SAM Ruh

Finding Inspiration in Shayari/Poetry

Shayari and Poetry has always held a special place in my heart. The beauty of the verses inspires me deeply and offers comfort in the realization that there are others out there who feel just as deep as I do. It's a reminder that we are not alone; our emotions unite us in ways that transcend the ordinary. Poets and Shayars possess a unique sensitivity, a profound emotional depth that often sets them apart from the crowd. They capture feelings in a way that resonates with our innermost thoughts and experiences. Their words can heal, motivate, and even lift our spirits when we need it most. Here are a few lines that often inspire me and drive me to put pen to paper:

dil nā-umīd to nahīñ nākām hī to hai
lambī hai ġham kī shaam magar shaam hī to hai

hazāroñ ḳhvāhisheñ aisī ki har ḳhvāhish pe dam nikle
bahut nikle mire armān lekin phir bhī kam nikle

I have countless desires, and each desire feels so intense it could take my breath away. Many of my wishes did come true, yet they still feel too few. The couplet captures the endlessness of human wanting: desires are so overpowering that each seems life-draining. Even when some dreams are fulfilled, satisfaction remains out of reach, because the heart keeps multiplying new demands. The metaphor of “breath leaving” intensifies the emotional weight of longing and exhaustion.

marte haiñ aarzū meñ marne kī
maut aatī hai par nahīñ aatī

I am dying from the sheer intensity of my desire to die. Death feels like it is arriving constantly, yet it never actually comes to end the suffering. This couplet captures a profound paradox of suffering where life becomes so unbearable that the poet longs for death as a release. The irony lies in the wordplay: he is 'dying' (suffering intensely) in his wait for death, creating a state of perpetual agony where the relief of actual death remains elusive despite seeming imminent.

Dartā huuñ dekh kar dil-e-be-ārzū ko maiñ
sunsān ghar ye kyuuñ na ho mehmān to gayā

I feel afraid when I look at my heart that has no wishes left. Why wouldn’t this house be deserted when the guest has already gone? Dagh Dehlvi equates the heart with a home whose liveliness depends on a “guest” called desire/hope. When longing leaves, the inner world turns silent and abandoned. The speaker’s fear is not of solitude itself, but of becoming so resigned that even wanting something feels impossible.