By Zulfiqar Naqvi
Rafiq Raaz occupies a distinguished and commanding position in the literary and cultural history of Kashmir. Born in 1950 in Kashmir, he emerged as a poet and intellectual at a time when Urdu and Kashmiri literatures were undergoing significant aesthetic and ideological transformation. After completing his post-graduation in Urdu he joined All India Radio, where he served with distinction in various creative and administrative capacities. His professional career culminated in his elevation to the prestigious post of Station Director and he attained superannuation in 2010 as Station Director, Radio Kashmir Srinagar. Alongside his institutional responsibilities, he sustained an unwavering commitment to literary creation and cultural thought.
Rafiq Raaz has nearly a dozen collections of poetry to his credit, written in both Urdu and Kashmiri that reflects his deep rootedness in Kashmiri linguistic culture as well as his national and international literary reach. His Kashmiri poetry is noted for its cultural authenticity, emotional depth and lyrical intensity while his modern Urdu poetry, marked by metaphysical inquiry, existential self-reflection, symbolic complexity and linguistic precision has earned him wide recognition across the country and beyond. His major poetic works include Anhaar, Mishraaq, Dastataiz, Nakhl-e-Aab, which collectively demonstrate the depth and maturity of his poetic vision.
A major milestone in Rafiq Raaz’s literary career was the conferment of the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1995 which was awarded for his Kashmiri poetry, making him one of the most significant Kashmiri poetic voices to receive this national honor. He has also been conferred the Jammu and Kashmir State Award for his contributions to Kashmiri literature. These recognitions affirm his stature as a bilingual poet whose work bridges regional specificity and national literary standards.
Equally important is Rafiq Raaz’s association with Urdu literary modernism. His poems were being published in Shabkhoon, the influential modernist journal edited by Shamsur Rahman Faruqi. His inclusion in Shabkhoon which was a journal known for its rigorous aesthetic discipline and commitment to Jadeediyat (Modernism), places Raaz among the foremost modernist poets of Urdu, attesting to the intellectual seriousness, formal control and symbolic depth of his poetry.
In addition to poetry, Rafiq Raaz has written dozens of radio plays, many of which are distinguished by their psychological insight, dramatic economy and social sensitivity. His long association with radio significantly shaped his literary sensibility that helped him sharpening his awareness of voice, silence, rhythm and structure.
Today, Rafiq Raaz is widely regarded as a towering personality of language and literature in Kashmir. Rooted in Kashmiri cultural consciousness yet intellectually aligned with the broader currents of modernist thought, his poetry especially his modern Urdu verse has secured him a lasting reputation at the national and international levels. His work stands as a testament to the enduring power of serious, disciplined and philosophically engaged literature.
Now we try to discuss some of his verses to validate our claim.
“Bas yahi hai mere hone ka jawaaz aur suraagh,
Ik na hone se mian, bar sar-e-paikaar hu’n mein.”
(My friends, I am constantly engaged in a struggle against non-existence and this is the only justification and trace of my existence.)
The couplet asserts that the poet’s existence is not defined by passive survival but is embedded in his resistance to forces that seek to erase or diminish him. He locates both the (suraagh) trace or source and the (jawaaz) justification of his being in this very struggle. In other words, his life derives meaning and legitimacy from opposing to those rival forces that threaten human dignity and individual consciousness. These forces might be the realities of an ill-managed social system, entrenched injustice, political chaos, moral confusion and historical pressures that constantly push the individual toward silence and insignificance. The poet is constantly fighting against such forces to secure his existence.
What lends exceptional strength to the couplet is the poet’s economy of expression. With minimal words he compresses a complete ideological position into two lines. The struggle is suggested rather than elaborated, allowing the verse to remain open to multiple contexts without losing clarity. The careful selection of words such as “jawaaz”, “suraagh” and “bar-sar-e-paikaar” reflects a precise linguistic intelligence. Each term carries philosophical, ethical and emotional weight. There is no excess, no ornamentation but only a disciplined alignment of language and thought.
This restraint reveals the poet’s command over language. He does not argue his ideology. Instead he embodies it in diction. The verse thus becomes a quiet yet forceful declaration of resistance where existence itself is transformed into an act of defiance. Meaning is not inherited or granted but earned through conscious engagement with the forces that threaten to negate the self.
“Raakh ke dhair mein shola hai koi raqsaa’n,
Mere ander hai abhi tak koi inkaari.”
(There is a flame still dancing in the heap of ashes; within me, even now, there lives a dissenter.)
In this couplet, the poet creates a striking and symbolic image of apparent annihilation followed by inner resistance. He presents himself as someone who has been reduced to ashes creating an image that signifies complete destruction, defeat or exhaustion brought about by the prevalent social hostile forces. Yet, within this heap of ashes, the poet discovers a dancing spark. This spark becomes the most powerful proof of survival, not in a physical sense but in an ideological and spiritual one. The flame here is also depicted as dancing (raqsaa’n) and not static. This movement suggests vitality, consciousness and defiance. It indicates that even after total devastation the inner self has not surrendered. The word refusal (inkaari) is also very crucial here. It signifies a deliberate rejection of defeat, submission and imposed silence. The poet’s negation is not loud or aggressive but quietly persistent, glowing within ruin itself.
The verse carries a philosophy that the true defeat occurs only when resistance dies. As long as the spark of refusal remains alive, destruction is incomplete. Even ashes contain the potential for fire which is enough to unsettle the victor. This transforms the image into a warning that what appears extinguished may still hold the power to rise again.
The verse also carries a mystic dimension. In mystical thought, annihilation (fanā) is often a precondition for a higher form of being. The survival of the flame within ashes suggests an inner essence that cannot be destroyed by external forces. The self, stripped of form and matter reveals its indestructible core. Thus, the verse is not only about resistance but about transcendence through which the poet survives ruin and draws strength from it. In just two lines, the poet conveys an entire philosophy of resilience, negation and inner sovereignty. Even after being reduced to nothing, he refuses to accept erasure. His dissent survives and that dissent alone is sufficient to rekindle the fire.
“Dekh kar wus’at-e-sehara-e-tapaa’n larzaa’n hun,
Sahil-e-deeda-e-namnaak pe thehra hua mein.”
(Seeing the vastness of the burning desert, I tremble and stand paused on the shore of a tear-filled eye.)
Here the poet presents a finely balanced image of vastness and fragility in which the poet situates the self between an overwhelming external reality and an intensely intimate inner state. The burning desert (Sehra-e-tapaa’n) symbolizes an immense, harsh and unforgiving world. Confronted with this immensity, the poet confesses to trembling. The word (larzaa’n) conveys not only fear but a deep existential unease which is the recognition of one’s smallness before an expansive and hostile reality. But against this intimidating vastness the poet places himself at an unexpected location which he terms as “Sahil-e-Namnaak”—the shore of a moist eye. This is a remarkably original metaphor. The eye filled with tears becomes an ocean and the poet stands on its shore. The image suggests that his position is neither fully immersed in despair nor detached from it and is paused at the edge of sorrow holding himself in a moment of emotional suspension. The word “thehra hua” indicates firmness and restraint suggesting conscious control over emotion despite inner turbulence.
The beauty of the couplet lies in this contrast. On one side is the infinite burning desert while on the other is the moist eye which is small, human and vulnerable. The poet’s existence is poised between these two extremes. The verse reflects a philosophy of the modern existential awareness. The poet does not dramatize his suffering and instead registers it with controlled intensity. He acknowledges vulnerability without collapsing into it. There is also a subtle mystic undertone. The poet is standing on a threshold between endurance and surrender, silence and expression but remains conscious, watchful and firm. Through minimal words and highly suggestive imagery the poet transforms a personal emotional moment into a universal condition. The couplet becomes a meditation on how the sensitive self confronts an overwhelming world—trembling, yet still holding its ground at the edge of the ocean of the tears.
“Mein pani tha, suraj ghoor raha tha mujhe,
Kya karta, bebas tha , baadal hone tak.”
(I was water, under the relentless gaze of the sun; helpless, until the moment I turned into a cloud.)
This verse is a striking metaphor of helplessness, endurance and transformation expressed with a remarkable simplicity and depth. The poet presents himself as water that is vulnerable and formless. While the sun stands as a powerful and dominant force staring relentlessly at him. This gaze of the sun suggests pressure, authority, destiny or an oppressive system that the individual cannot confront directly. The phrase “ghoor raha thaا” intensifies this pressure which indicates that it is not merely shining but staring, watching and exerting control. As water, the poet admits his helplessness. He asks rhetorically, “kya karta”—what could I do? This question carries resignation without despair because water in no way can fight the sun. It can neither escape nor resist through confrontation. Instead, it must endure the heat. The phrase “bebasا” highlights the lack of agency, portraying a condition where resistance in conventional terms is impossible.
Yet the couplet does not end in defeat. The transformation “baadal hone tak” introduces the central philosophical idea of becoming. Through sustained exposure and suffering water eventually rises and becomes a cloud. This transformation is not immediate and not chosen but is gradual and inevitable. It is a natural and scientific process. The poet thus suggests that endurance itself is a form of resistance. Survival lies not in opposing power head-on but in allowing time and pressure to alter one’s state of being. And when this transformation is completed and water takes the form of clouds, it exhibits its power in the form of heavy rain to wash away all its enemies. The poet through these two apparently simple lines silently teaches a lesson to all the sufferers to wait and watch the result of their endurance. Philosophically, the verse also reflects a modern and mystic sensibility at once. The linguistic excellence of the poet is evident. The poet uses everyday natural elements like water, sun and cloud to convey a complex vision of helplessness, patience and transcendence.
“Chashma-e-chashm ke pani se nahi ho ga Kuchh,
Khaak-e-sehra hai, issy khoo’n ki zarurat hai bohat.”
(Nothing will be achieved with the water of the eye’s spring (tears); this is the dust of the desert—it needs blood.)
In this powerful couplet, the poet deliberately moves beyond the conventional imagery of tears that dominates much of classical Urdu poetry. The spring of the eye “Chashma-e-chashm” refers to tears symbolizing emotion, grief, sympathy and passive suffering. The poet firmly states that such tears will achieve nothing. Mere lamentation, however sincere, is inadequate in the face of vast and harsh realities.
The dust of the desert “khaak-e-sehra” represents an immense, barren and unforgiving condition. It is a strong metaphor of the prevalent social decay, injustice or existential barrenness. The poet says that a desert cannot be softened or transformed by a few tears. Its scale and severity demand something far more intense. Hence, the shocking yet deliberate assertion that it requires blood conveys total commitment, sacrifice and the willingness to risk oneself so as to change the scenario. The poet is not glorifying any violence. It is an explicit allusion to “Karbala” symbolizing sacrifice rather than surrender. The verse also carries a modern ethical urgency and criticizes passive empathy to expose the limitations of emotional excess without action. At the same time, the starkness of the imagery gives the couplet a tragic gravity that transformation is possible but it is never painless. With remarkable economy of language the poet delivers a complete philosophical stance that action values over sentiment, sacrifice over spectacle and commitment over consolation.
“Aye ga koi, khole ga band-e-qaba-e-harf,
De ga nijaat kaaghazi poshaak se mujhe.”
(Someone will come and unfasten the robe of words to set me free from my paper-bound form.)
It is a profound metaphysical statement in which the poet reflects on the nature of language, poetry and the fate of meaning itself. At the surface level the poet expresses a quiet hope that someone will come to open the “band-e-qaba-e-harf” the clasp of the robe of words but in a deeper sense the poet anticipates a reader, a critic or even time itself to decipher his verses. Words are imagined as clothed, wrapped and fastened suggesting that meaning is hidden, restrained and not immediately accessible. Language, therefore, is not transparent. It conceals as much as it reveals. Only a sensitive and intellectually alert reader can loosen this clasp and release what lies within. In the second line the poet clears this idea by portraying the poem as trapped in a “kaaghazi poshaak”—a paper garment. The poet longs for liberation from this material confinement. True poetry, he suggests does not reside in paper but in understanding, interpretation and lived response. The verse philosophically also expresses a modern anxiety about language’s insufficiency. Words can imprison meaning when they become mere symbols or objects, detached from consciousness. Liberation occurs only when language is activated by insight. Thus meaning is not self-sufficient and requires participation. Rafiq Raaz’s claim is genuine as his poetry is very dense and multilayered which needs a comprehensive reading to understand the pragmatic philosophy of the poet, the metaphors, similes, images and symbolic usage of the language.
“Jalte rehna bhi hai dewaar pe fanoos ke bin,
Be zirah maarka-e-baad bhi sar karna hai.”
(I have to keep burning on the wall without a lantern and have to win the battle against the wind without any armor.)
The verse articulates a powerful philosophy of vulnerability, endurance, and ethical courage, conveyed through vivid yet economical imagery.
The image of a lamp burning on a wall without a lantern is central to the couplet. A lantern normally protects the flame from wind; without it, the flame is fully exposed and constantly threatened with extinction. By choosing this image, the poet presents himself as someone who must continue to give light while remaining unshielded. The act of “jalte rehna” (to keep burning) implies persistence and self-sacrifice. Illumination here stands for truth, awareness, or moral clarity, and the wall suggests public visibility. The poet’s light is not hidden; it is exposed to danger, scrutiny, and erasure.
The second line intensifies this vulnerability. To enter the “ma‘raka-e-baad”—the battlefield of wind—without armor (be-zirah) is to accept danger knowingly. Wind, like hostile forces, ideology, or chaos, is invisible yet destructive. It cannot be fought with conventional weapons. The poet’s declaration that he must still conquer this battle suggests a commitment to resistance even when protection is absent and victory uncertain.
Philosophically, the couplet asserts that integrity and resistance demand exposure. True ethical or artistic commitment does not seek safety. The poet does not ask for armor or shelter; instead, he accepts fragility as the condition of meaningful action. This aligns with a modernist and mystic sensibility in which strength arises not from defense but from endurance.
In terms of craft, the poet’s mastery lies in his precise choice of images. Fire, lantern, wall, wind, armor—each word carries symbolic weight, yet the couplet remains free of excess. With minimal language, the poet communicates a complete worldview: to remain illuminated, to confront hostile forces directly, and to persist despite the certainty of risk.
Ultimately, the couplet transforms vulnerability into moral courage. It presents a vision of resistance where to burn unprotected and to face the storm without armor becomes not a weakness, but the highest form of strength.
“Lafzu mein utarne ka hunar seekh raha hun,
Khatre mein hain alfaaz ke seenu’n mein dafeene.”
(I am learning the art of going down into words; the treasures buried in the chests of words are in danger.)
Once again the poet turns his attention to language itself and is determined to read between the lines. The phrase “lafzon mein utarne ka hunar” is highly suggestive. To “go deep into words” implies that words are not flat or transparent. Instead they have depth, layers and hidden chambers. Meaning does not lie on the surface but must be reached through effort, discipline and sensitivity. The poet presents himself not as a master but as a learner who is still acquiring the skill to enter language fully. This humility strengthens the seriousness of his poetic commitment. The second line introduces urgency and anxiety. The “treasures buried in the chests of words” symbolize meanings, truths and experiences that language carries within itself. These treasures are described as being “in danger,” suggesting that careless usage, ideological distortion, mechanical repetition or emotional shallowness threatens to destroy or bury them beyond recovery. Words, once emptied of depth become lifeless signs.
Philosophically, the couplet asserts that poetry is an ethical act. To write is not merely to arrange words but to rescue meaning from decay. The poet’s task is to protect, uncover and preserve the inner wealth of language. There is also a modernist anxiety here that in an age of excess speech and diminished meaning, words themselves are at risk.
Ultimately, the couplet positions the poet as a guardian of meaning, someone aware that language can die if not handled with depth and honesty.
“Tamam nakhl-e-samardaar ukhadh gaye jadh se,
Yahan se mosam-e-rahat faza ne hijrat ki.”
(All the fruit-bearing trees have been uprooted from their very roots and the season of ease has migrated from here.)
In this couplet, the poet presents a landscape of total deprivation through two precise and restrained images. The uprooting of all fruit-bearing trees signifies the destruction of sustaining forces which constitute the source of nourishment, stability and continuity. By emphasizing that they have been torn out from the roots, the poet suggests a loss so complete that the possibility of natural recovery is severely undermined. What once provided life and comfort has been erased at its origin.
The second line deepens this sense of loss by stating that “mosam-e-rahat” the season of ease, comfort and normalcy has migrated from this place. The use of (hijrat) is especially significant. It implies a forced, prolonged and perhaps irreversible departure. Ease has not merely faded or ended with time. It has been rather compelled to leave. The poet thus conveys that comfort is no longer compatible with the conditions prevailing in the world. The verse creates a unified vision of collective and enduring hardship. The suffering has been described symbolically through a fine imagery that suggests social breakdown, prolonged injustice or a crisis so deep that both sustenance and solace have disappeared. Without overt lament or accusation, the poet allows the absence itself to speak a profound expression of loss and displacement worldwide.
“Gir kar bulandiyu se sambhalta hai aap hi,
Mujh ko pasand hai Yeh ada aabshaar ki.”
(Falling from great heights, it regains itself on its own; I admire this quality of the waterfall.)
This couplet employs the image of a waterfall to articulate a philosophy of dignified recovery. A waterfall plunges from great heights, an act that outwardly resembles a fall or a collapse. Yet this fall is neither an end nor a failure. The water gathers itself again and continues its flow. The poet highlights this self-restorative movement as an ideal way for his fellow human beings. The phrase “sambhalta hai aap hi” is crucial as it suggests that recovery comes from within without external support or intervention. An optimistic approach has been portrayed by the poet very artistically through the image of waterfall and its self-restorative inner strength. This becomes a metaphor for the poet’s preferred attitude toward adversity where to fall is to regain balance independently and continue forward. There is also a subtle mystic resonance in the image. In mystical thought, descent often precedes ascent and dissolution becomes a stage of renewal. The poet with simple and familiar imagery successfully communicates a complex philosophy of endurance and dignity. The language is unadorned, yet the meaning is expansive.
T0 sum up, these verses decisively establish Rafiq Raaz as a poet for whom metaphor and imagery are not ornamental devices but the very core of poetic thought. Across the selected couplets, existence repeatedly appears as a condition of struggle, endurance and moral awareness articulated through images drawn from nature and everyday experience such as: ash and flame, desert and tears, water and sun, blood and dust, lantern and wind, words and buried treasures, uprooted trees and the self-renewing waterfall. Each metaphor is carefully chosen, economical and intellectually charged, allowing the poet to compress vast philosophical, social and mystic concerns into a few restrained lines. The images never remain static rather they enact processes like, burning, trembling, evaporating, transforming, migrating, recovering, all suggesting that life itself is movement rather than stasis.
What distinguishes Raaz’s imagery is its layered suggestiveness. On the surface the metaphors remain simple and accessible but beneath this simplicity lies a dense network of meanings. His ash still shelters fire, his helpless water becomes a cloud, his tears confront an unforgiving desert, his exposed flame continues to burn against the wind and even his words conceal endangered treasures. Through such images, Raaz articulates a philosophy that rejects passivity and sentimentality and instead insists on conscious engagement, sacrifice, patience and inner sovereignty.
Equally significant is the poet’s linguistic craft. Raaz achieves depth not through excess but through restraint. His diction is precise, his metaphors disciplined and his tone controlled. Ideology is never argued overtly but is embedded within imagery and allowed to emerge through suggestion. This disciplined alignment of language and thought gives his poetry a quiet authority and enduring resonance. The reader is invited not merely to admire the images but to enter them, interpret them and participate in the meaning they generate.
In short, Rafiq Raaz’s poetry reveals a coherent metaphoric vision in which human existence is defined by resistance, endurance and renewal. His images illuminate the modern condition while retaining a mystic depth that gestures toward transcendence beyond ruin. It is this sustained, intelligent and philosophically grounded use of metaphor and imagery that firmly justifies viewing Rafiq Raaz as a master craftsman of modern Urdu poetry.
