on Children's day a poem, a thought, a wish

Rosh Hashanah

Even after the murder

of the child Muhammad on Rosh Hashanah,

the paper didn’t go black.

In the same water in which the snipers

wash their uniforms,

I prepare my pasta,

and over it pour

olive oil in which I’ve browned

pine nuts,

which I cooked for two minutes with dried tomatoes,

crushed garlic, and a tablespoon of basil.

As I eat, the learned minister of foreign affairs

and public security

appears on the screen,

and when he’s done

I write this poem.

For that’s how it’s always been –

the murderers murder,

the intellectuals make it palatable,

and the poet sings.

Rosh Hashanah by Aharon Shabtai

(translated from the Hebrew by Peter Cole)

tomorrow we'll be celebrating the Children's Day in India. but do we even think of the world we are creating for them? and let's not blame 'others' for it... be it politicians, big businesses or terrorists or other countries or races or religions or anyone we don't like. it is 'we' who are the world today and what we do now will become the future as well. hatred won't heal, indifference won't help, doing something about it all will.

may the world be a better place to live for children, the next time their day arrives. *amen*

At the IGA: Franklin, New Hampshire

This is where I would shop

if my husband worked felling trees

for the mill, hurting himself badly

from time to time; where I would bring

my three kids; where I would push

one basket and pull another

because the boxes of diapers and cereal 

and gallon milk jugs take so much room.

I would already have put the clothes

in the two largest washers next door

at the Norge Laundry Village. Done shopping,

I'd pile the wet wash in trash bags

and take it home to dry on the line.

And I would think, hanging out the baby's

shirts and sleepers, and cranking the pulley

away from me, how it would be

to change lives with someone,

like the woman who came after us

in the checkout, thin, with lots of rings

on her hands, who looked us over openly.

Things would have been different

if I hadn't let Bob climb on top of me

for ninety seconds in 1979.

It was raining lightly in the state park

and so we were alone. The charcoal fire

hissed as the first drops fell....

In ninety seconds we made this life—

a trailer on a windy hill, dangerous jobs

in the woods or night work at the packing plant;

Roy, Kimberly, Bobby; too much in the hamper,

never enough in the bank.

by Jane Kenyon, from Collected Poems. © Graywolf Press, 2005.

'what if', the biggest question in our lives. i guess a perfect life would be without any 'what if' moments. and i'm so far away from a perfect life! so many things that i wish i could change, say if i'd a time machine, i would definitely have done things differently, prevented many events before they affected me for ever.

but then i pause and think. whatever has happened has made me what i'm today. so if i do change the past, it'll definitely affect my present. and there is one aspect that i would never want to change in this present life. the fact that i've her with me, calms down my mind everytime i've this fantastical urge of going back and changing things.

and this is why i shared this poem with you all today. yes, things could have been different, maybe even better, but then they wouldn't have been what they are today. and all said and done, if you've love in your life today, you've survived all that your past could do. 

because i've love, because i've her, i will live with all the 'what if' moments of the past. what i've is, is so many times more important that what i could have.

एक ख़त टाटा इंडिकॉम के नाम

अभी रहते हैं वो दोनों
दूर एक दूसरे से
दो शहरों का
दो घरों का
फासला है दरम्याँ उनके

बस एक अनदेखी सी डोर है
बांधे रखती है जो उन्हें
डोर बातों की
और बातें दुनियाभर की
आज का दिन कैसा रहा
बातें स्कूल, कॉलेज, ऑफिस, दोस्ती, ज़िन्दगी की

अभी दूर रहते हैं वो दोनों एक दूसरे से
मिल पाते हैं हफ्ते में सिर्फ एक बार
तभी वो लड़का और वो लड़की
रोज़ रात को बात करते हैं फ़ोन पर

तुम अगर 'नेटवर्क' ठीक कर लो थोड़ा और अपना
तो ये डोर टूटे न कभी

i'm entering this poem under the Share Life blogger contest by the newly launched Tata DOCOMO OneTouch Net Phone at IndiBlogger. you can know more about the phone by clicking here. and please do vote for me here if you liked the poem. thanks :)

On the upcoming Ayodhya verdict

A tense, nervous India is waiting for the Ram Janmbhoomi-Babri Masjid land title verdict today. Unprecedented security measures have been taken by the governments at both centre and state levels, political parties have urged their supporters to maintain peace and respect the law of the land, media is spreading messages of peace and brotherhood continuously. Nobody wants a repeat of what happened in '92 and afterwards.

It is an important day for India. Let us remember we are Indians first and then only a Hindu or a Muslim. And as a poet, as a person of faith, as a human being, let me share with you what Kaifi saa'b wrote years ago. More than any day, this nazm is important and relevant for us today...

सोमनाथ

बुतशिकन कोई कहीं से भी न आने पाए

हमने कुछ बुत अभी सीने में सजा रक्खे हैं

अपनी यादों में बसा रखे हैं

दिल पे ये सोच के पथराव करो दीवानों

के जहाँ हमने सनम अपने छिपा रखे हैं

वहीँ गज़नी के खुदा रक्खे हैं

बुत जो टूटे तो किसी तरह बना लेंगे उन्हें

टुकड़े-टुकड़े सही दामन में उठा लेंगे उन्हें

फिर से उजड़े हुए सीने में सजा लेंगे उन्हें

गर खुदा टूटेगा हम तो न बना पाएंगे

उस के बिखरे हुए टुकड़े न उठा पाएंगे

तुम उठा लो तो उठा लो शायद

तुम बना लो तो बना लो शायद

तुम बनाओ तो खुदा जाने बनाओ क्या

अपने जैसा ही बनाया तो क़यामत होगी

प्यार होगा न ज़माने में मुहब्बत होगी

दुश्मनी होगी अदावत होगी

हम से उस की न इबादत होगी

वहशत-ए-बुत-शिकनी देख के हैरान हूँ मैं

बुत-परस्ती मेरा शेवा (आदत) है के इंसान हूँ मैं

इक न इक बुत तो हर एक दिल में छुपा होता है

उस के सौ नामों में एक नाम खुदा होता है

-कैफ़ी आज़मी

Somnath

Let no idol breaker arrive ever

a few idols are preserved in my heart

and in memories old

Before you cast a stone on my heart, o believer! remember

that the hiding place of our loves

and of the God of Ghazni

is the same

Should these idols break, i will recreate them

pick up the pieces, hold them in my arms

and establish them again, in my once vanquished heart

But if it is God that breaks, there will be no re-creation,

and no picking up of the pieces

You, however, may be able to pick up the pieces

and create a new God

But God alone knows of the God you will create

God save the world should He be like you

There will be no love in our world,

Just a lot of hatred, a lot of enmity..

I will not be able to worship that God

I am amazed at this madness of idol breaking

Idol worship is my habit, for a human i am

because every human heart houses an idol

one of the million names of which, is God

-Kaifi Aazmi

thanks to 'How Do We Know' for helping translate it into English

in moments like these

i wrote this in my diary, this Saturday morning. haven't edited it much :)

it is a grey Saturday morning. there is a faint drizzle going on outside for the past two hours or so. i'm waiting for her at home and we've a lot planned up for today.

her phone is unreachable because of the daily worsening Tata network and i've no idea by when she'll be arriving. till then, it is quite a lazy beginning to the day. just had my tulsi-ginger tea and as had been my 'ritual', was searching for Vikram Seth's book of collected poems to savor it with. Swati's Gulzar book caught my eye, but i wanted to read something in English. couldn't find Seth, but found a collection of Tagore's poems translated in English. the first and only one that i've read till now (its been half an hour) is titled 'Gift'. it is about the poet thinking about a true gift to give to his love, his friend. he thinks about many options, like a morning song, an evening light, flowers, gems, but then he feels everything will wither and lose its charm eventually,

"...And fall forgotten to the dust 

To turn into dust"

later, he finds a solution in nature and offers fleeting moments of epiphany's as gifts to them because,

"Truest treasure is fleeting

It sparkles for a moment, then goes

...No hand, nor word can reach it

Friend, whatever you take of it, 

On your own, 

Without asking, without knowing, let that

Be yours.

Anything i can give you is trifling

Be it a flower, or a song."

(you can read the complete poem on my other blog, here) 

it was this poem that prompted me to record these moments here. moments of Shiva's hymn playing in the background (gifted by a dear friend), of green wet parrots creating a ruckus outside in the faint sunshine of a rainy morning, of warm tea and careful unwrapping-wrapping of a packet of biscuits lest they get stale, of a hundred things to do that are now coming back to my mind as the magic of the moment fades but most of all, i wrote here today, for the beauty that carefully chosen words create, as a thanksgiving to God to be allowed this experience and somehow (i don't know how it all connects!), and somehow to tell her, that i love her, that her love is a miracle which i feel coming true in moments like these.

search / खोज

a dear friend and erudite blogger, posted this delicate poem 'Underground' on her blog:

"If you stay underground too long
I’ll send poems to seek you out"

do read the complete poem here: http://southwestsun.wordpress.com/2010/04/03/underground/

inspired by her, n m so glad that she messaged me to visit her page, i wrote this poem. hope you'll like it.

अगर तुम छुपी रहोगी ज्यादा देर
मैं खोजने के लिए तुम्हें, कवितायेँ भेजूंगा अपनी
फिर चाहे तुम छुपी हो सागर में, आकाश में
या पृथ्वी के किसी अबूझे कोने में
ये कवितायेँ ढूंढ ही लेंगी तुम्हें
जैसे सपने ढूंढ लेते हैं आँखों को
...
जैसे पंछी, ढूंढ लेते हैं आसमानों को
...

if you'll stay hidden for long

i'll send my poems to seek you out

then, even if you are hidden in the sea or the sky

or in some unsolved corner of the earth

find you will, these poems of mine

...

like, dreams find the eyes

...

like birds find the skies

चाँद

शिव जी के बालों में टंगा
'हेअर बैंड' के जैसा चाँद

रात के साँवले गाल के ऊपर
आँसू का एक कतरा चाँद

बच्चों के खेलों का मोहरा
कंचों जैसा कंजा चाँद

बिन बिजली के हर गाँव में
'लाइट बल्ब' का सपना चाँद

तनख्वाह वाले रोज की रौनक
ताम्बई सिक्के जैसा चाँद

दिन-भर के भूखे-प्यासे को
रोटी जैसा दिखता चाँद

गर्मी की रातों में अक्सर
छत पर सोता मेरा चाँद

धरती है जो बाँट ली सब ने
बँटा नहीं अभी, अपना चाँद

will try to translate it as i feel it is easier this time :)

its been so long / बहुत दिन हुए अब

बहुत दिन हुए अब
धड़कने नहीं सुनी धरती की, मद्धम
न धूप को छेड़ा, न हवा संग खेला

बहुत दिन हुए अब
बादलों की खेती नहीं की मैंने
न बीज बोए बारिशों के, न फसल काटी सपनों की

बहुत दिन हुए अब
चाँद से बातें नहीं की अपने
न शब्दों को तराशा, न एहसास पिरोये लड़ियों में

पर अब नहीं, अब नहीं
बहुत दिन हो गए अब

translation coming up soon :)
and here it is

its been so long
since i heard the earth's heartbeat faint
neither teased sunshine
nor with the breeze i played

its been so long
since i tilled the clouds
neither sowed the seeds of rains
nor the crop of dreams i reaped

its been so long
since i talked with my love - the moon
either sculpted these words of mine
nor any feelings i strung

but... not anymore, not anymore
been too long it already is

the book / किताब

आकाश और कुछ नहीं
समुद्र है गहरा सा
और पंछी तैरते हैं उसमें
पंख फैलाये

चाँद नीला है
आकाश में डूबे किसी लंगर की तरह
और मेरा वादा है उस से, जब मिलूंगा अगली बार
तो अपनी सबसे प्यारी किताब से कुछ पढ़कर सुनाऊंगा उसे

श श श

अभी मत बताना उसे
की आकाश और समुद्र दोनों से गहरी
और नीले चाँद से ज्यादा रूपहली उसकी आँखों को पढना ही
मुझे सबसे अच्छा लगता है


sky is nothing
but an ocean deep
and birds swim in it
with wings spread out

blue is the moon
like an anchor dropped in this heavenly sea
and i've promised, when i meet her next
will read her some passages from my favorite book

shshsh

don't tell her yet
that deeper than the sky and the sea
and more beautiful than the shimmering moon
it is her eyes, that i love reading most

कल दोपहर मैंने

कल दोपहर मैंने
बसे-बसाये घरों को, उजड़ते देखा
कुछ बेजुबाँ ख्वाबों को बिखरते देखा
कल दोपहर मैंने
एक जवाँ उम्र का गुज़रना देखा
एक साया जो था सरों पर, उठते देखा
कल दोपहर मैंने,
गली के मोड़ पर वो जो एक पेड़ था पीपल का,
कटते देखा

i tried but could not translate it. maybe it cannot be. so here is a brief detail of what the poem tries to convey.
it tells you how last afternoon i saw some homes getting uprooted; some silent dreams being scattered; saw a life snuffed out in its prime and a benevolent presence over our heads leaving us for ever...how the afternoon yesterday, on the corner of my street, i saw a beloved peepal tree getting sawed.

the wanderer / बंजारा

कभी कभी लगता है
के मेरे पैरों का
अपना ही मन है जैसे
कभी भी, कहीं भी
चल पड़ते हैं
इस शरीर को, अपने कांधे उठाये

sometimes i feel
that my feet
have a mind of their own
wherever, whenever
they move on, carrying
this body on their shoulders

poetry as i live it

reading Dushyant Kumar's collection of poems, 'Surya ka Swagat' published by Vani. brought it home from Delhi book fair, in September last year. this is the first poem and it well, literally sums up the poet's (and my) life. i loved it for being so 'me' and on a larger level, being the story of India also. am sure anybody who reads it will identify with the struggle inherent in these words.

अगर इस लड़ाई में मेरी साँसे उखड गयीं,
मेरे बाजु टूट गए,
मेरे चरणों में आंधियों के समूह ठहर गए,
मेरे अधरों पर तरंगाकुल संगीत जम गया,
या मेरे माथे पर शर्म की लकीरें खिंच गयीं,
तो मुझे पराजित मत मानना,

read the complete poem here, on my other blog. please do comment.

after you leave / तेरे जाने के बाद

तेरे जाने के बाद
वापस चल के आता हूँ
उस पूरे रास्ते
जिस पर साथ चले थे हम अभी, थोड़ी देर पहले
एक-एक कर बिखरे लम्हे उठता हूँ
और जेबें भर लेता हूँ अपनी
यहाँ, हम हँसे थे, बिना किसी बात के
यहाँ भाग के सीढियां चढ़े थे, और साँस फूली थी तेरी
और ऐसी ही किसी सीट पर बैठे, कंधे पे सर रखा था तूने मेरे

तेरे जाने के बाद
छोटा सा कमरा खाली लगता है बड़ा
वो जो नहीं पहनी थी तूने खुशियाँ
तह कर के रख देता हूँ वापिस
वो जो लफ्ज़ रह गए थे अनकहे
फिर से टेबल पर सजा देता हूँ
और जो ख्वाब अभी नहीं हुए हैं पूरे
निशाँ लगा के रख लेता हूँ, आगे काम करना है उनपे अभी

.
.
.
तेरे जाने के बाद
आज भी पलकें भीग आती हैं कभी
उस दिन के इंतज़ार में
के जब तू आए, तो तेरा जाना न हो


after you leave
i come back the whole way
which we crossed
a little while ago
picking up scattered moments
i fill my pockets, one by one
here, we laughed, for a reason without
here, we ran up the stairs, and breathless you were
and sitting on a seat like this, you'd put your head on my shoulder

after you leave
this small room, turns big and empty
i fold and keep away
the joys, you didn't wear this time
i keep on the table, once again
the words, that were left unsaid
and bookmark the dreams
that are to be worked upon

.
.
.
after you leave
the eyes still well up sometimes
in wait of the day
when you'll arrive, not to leave again

mothertongue / मातृभाषा

हिन्दी की कविता पढ़ते हुए जब
एक अंजाना शब्द कौंधा मेरे आगे
मैंने ख़ुद से अंग्रेजी में पुछा
"व्हाट इज दिस"
और हंस पड़ा मन ही मन
अपनी बेशर्मी पर


when reading a Hindi poem
an unknown word flashed across my eyes
i asked myself, in English
"what is this"
and chuckled silently
on this impertinence of mine

a song, एक गीत

एक दिन,
मैंने तुम्हारे लिए
एक गीत लिखा

पूरा होते ही
वो स्वतः जीवंत हो उठा
और उसने ख़ुद को
कई भागों में बाँट लिया

एक टुकड़ा दिन बना
एक टुकड़ा रात बना
एक ने धरती का रूप धरा
एक अनंत आकाश बना

एक टुकड़ा धूप बना
एक टुकड़ा छाँव बना
एक ने जीवन जिया
और एक ने मृत्यु को सच किया

देखते देखते,
मेरे उस गीत ने,
पूरा ब्रह्माण्ड रच दिया

एक दिन मैंने,
तुम्हारे लिए
एक गीत लिखा

और उस गीत को
प्यार का नाम दिया


those who can read Hindi, please do not read the English translation :)


one day,
i wrote
a song for you

when completed
it came to life
and divided itself
into many parts

one part turned into day
one became night
one part formed earth
and one unfolded as endless sky

one part became light
one became shadow
one lived a fruitful life
and one made death a reality

in no time
that song of mine
created this whole universe

one day i,
wrote a song
for you

and gave that song
the name of 'love'