One of the finest contemporary Balochi poets, Munir Momin is widely revered for his sublime art of poetry. Meticulously crafted images, fresh metaphors, linguistic finesse and his profound aesthetic sense earned him a distinguished place in Balochi literature. His poetry speaks through images, more than words. Hardly, any contemporary Balochi poet has ever employed images so beautifully as Munir Momin has done with such ease. In the early days of his poetry his language was more complex and laced with intricacies that rendered his thoughts a tad vague and indistinct. However, with the course of time, it evolves and become inimitably simple. Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political moment. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life. Immenseness of his imagination and his mastery over language rescued his poetry from becoming the part of any mundane narrative. So far Momin has published six collections of his poetry. They include Nigaah-e-Baatin-e-Safar, Daryaa Chankey Hoshaam Inth, Istaal Shapaada Gardanth, Paas Janaan Inth Darwaazag, Bicheeley Azmaan and Payaapein Lachchahy Paththo. The latter is the collection of his prose poems. Momin divides his time between Pasni and Gwadar Balochistan. He also edits a literary journal Gidár. Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political moment. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life The Earth & the Sea The sea, A scrawled evidence of sails And the earth A song chanted by the wind On the wedding of trees. Every night You stay awake hopping for the moment When the wind falls asleep And you’d turn all your yearnings into a bird And let it fly. To decipher the script of my thirst, I’ve gulped down the flames of my lamps. But I know, The moment the sails come out of their slumber, The sea will banish all its waves. You know as well The earth begins right from the spot Where tired birds end their flight. In the Middle of a Tryst In the void of our separation A day can break A night can sleep A city can rest A dream can bloom But this solitude, which is a sleeping soldier, Would vanquish like the sadness over a snuffed-out lamp Far from the threshold of our hope Someone’s imagination sprouts fireflies Where wind plays with pearls And moon is a drop of honey But in a farther premonition The entire world is a dead street Neither you exist nor I Neither a day nor a night Neither any memory of the moon nor a dead firefly Not even an encounter in the darkness Not even a lament over a broken promise In the void of our separation There was a bird that flew away In the void of our separation There was a needle Got lost. You are Beautiful You are beautiful Than every elusive moment of happiness Than every hour of unrelenting grief You are beautiful Than the stained robe of the night Than the sacredness of dawn You are beautiful Than the truth That is the climax of all desires Than the lamp that has drifted off in night-streets And can’t make it back to the day You are beautiful Than the lie Every day, I fabricate and unfold to myself In the name of your love You are beautiful Than me, than my hope You are beautiful Than yourself, Than your beauty. The writer is a lecturer at the Government Atta Shad Degree College and can be reached at fazalbaloch144@gmail.com Published in Daily Times, August 15th 2017.