Gazal

 बहुत पहले से हम बातिल हुए हैं

गये गुज़रों में अब शामिल हुए हैं

हमारे शहर ने हम को ना माना

तभी जंगल में हम दाखिल हुए हैं

अजब मजबूरियों से घिर गए थे

जनाब आप उस सबब कामिल हुए हैं  

चले आओ हमारा दिल बड़ा है

अगर्चे आप अब क़ातिल हुए हैं

अभी कितनी बची है धूप बाकी

सफ़ीने भी सू-ए-साहिल हुए हैं

अभी तक बन चुका होगा समंदर

सराबा~ जिस में ग़म शामिल हुए हैं

Critique

This ghazal announces its own erasure before it even begins. _Bahut pehle se hum baatil hue hain / gaye guzron me ab shaamil hue hain_ is not a metaphor for sadness, it is a status report. The speaker counts himself among the departed while still speaking. That first declaration sets the temperature for everything that follows. There is no hope of recovery here, only the inventory of what was lost.

The second couplet gives that erasure a location. _Humaare shehar ne hum ko na maana / tabhi jungle me hum daakhil hue hain_. The city’s refusal is stated as fact, not complaint. The jungle is not freedom, it is the place you go when the human world closes its doors. The logic is plain and merciless. This restraint is what keeps the ghazal within the classical frame. Grief is presented, not performed.

The third couplet is where the poem turns personal and sharp. _Ajab majbooriyon se ghir gaye thay / janaab, aap us sabab kaamil hue hain_. The beloved is not blamed for cruelty, but credited with completion. Your perfection, it says, was assembled out of my compulsions. The word janaab holds the line courteous while the meaning cuts deep. This is how traditional ghazal handles accusation, by folding it into civility.

Then comes the couplet that carries both welcome and indictment in one breath. _Chale aao humaara dil bada hai / agarche aap ab qaatil hue hain_. The heart remains open even after the beloved becomes a killer. 'Agarche' does the crucial work here. It lets hospitality and charge sit together without cancelling each other. The line does not beg or threaten. It just records the contradiction that love leaves behind.

The final two couplets widen the scope from the personal to the elemental. _Abhi kitni bachi hai dhoop baaki / safeene bhi soo e saahil hue hain_ measures time by sunlight and turns ships toward the shore. The journey is ending, and the speaker is counting what is left. The maqta completes the argument through the takhallus. _Abhi tak ban chuka hoga samandar/ saraaba jis me gham shaamil hue hain_. A mirage forms only when grief mixes into the sea. The poet uses his own name to say he became an illusion the moment the water turned undrinkable.

Taken together the ghazal is austere and consistent. The diction is simple, the Persian words like baatil, qaatil, saahil, saraaba build a single mood of desolation. Each couplet stands alone, yet all of them speak to the same condition of being declared void by the self, by the city, by the beloved, by time. Nothing feels extra, and no emotion feels half said. If there is a limitation, it is that the sorrow is so unrelieved that the reader gets little space to breathe. But perhaps that is the point. Once you are baatil, there is not much air left anyway.