The Beauteous Too, Live In The Same World ..

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.

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Excuse me, for yet another translation!

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

Another translation ..

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?