As you refuse

to own them –

the illegitimate words

that fertilized in the womb

of my mind,

(when your thoughts persuaded

my passion to produce

love poems)

I’ll throw them at your face,

I’ll taint you,

I’ll hand you the guilt

of their birth out of wedlock

if I’m ridiculed for their creation

this time again.

In Pushto by Rahim Majrooh

Translation by Syed Aadil Omer

I’ve always thought,
If nothing else,
but at least in the matter of love
all the comely people in the world
wouldn’t have any sense of deprivation.
They would be thorougly self-sufficient
with abundance of love for them; they would
be happy in possession of this treasure
without any complain or displeasure,

for they are adored by all;
they rule over the hearts of the people.
They are eagerly awaited wherever they go
as people hold them in high affection;
they are treated with special care.
Every set of eyes admire their beauty.
People even spend their entire
lives to fulfill their wishes.
All the admiration, the veneration
is reserved for them.
They are considered the weakness
of every human being;
their chin-moles have been deemed
wealtheir than Samarqand and Bukhara.
Even kings behave like courtiers
at their doors-steps;
They are dedicated books,
and building are built on their names.
They are the fairies
of the imagination of poets;
they are the princesses
of the dreams of painters.
To meet even a single of their wishes
some are ready to stake
their lives while others could forsake
their entire surroundings and faiths.

Hence I think,
in the matter of love,
all the beauteous in the world
wouldn’t have any sense of deprivation;
they would be self-content in love,
but nay, it isn’t the case!

One can’t fathom the depth of a sea
standing afar on the shore.
The elegance, no matter how charming therewith
they might seem,
like the proud fairies of Koh e Qaaf,
or how reckless or ruthless they might look ,
they also breathe in the very world which we inhabit.
And this world is all but the name
of a trial; of desires, of the dreams unfulfilled.

So, the handsomes too carry in their hearts
a number of wastelands like that of a moon.
They too pass through the phases
of several heartbreaks, like that of a flowerbud
before smiling into a full bloom.
They too melt in the flames of their own selves
like that of a candle.
They could be in likeness to a parched shore
that breaks into cracks in waiting
of the arrival of favourable tides;
and like a phoenix
they burn in to ashes.

This blog is a beast
as it craves and craves to eat
thought after a poor thought
of my famished mind;
since I’m a person very kind,
I don’t hesitate to feed
it with trans-creations
of the others’ mind
to help it grow
with its greedy ways ..

The Decision

I too gave up

the desire to reach the shore.

I too resigned myself

to the rising tides.

I discarded the crutches of reliance.

I gathered the pieces

of my shattered self.

I stitched my shirt

[which was torn by passion]

from neck to bottom,

because,

I too was a human after all.

How long would I’ve fought

your perpetual indifference

with a handicapped self.

How long would I’ve watered

the arid land

of our relation

with the bucketfuls of my tears.

How long would I’ve blown

to ignite the extinguished coal

of your feelings;

of your passion.

How long would I’ve kept

afresh, the flowers of hope

in the vase of false expectations.

How long would I’ve burnt

my blood instead of oil

in the candles, that I kept lit

in waiting for you.

How long would I’ve searched

my traceless self

like a child,

in the lane of your memories.

I too was a human, after all;

I grew exhausted at last.

I could no longer carry

the burden of formalities

and excessive mannerism

over the feeble shoulders

of endurance;

I couldn’t make the sound

of a clap with a single palm.

I couldn’t won the battle of fate

with the power of mere tact.

Hence, I consulted my heart

and decided at last, that,

(To you be your way,

and to me mine*)

* Sura Alkafirun/ 109:6 of the Holy Quran

The gifts of Globalization are many, so are its curses like colonization, wars and monopolies but since I’m sick of the wars and violence around, I deemed it appropriate to resort to poetry. Incidentally, the name of the below translated poem is also ‘Globalization’ which thankfully is having a different context.

In this modern age of Globalization

The distances have so shrunk

In a manner,

That these seem unreal

Like a dream,

Or like a mere figment

Of one’s imagination.

People in the world

Have become so close

As those living in a village

Or in a same little house.

But you and I,

The eternal unfortunates,

Are dwelling in the same city

For years,

Without a contact,

Without a relation.

We are so oblivious

Of the whereabouts of each other.

What sort of a cave,

Of the times bygone is that

Wherein we are resting?

Which kind of a season,

Or times we expect

And are waiting for?

‘Cheeni kum’ a stirring Bollywood flick released a couple of years back was quite an aberration with its unique story line where the 64 yeas old Buddha Dev Gupta (played by Amitabh Bachan) falls in love with a girl 30 years younger his age, Nina Verma (played by Tabbu).

Unlike the headlines of the scarcity of commodities like Flour and Electricity which we’ve grown used to, the recent addition of Sugar to the list of shortages makes one wonder at the aberration since Sugar is something we are self sufficient in producing.

So, where there is ‘Cheeni Kum’ the scenario is a peculiar one

The flowers on your

embroidered dopatta would

remain fresh,

(like the ones I would place

in your locks)

soaked in the midnight rains

of your eyes;

now, sighs, that formed

the thick rain-clouds

are no more to rise

as you trample the wilted

leaves of our blooming love

evoking thoughts

of an autumn that came too soon

P.S: I was taken by a pleasant surprise to see a publication after quite some time.

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I had planned to celebrate an anticipated win with a post here but I was jolted to the reality that wishes aren’t horses and that it takes the nerves of steal, discipline on the field and a Captain who leads by an example to prevail in tough matches like the Champions Trophy Semifinal.

There were a multitude of reasons for our failure, the foremost being our inept middle order led by an under performing captain. Its high time our selectors unearthed gems like Umer Akmal and get rid of mere reputations so that we get rid of the heart breaks that we experience from the failure of our batting lineup on a permanent basis.

Since I have not been able to write my mind of late, I’ve found it apt to try and translate someone else’, so here ’s another R.K. Majrooh poem that might make to a collection of my translations to be included in his upcoming book of Pushto poetry.

la sta da ishq awo sta da meeney peeryan

ma na kooz shawe na dee

la sta da husn talismi asar na

za rawataley na yem

la me da wasl loogharhana tanda

yawa zara hum mata shawey na da

la me da shauq da lewantob abaseen

kha pa ghorzang rawan de

la me da zrha pa khudadad mumlikat

sta da yadoono raaj de

la da ghwagoono pa gumbad ke zama

sta da painzo awo da bangrho shranga da

la me da stargo da banho pa asman

da speno okhko kehkashan zaleegi

sara da de che pa safar ke da jwand

dasey muqam ta rasedaley yema

charta che da da mayentob khabarey

charta che da da lewantob khabarey

hess ehmiat na laree

hess haisiat na laree

dere sat-hee awo beymanee khkareegi

da qadar warho da qeemati asasey

koota seekey khkareegi

da hosh awo aqal Guantanamo Bay ke

bandey aksar mastey jazbey khkareegi

nu oos insaf pa ta de, waya kana!

che ta zama da lewantob de kaifiat ta aakhir

kom tanazur ke gorey

da taalluq da paidara awo zangarey jazba

ta da maayar pa koma tala taley ..

I’m still haunted

by the ghosts of your love

I’m not yet out of the trance

of your beauty

My lips are still parched

with the thirst of your union

The tides of my passion

still rise with the same ferosity

Your thoughts are still there

to rule over the land of my heart

The music of your anklets and bangles

still chime in my ears

A galaxy of crystalline tears still shines

on the tips of my lashes,

Though I’ve reached a certain place

in the journey of life, where

things like love and passion seem all

but shallow and meaningless;

where all those treasured assets

of the esteemed lovers

feel like useless coins,

like the fervor of love

imprisioned in the Guantanamo Bay

of reason,

yet I ask you, love, to judge by yourself!

How do you look at the state of my ardour?

Whats your criteria to discern

the strength and distinction of

my feelings for you?

In Pushto: Rahim Khan Majrooh

1) Ya kha buzdil ya kha ashna de zama

che pa maray zama charha teravee

awo zaroorat mehsoosavi da naqab

He is either a friend or a coward to extreme

While slitting my throat

He feels the need to cover his face

2) za che tarsou na wom panah la kali

ma che har sou warey pa sha okatal

da bam pa sar sra lupata khwazeda

Until I left the proximity of village

Every time I looked back

A red veil fluttered on top of the roof

Wishing you all a very happy Eid Mubarak, in advance!

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