither fit into the framework of the Progressive Writers' Movement nor could he be contained within the Halqa-e-Arbab-e-Zauq. And perhaps this is why his poems hold the status of a Ruya-e-Sadiqa (True Vision) in human society (there is also a poem by this title in his collection Zameen Zameen). Even now, Akhtar ul Iman smiles in his creative wasteland, carrying true visions in his satchel, calling out: Take a dream, take a dream!

Akhtar ul Iman's Wasteland

Author: Kausar Mazhari

Observing all dimensions of human life, internalizing them, and then blending them with creativity to bring them onto the page is a difficult task. Akhtar ul Iman accomplished this with absolute creative mastery. In the foreword to his poetry collection Sar-o-Saman (1983), he wrote:

The word guzran (the passing of life) lingers in my mind, and I consider it the very foundation of existence. This guzran is not a calculated act; it is a sudden occurrence—whatever befalls a person, they endure and navigate it. In truth, the attempt to give meaning to this passing of life is what we call philosophy, literature, and poetry. (Kulliyat-e-Akhtar ul Iman, Educational Publishing House, Delhi, 2006, p. 37)

When we read Akhtar ul Iman's poems, we realize that it is indeed this guzran whose fleeting moments the poet has embodied in words. Guzran is not a tangible object; rather, it is composed of invisible moments, and Akhtar ul Iman has essentially versified time and space itself. From the Gopi of Vrindavan, Shafqi, and Qaiser, to Rami and Habiba, a web of suppressed longing and melancholic desires stretches across his work. Akhtar ul Iman repeatedly looks back at the days of his boyhood and youth, immersing and intoxicating himself in a flood of memories:

Tum mere zehen mein yun aati ho jaise khushbu / Geet jharnon ke, saba, door khanakti chhaagal

Be-khabar behti hui nadiya, umadti badri / Saat rangon ki dhanak aankhon mein phaila kaajal

Tum meri tifli ka dekha hua ik khwaab sa ho

(Nazm: Vrindavan Ki Gopi)

You enter my mind like a fragrance, like the song of waterfalls, the morning breeze, or a distant chiming anklet. You are like a childhood dream to me.

Iss diyaar mein shayad / Qaiser ab nahin rehti / Woh badi badi aankhein / Ab na dekh paunga

Mulk ka yeh batwara / Le gaya kahan uss ko

(Nazm: Dasna Station Ka Musafir)

Perhaps Qaiser no longer lives in this town, and I will never see those big eyes again; where did the partition of the country take her?

Rangon ka chashma sa phoota maazi ke andhe ghaaron se

Sargoshi ke ghunghroo khanke gird-o-pesh ke deewaron se

Yaad ke bojhal parde utthe, kaanon mein jaani pehchaani

Loch bhari aawazein aayin, jaise koi ek kahani

(Nazm: Shafqi)

A spring of colors erupted from the dark caves of the past, and familiar, melodious voices echoed like an old story as the heavy curtains of memory lifted.

Bheed hai bachon ki chhoti si gali mein dekho / Ek ne gend jo phenki toh lagi aake mujhe

Main ne ja pakda usay, dekhi hui soorat thi / Kis ka hai, main ne kisi se poochha?

Yeh Habiba ka hai, Ramzani qasai bola / Bholi soorat pe hansi aa gayi uss ki mujh ko

(Nazm: Baaz-Aamad - Ek Montage; Bint-e-Lamhaat)

A child's ball hit me in a crowded alley; when I caught the familiar-looking boy and asked whose he was, the butcher replied he was Habiba's, making me smile at his innocent face.

Hayaat naam hai yaadon ka, talkh aur shireen / Bhala kisi ne kabhi rang-o-bu ko pakda hai

Shafaq ko qaid mein rakha, saba ko band kiya / Har ek lamha gurezaan hai, jaise dushman hai

Na tum milogi na main, hum bhi dono lamhe hain / Woh lamhe ja ke jo wapas kabhi nahin aaye

(Nazm: Bint-e-Lamhaat)

Life is just a collection of bitter and sweet memories; just as no one can capture colors, fragrances, or the breeze, we too are fleeting moments that will never return.

Yehi shaakh tum jis ke neeche kisi ke liye chashm-e-nam ho, yahan ab se kuch saal pehle

Mujhe ek chhoti si bachi mili thi, jise main ne aaghosh mein le ke poochha tha, beti

Yahan kyun khadi ro rahi ho, mujhe apne boseeda aanchal mein phoolon ke gehne dikha kar

Woh kehne lagi mera saathi, udhar uss ne ungli utha kar bataya, udhar uss taraf hi

(Jidhar oonche mehlon ke gumbad, millon ki siyah chimniyan aasman ki taraf sar uthaye khadi hain)

Yeh keh kar gaya hai ke main sone chandi ke gehne tere waaste lene jata hoon Rami

(Nazm: Ahd-e-Wafa, Tareek Sayyara)

Under this very branch where you weep today, years ago I found a little girl named Rami crying; she showed me her floral jewelry and pointed toward the city's tall domes and black mill chimneys, saying her companion had gone there to fetch her real gold and silver.

Reading Akhtar ul Iman's poetry, you will have noticed the diverse ways he portrays time and space through his creative mastery. The beloved in his poems is often no more than the fleeting glow of a firefly. However, the poet's unique connection to this beloved is so intense that its emotional tremors can be felt long after. Moving forward, it becomes evident that Akhtar ul Iman constructed his creative wasteland using raw material drawn directly from the daily lives of the people in his society. The practical disparities and contradictions evident in social and moral values are precisely what fueled his creativity.

In the foreword to his collection Aab-e-Joo, he writes:

Read my poetry with the understanding that it was not manufactured in a machine. It is the creation of a human mind that constantly grapples with shifting political, economic, and moral values—a mind living in a society that is far from ideal. It is a place where practical life and moral values are in constant conflict and contradiction. (Foreword: Aab-e-Joo)

Akhtar ul Iman has portrayed this societal decline with profound intensity and a deeply serious tone. His poems vividly illustrate how a person shatters within such a society, capturing the mental anguish and spiritual restlessness that consume them. He himself once remarked that today's poet is a broken man, and his poetry is the voice of that very broken man. (Foreword: Naya Aahang, 1977)

In this context, he specifically highlighted his own poems such as Aasaar-e-Qadeema (Ancient Relics), Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq (I Am Your Creation), Main Ek Sayyara (I Am a Planet), Rah-e-Faraar (Escape Route), and Mera Dost Abul-Hol (My Friend the Sphinx). Consider this excerpt from the poem Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq:

Main toh parwarda hoon aisi tehzeeb ka / Jis mein kehte hain kuch aur karte hain kuch

Shar-pasandon ki aamajgah

Amn ki qumriyan jis mein kartab dikhane mein masroof hain / Main rubber ka bana aisa babwa hoon jo

Dekhta, sunta, mehsoos karta hai sab / Pait mein jis ke sab zehar hi zehar hai

Pait mera kabhi gar dabaoge tum / Jis qadar zehar hai

Sab ulat doonga tum sab ke chehron pe main

(Nazm: Main Tumhari Ek Takhleeq: Naya Aahang, 1977)

I am raised in a hypocritical culture that is a haven for mischief-makers; I am like a rubber doll filled with poison, and if you squeeze me, I will vomit all this venom onto your faces.

Since we are discussing a society shaped by mischief-makers—a culture steeped in hypocrisy—it is essential to examine how Akhtar ul Iman portrays the various shades of this cultural life in his poetry. In two of his most famous poems, Masjid (The Mosque) and Purani Faseel (The Old Rampart), he depicts this cultural decay with tremendous force. The sharp bite of his satire is palpable. Purani Faseel features a broken, dilapidated city wall revealing the dark secrets buried in its chest. The poem consists of sixteen stanzas. Its barren, salt-ridden earth, the prevailing misfortune, the reflections of lust and superficial glamour, and the deep-seated marks of sycophancy and moral bankruptcy are all vividly captured. This is the very raw material from which Akhtar ul Iman constructs his creative wasteland. Consider these stanzas:

Kharaab-o-shora aalooda zameen khamosh rehti hai / Yahan jheengar na jaane kis zabaan mein geet gaate hain

Yahan choohey mataa-e-zindagi se surkh-roo ho kar / Muhazzab bastiyon mein ja ke aksar laut aate hain

The ruined, barren earth remains silent while crickets sing in an unknown tongue, and rats, enriched by the spoils of life, often return after plundering civilized settlements.

Wahan sehmi hui thithri hui raaton ne dekhe hain / Dareeda pairahan, ismat nigoon sar, baal aawara

Garebaan chaak, seena wa, badan larzaan, nazar teera / Kham-e-abroo mein darmanda jawani mahv-e-nazzara

The terrified, freezing nights have witnessed torn garments, bowed heads of lost honor, disheveled hair, and trembling bodies where helpless youth is reduced to a mere spectacle.

Kahin rote bhinakte phir rahe hain, har taraf har soo / Ghilazat aashna, jhulse hue insaan ke pille

Yeh woh hain jo na hote kokh phat jaati mashiyyat ki / Tamannaon mein in ki raat din khenche gaye chille

(Nazm: Purani Faseel: Girdaab 1943)

Everywhere, the filthy, scorched offspring of humanity wander crying; they are the wretched products of endless, desperate desires.

Regarding the last two stanzas, Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi offers the following perspective:

Amidst this chaos and crisis, the poet witnessed horrific and deeply agonizing scenes. Little did anyone know that the harsh realities Akhtar ul Iman unveiled in his poem would, just a few years later in 1947, manifest in absolute nakedness on the open streets—a tragic spectacle that human history will remember for centuries. (Reference: Zaviya-e-Nigah, p. 41, National Council for Promotion of Human Resources, New Delhi, 2008)

The aforementioned poem belongs to a 1943 collection. While Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi attempts to link it to the bloody events of the 1947 Partition, the truth is that such scenes of shattered human values and cultural crises have existed in every era. Regardless, Akhtar ul Iman has beautifully articulated his agonizing distress in this poem. The poet's intense fury is palpable in the line: Ghilazat aashna, jhulse hue insaan ke pille (The filthy, scorched offspring of humanity).

Much like Purani Faseel, the poem Masjid (The Mosque) also illustrates a profound cultural crisis. In this poem, the relentless concept of time has laid siege to both faith and culture. Just as the old rampart stands merely as a physical relic, the mosque too has been reduced to a mere religious symbol. Here, the mosque represents the fading legacy and dimming identity of a community. The character of Time in this poem acts as a tyrant—or, in modern terms, a tsunami—determined to wash away the very existence of this mosque.

To build the poem's atmosphere, Akhtar ul Iman's choice and application of diction are remarkably precise. He uses evocative imagery such as a banyan tree, silent and sorrowful, a dark shroud, a broken pinnacle, a lark, a dust-covered lamp, an old dozing donkey, the pale laughter of the moon, the funeral of God's beloved, a grimy clay lamp, and trembling hands. Because this mosque is no longer a thriving place of worship but has transformed into a wasteland, the poet deliberately curates this vocabulary to cultivate an environment of doom, decay, despair, and profound melancholy.

Look at this stanza:

Ek veeran si masjid ka shikasta sa kalas / Paas behti hui naddi ko taka karta hai

Aur tooti hui deewar pe chandol kabhi / Geet pheeka sa koi chhed diya karta hai

——

Ek boorha gadha deewar ke saye mein kabhi / Oongh leta hai zara baith ke jate jate

Ya musafir koi aa jata hai, woh bhi dar kar / Ek lamhe ko thehar jata hai aate aate

——

Farsh jaroob kashi kya hai samajhta hi nahin / Kal-adam ho gaya tasbeeh ke danon ka nizam

Taaq mein shama ke aansoo hain abhi tak baqi / Ab musalla hai na minbar, na moazzin, na imam

——

Ek maila sa, akela sa, fasurda sa diya / Roz raasha-zada hathon se kaha karta hai

Tum jalate ho, kabhi aake bujhate bhi nahin / Ek jalta hai magar ek bujha karta hai

The ruined pinnacle of a desolate mosque stares at the flowing river, while a bird sings a dull song on its broken wall. The floor has forgotten the broom, the prayer beads are gone, and a lonely, flickering lamp complains to the trembling hands that light it but never return to put it out.

Here, the tsunami of time has not struck suddenly; rather, Akhtar ul Iman has depicted a gradual, evolving destruction. These trembling hands belong to the last remaining person who occasionally comes to light a lamp in the mosque. There is no one left to look after the mosque anymore. It is as if the mosque is no longer needed. According to Khalil-ur-Rehman Azmi, the river in this poem is a symbol of time, which is the architect of tragedies and which destroys everything that has outlived its usefulness (Zaviya-e-Nigah, p. 39). It is also worth noting here that in the final stanza, Akhtar ul Iman has personified the wave, and this wave screams like a villain:

Tez naddi ki har ik mauj talatum bardosh / Cheekh uthti hai wahin door se faani faani

Kal baha loongi tujhe torr ke sahil ke quyood / Aur phir gumbad-o-meenar bhi paani paani

Every turbulent wave of the swift river screams from afar that everything is mortal, threatening to break the shores tomorrow and wash away even the domes and minarets.

In this way, Akhtar ul Iman has powerfully portrayed the tyranny of time. Whether it is the fleeting moment in Bint-e-Lamhaat, Ramzani the butcher in Baaz Aamad, the process of creation and destruction of the populated wasteland in Yaadein, the explosion or knock in Maut, the cycle of day and night in the poem Kahan Tak, the damp caves of the past's mountain in Aakhir-e-Shab, the winding grand highway of waiting, the cypress of the garden and the daughter of spring in Yeh Daur, or the fading day and evening melancholy in Pukaar—it seems that Akhtar ul Iman could never escape the confines of time during his moments of creative process. In fact, I have no hesitation in saying that time is an indispensable part of his psyche. This is also because time holds dominion over all things in the world. This sense of time dominated Akhtar ul Iman's existence through his childhood, adolescence, youth, and beyond. In human life, time is a circular journey from the beginning of creation to this world and then to eternity, continuing alongside the wheel of time. Akhtar ul Iman's creative journey has also continued alongside this very wheel.

The roughness in Akhtar ul Iman's poetry stems from the anguish of life and the earth. The earth's anguish is Akhtar ul Iman's own. The earth, too, endures sorrows, and Akhtar ul Iman finds himself closely connected to these sorrows. In the foreword to his collection Zameen Zameen, he writes:

In reality, the pain of the earth is synonymous with the anguish that constantly arises within me as an individual, and which, as a citizen, is a massive issue for me.

Human society is established on this very earth. Therefore, alongside the noble and decent people of this society, Akhtar ul Iman also keeps his eyes on the wicked—the rogues and vagabonds. Perhaps this is why Professor Shamim Hanfi wrote:

Like Nazeer Akbarabadi, Akhtar ul Iman's perspective is also of the 'he too is a man' variety, in which elements of moral tolerance, sensory materialism, and breadth of thought can be seen shining from afar.

(Reference: Urdu Adab, Akhtar ul Iman Issue, October 2015 to March 2016, p. 406)

It is here that one also understands that humans have played a greater role than animals in turning this earth into a wasteland. The imprints of localism and earthliness in Akhtar ul Iman's work grant him a prominent place among his contemporaries. He played a vital role in making individual consciousness a part of collective consciousness. Frustrated by the breakdown of relationships in human society and the unnecessary commotion, crowds, and rat race, Akhtar ul Iman says:

Is bhare shehar mein koi aisa nahin / Jo mujhe raah chalte ko pehchaan le

Aur aawaz de 'O be O sarphire' / Dono ik doosre se lipat kar wahin

Gird-o-pesh aur mahool ko bhool kar / Gaaliyan dein, hansein, hatha-payi karein

Paas ke perr ki chhaon mein baith kar / Ghanton ik doosre ki sunein aur kahein

Aur is nek roohon ke bazaar mein / Meri yeh qeemti be-baha zindagi

Ek din ke liye apna rukh morr le

(Nazam: Tabdeeli, Tareek Sayyara)

The poet longs for a true friend in the crowded city who would casually call out to him, embrace him, and share a moment of carefree banter and laughter, offering a brief escape from the superficial market of noble souls.

This poem strikes a severe blow against the glare and busy life of the city. A phrase like 'O be O sarphire' (Hey you, crazy guy) infuses the art of this poem with a sense of casual intimacy. Calling the city a market of noble souls is also a sharp irony. Consider the diverse characters Akhtar ul Iman has brought to life on the canvas of the modern poem. His awareness had internalized the meanness and volcanic eruptions occurring on earth, which is why the reflection of the agony of awareness is visible in both his tone and his text. If you look at the poem Raah-e-Faraar (The Escape Route), you will realize the various ways the addressee is being shown an escape route. Do not go this way, for here an old man rubs such ash on faces that all wrinkles burst open; he is also called a decrepit old man. Do not go that way either, for there a man stops the youth and says the same things Socrates used to say in Greece; perhaps he too will have to drink poison. Do not go that way either, for you will be caught in the light; it is better to hide in the basements built by the kings of Delhi, as this might be the only strategy to escape disasters and chaos. Then it is said, do not go that way, for though King Nader is not here today, the same massacre continues. Moving forward, he talks about smoking marijuana, bhang, and opium, and about pederasty; he recalls the riots during the partition of India, and then says to find such an escape route that we might mistake the hell of life for heaven.

This is Akhtar ul Iman's wasteland. These are the imprints of local and earthly culture, where the breathing process of human society continues to flow within the poet's individual consciousness. Look at some excerpts from the aforementioned poem:

Idhar se na jao / Idhar raah mein ek boorha khara hai / Jo peshaniyon aur chehron

Pe aisi bhabhoot ek mal de ga sab jhurriyan phat parein gi

——

Idhar se na jao / Idhar Shah Nader nahin aaj koi bhi lekin / Wahi qatl-e-aam aaj bhi ho raha hai

Chalo samne ke andhere mein ghus kar / Utar jayen teh-khane ki khamoshi mein

Yeh sab khirkiyan band kar dein

Koi cheekhne, bain karne ki aawaz hum tak na aaye

——

Fasadat dekhe the taqseem ke waqt tum ne

Hawa mein uchhalte hue danthalon ki tarah sheer-khwaron ko dekha tha kat-te

Aur pistan-bureeda jawan larkiyan tum ne dekhi theen kya bain karte? / Faramosh-gari ka ehsan mano

Yeh sab kal ki baatein hain, boseeda baatein / Jinhein bhool jana hai behtar

Faramosh-gari bhi / Ik ni'mat-e-be-baha hai

(Nazam: Raah-e-Faraar: Naya Aahang)

The poet warns against taking paths filled with the horrors of aging, historical massacres, and the brutal violence of the Partition, ultimately suggesting that forgetting these traumatic, decaying memories is an invaluable blessing.

It has been said before regarding Akhtar ul Iman that, for him, the attempt to give meaning to existence is the very essence of philosophy, literature, and poetry. This is why stories of human existence constantly recur in his poems. A few of these stories are romantic and joyful, but most of them depict the anguish and sorrows of life and society. Among modern poets, Akhtar ul Iman charted his creative journey independently, much like N.M. Rashid and Meeraji did. Rashid and Meeraji were still placed under the banner of the Halqa-e-Arbab-e-Zauq (Circle of Men of Good Taste); in fact, with the passage of time, these two names became the guarantors of the Halqa's identity. Akhtar ul Iman could neither fit into the framework of the Progressive Writers' Movement nor could he be contained within the Halqa-e-Arbab-e-Zauq. And perhaps this is why his poems hold the status of a Ruya-e-Sadiqa (True Vision) in human society (there is also a poem by this title in his collection Zameen Zameen). Even now, Akhtar ul Iman smiles in his creative wasteland, carrying true visions in his satchel, calling out: Take a dream, take a dream!