The Poet and the Wise Man

What is the point of life,
A wise, unhappy man opined,
Hurdles deter at every strife,
The will to survive the daily grind,

Tireless, our existence crawls,
Nearing its eventual destiny,
To the ground, when time stalls,
Would raze our fruitless mutiny,

Things we hope to leave behind,
Seldom stand the test of time,
Ashes and dust merely do remind,
The living, of an uneasy, dreary rhyme,

War and peace and love and tumult,
Are mere distractions for the soul,
The cards that we are often dealt,
A game that cries instantly foul,

Oh Wise One! Said the poet he,
Do hear my penny's worth,
Through my eyes for a moment see,
The world I do put forth,

The quest for the bigger picture leaves,
The best of us in pain,
But for the man who still believes,
There's a world in each refrain,

The mounds of dust thou often see,
Are my fanciest memories,
That float the vacuous realm free,
My whims and my little vanities,

A moment's heat, a second's smile,
A gentle touch, a dainty tease,
A harmless wink, a lover's guile,
An hour's war, a minute's peace,

And the air that I shall breathe,
A testament to my existence,
And the ground I tread beneath,
And marks I leave of penitence,

Odes to her grace and form I write,
In the hope that someday far away,
My verse would flatter and delight,
Her, in pages carelessly cast away,

Oh Wise One! Do you now see,
The world I paint, My canvas bright,
To live in moments or merely flee,
Is one's own choice, is one's own right,

You tell your stories woebegone,
I spin a beautiful yarn,
Together from us a life is born,
Dusk and night and day and dawn!

Father and Son

From my innate flawed self,
I'd spawn forth a luckless one,
Stuff his cradle and baby shelf,
With little teddies and fears unknown,

On lullabies that I fondly sing,
Subliminal bigotry to put to sleep,
On tender rhymes that I often bring,
Intricacies dear to forever keep,

Him and his wildest dreams in check,
Lest they wander aimlessly,
Through streets of sanity bedecked,
With gems and jewels strewn generously,

Clothe him in robes of scarlet red,
Fetter his innocent soul in place,
And on the streets, listless I tread,
I reserve for him a special place,

Fables I recite on his bedside,
Would kindle in him a raging fire,
In vain to douse the flames he'd try,
Trapped in a perpetual spinning gyre,

In his piggy bank, I'd put,
The coins my coffers abound,
Stamped on, the ships of hope that sank,
Flotsam and Jetsam lost and found,

At leisure, I would take him out,
To show the life I lived,
In nightmares he would scream and shout,
In tongues the gods forbid,

Reverence as a virtue not,
His heart would ever imbibe,
And in bliss, My tiny tot,
Would leap with pride and joy,

Behind the venetian blinds I'd stand,
Would swell my chest in pride,
Unwittingly to a hostile land,
I transport him, side by side,

And thus the nails in his coffin, I,
Would drive in ever so lovingly,
A bitter man, he shall too try,
To leave his mark unwittingly!

My Sepulchre (By the Sea)

You were the waves that once caressed,
The sands of the vast expanse, My heart,
And I with every rolling touch,
Would soak in me thy loving care,


Sometimes you would purposely leave,
A foamy stretch of remembrance,
That I would Oh! From the Sun then shield,
Lest the bubbles should sparkle no more,


Sometimes you would carelessly leave,
Little puddles of saline joy,
That I would lap up gingerly,
For a distant, familiar aftertaste,


And how the words so fondly writ,
Would disappear with thy ebb and flow,
And how very possessively so,
Thou wished for my companionship,


Thou would so often relics bring,
From the depths of thy roaring sea,
Flotsam and Jetsam of ancient ruins,
In hope of a smile or a grateful nod,


And the sparkling in thy fluid form,
As I watch you slip and glide away,
Would effervesce till the time crumbles,
To bring to view thy beloved form,


But soon I grew weary and tired,
As needles in a clock would be,
If they too had as much as life,
And as spirit as much as yours truly,


And then for granted I took thy flow,
So clockwork, Yet unwavering still,
Unassuming, thou in fondest tide,
And I so very listlessly lay,


Now blows the wind and shines the Sun,
On my glistening Sepulchre new,
You still visit as when you please,
Unselfishly laying watery wreaths! 

A Translation: Nahin Nigaah Mein Manzil......... Faiz Sahab's Ghazal

My first attempt at translating a ghazal, a form of poetry that is usually very language specific to Farsi and Urdu, I've tried to retain the rhyme and the meter of the original form, again, it's not a literal translation.

The Original Urdu (English Transliteration)

Nahin nigaah mein manzil toh justjoo hi sahi,
Nahin wisaal mayassar toh aarzoo hi sahi,

Na tan mein khoon faraaham, na ashk aankhon mein,
Namaaz-e-shauq toh waajib hai, be-wuzoo hi sahi,

Kisi tarah toh jame bazm maikade waalo,
Nahin jo baada-o-saagar toh haa-o-hoo hi sahi,

Gar intezaar kathin hai toh jab talak ai dil!
Kisi ke waada-e-fardaa ki guftgoo hi sahi,

Dayaar-e-ghair me mehram agar nahin koi,
To 'Faiz', Zikr-e-watan apne roobaroo hi sahi.........

English Translation

If the goal is not in sight, For mere desire I'd settle,
If a glimpse is too much to ask, For mere longing I'd settle,

Even with no blood to spare and no tears to shed,
Dutiful is my prayer of passion, Pure or impure I'd settle,

My fellow taverners! Let the revelry begin now,
Empty goblets, No flowing wine, For mere banter I'd settle,

If painful is the wait, till then Oh Love!
Her future promises, For mere reminiscing I'd settle,

If no friend amongst unknown faces I find, Face to face,
My country's praises 'Faiz', For a mere mention I'd settle.......

A Fleeting Glimpse

I lie, curled up and subdued,

A scaredy cat by the corner,

She swallowed me in fastidious gulps,

Spat out, In copious measures, She

My sanity and caprice, And fed me,

With the mundaneness of her world,

Unwittingly, I manifest in,

The catacombs of her dark womb,

Pregnant, My thoughts with the allure of light,

The warmth of the rays of the splendid sun,

Le Soleil, The life that once belonged,

To me, And just for me it bloomed,

To ink my parchment blanche with lines,

Of personal and private verse,

Flowed turbulent my articulate odes,

To the silken gown that adorned her form,

And flapped in the breeze her dainty scarf,

Intoxicating the gusts of wind,

The storm, so stifled, In her tresses,

And the goblets, her bottomless eyes,

Would I live long enough to see,

This haunting, evanescent memory?

Mozoo'-e-Sukhan (Gul Hui Jaati Hai...) Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Another one of Faiz Sahab's nazms, a more ambitious project, I was a little more liberal and personal with this translation, it was very very difficult for me to bring forth the emotions portrayed in this one, if a single couplet retains the original's charm, I would consider myself fortunate.

English Transliteration from the original Urdu

Mozoo'-e-Sukhan

Gul hui jaati hai afsurdah sulagti hui shaam,

Dhul ke niklegi abhi chasma'ee maahtaab se raat,

Aur mushtaaq nigaahon ki suni jaayegi,

Aur un haathon se mas honge, Yeh tarse hue haat.

Un ka aanchal hai keh rukhsaar keh pairaahan hai,

Kuch toh hai jis se hui jaati hai chilman rangeen,

Jaane us zulf ki mauhoom ghani chaaon me,

Timtimaata hai woh aaweezah abhi tak keh nahin.

Aaj phir husn-e-dil-aara ki wohi dhaj hogi,

Wohi khaabeeda si aankhen, Wohi kaajal ki lakeer,

Rang-e-rukhsaar pe halka sa woh ghaaze ka ghubaar,

Sandali haath pe dhundli si hina ki tehreer.

Apne afkaar ki, Ash'aar ki duniya hai yehi,

Jaan-e-mazmoon hai yehi, Shaahid-e-m'aana hai yehi,

Aaj tak surkh-o-siyaah sadiyon ke saaye ke tale,

Aadam-o-havva ki aulaad pe kya guzri hai?

Maut aur zeest ki rozaanah saf-aarai mein,

Hum pe kya guzregi, Ajdaad pe kya guzri hai?

In damakte hue shehron ki faraawaan makhlooq,

Kyun faqat marne ki hasrat mein jiya karti hai?

Yeh haseen khet, phata padta hai joban jin ka,

Kis liye in mein faqat bhook uga karti hai?

Yeh har ek simt par asraar kadi deewarein,

Jal bujhe jin mein hazaaron ki jawaani ke chiraagh,

Yeh har ik gaam peh un khaabon ki maqtal-gaahein,

Jin ke partau se charaaghaan hain hazaaron ke dimaagh.

Yeh bhi hai, Aise kai aur bhi mazmoon honge,

Lekin us shokh ke aahista se khulte hue hont,

Haye! Us jism ke kam-bakht dil-aaweez khatoot,

Aap hi kahiye, kahin aise bhi afsoon honge?

Apna mozoo'-e-sukhan in ke siwa aur nahin,

Tab'-e-shaa'ir ka watan in ke siwa aur nahin.......

My Poetry and My Muse (English Translation)

The ashes of a melancholy evening crumbles,

To give way to night, bathed in silver moonlight,

When expectant stares would be rewarded,

My pinings would effervesce, at her gentle touch.

Is it her garb, or the facade of her countenance,

Or a spark that illuminates the murk,

Or through the refuge of her fancied tresses,

Shines ebullient the orb of night?

Tonight, my beloved's familiar form shall overwhelm,

Her latent kohl-laden stares shall pierce,

With a hint of rouge, Her effulgent cheeks,

Her pearly hands, Ornately embellished with Henna!

Thus the cosmos of my musings, My poetry,

She manifests my soul and every resolve,

Under dark shadows that centuries cast,

What did humanity painfully endure?

Vacillating between abodes of life and death,

Would I endure my unpleasant inheritance?

The abundant hordes, Of alluring cities,

Why merely death inspires their existence?

These charming pastures, Once teeming with life,

Why merely reaps hunger now in fecundity?

The obstinate, abstruse, cluttered hurdles,

That doused the flames of countless youth,

At every stride, A million dreams guillotined,

To illuminate a billion ignited minds!

And thus, There would spring numerous rimes,

The graceful parting of her playful lips,

Ah! The wretched beauty of her material form,

Opine! Is there a greater enchantment?

Devoid of my muse, My poetry ceases to exist,

A poet's dream, His identity ceases to exist.............

Chand Roz Aur Meri Jaan........ Faiz Ahmed Faiz

An attempted poetic translation, not a literal one, of Faiz Ahmed Faiz Sahab's Urdu nazm, 'Chand Roz Aur Meri Jaan'. To paint Faiz Sahab's canvas in a foreign tongue, is the humble task I undertake, but the ever graceful Urdu language, in my opinion, can never be restored in a translation. Nevertheless, I try to satiate my own ego!

English Transliteration from the original Urdu

Chand roz aur, Meri Jaan! Faqat chand hi roz,

Zulm ki chaaon me dum lene pe majboor hain hum,

Aur kuch der sitam seh lein, Tadap lein, Ro lein,

Apne ajdaad ki miraas hai, M'aazoor hain hum,

Jism par qaid hai, Jazbaat pe zanjeerein hain,

Fikr mahboos hai, Guftaar pe t'aazirein hain,

Apni himmat hai keh hum phir bhi jiye jaate hain,

Zindagi kya kisi muflis ki qaba hai jis mein,

Har ghadi dard ke paivand lage jaate hain,

Lekin ab zulm ki mi'aad ke din thode hain,

Ik zara sabr ke faryaad ke din thode hain,

Arsa-e-dehr ki jhulsi hui weeraani mein,

Hum ko rehna hai par yoon hi toh nahi rehna,

Ajnabi haathon ka benaam garaan-baar sitam,

Aaj sehna hai, Hamesha toh nahin sehna hai,

Yeh tere husn se lipti hui aalaam ki gard,

Apni do roza jawaani ki shekaston ka shumaar,

Chaandni raaton ka bekaar dehekta hua dard,

Dil ki besood tadap, Jism ki maayoos pukaar,

Chand roz aur, Meri Jaan! Faqat chand hi roz...........

A few more days, my Love!

A few more days, my Love! Merely a handful more,

Condemned to exist, Thou and I, Eclipsed in tyranny,

Bear with me the cruel winds, smart and weep,

My inheritance, My lineage demands, I'm but a mere cripple,

My shackled extremities, My manacled spirits,

Imprisoned my every thought, Every word restrained,

All that remains is courage, And hence I persist,

The drapery, My life, A tatterdemalion's flowing robe,

Patched, In tatters, With fragments of pain,

But the times of oppression would soon cease,

Persevere, Our laments would soon cease,

In this desolate, parched desert sands,

We must now last, But not forever stand,

This crushing weight of an alien conjuring,

We must now endure, But not forever withstand,

The air of distress that tenderly envelops thy form,

The numerous gashes of our deficient youth,

Moonlit nights, Fruitless pangs of throbbing pain,

Unanswered cries of the poor heart, The body's melancholic strain,

A few more days, my Love! Merely a handful more...........

The Oracle (Signs)

The oracle in her infinite wisdom bright,

Wrote for us an esoteric tale,

In a specious cuddle, drowned in moonlight,

Thou and I, In a yacht set sail,

To the abode of hers in the clouds,

Bickering like the mighty rain and shine,

In a quest to appease the massive crowds,

Gargantuan egos, yours and mine,

Would we ever in our separate ways exist?

Or blow up in a cloud of smoke?

Would we merely in the others' dreams persist?

'Halt!', In a booming voice she spoke,

And laid to rest our crazy whims,

'March to the rhythm of thy hearts',

She opined as the moonlight dims,

And the smouldering fire in us starts,

To crackle, And the moonless night enwraps,

You and me in a warm embrace,

The twinkling in thy eyes it straps,

Our throbbing, tired hearts in place!

The Ballad of Pine - IV

The breeze it carried tenderly,

The familiar scent of my muse,

Whiffs of heaven and hell in a potpourri,

The nectar of spring, the desolate autumn,

In a melange of oxymorons,

It follows me around like shadows,

The ones that pining souls cast,

On each other's personal spaces,

In the farthest corner of a private memory,

A musing or a few lines of poetry,

An ode, a sonnet or a humble limerick,

Her inimitable footsteps plastered about,

Inaccessible levels of layered emotions,

Under the sun she burns my skin,

In the moonlight she burns my soul,

And the perfumed vespertine breeze,

Burdens my poor, lonely breast,

The punctual rooster cries aloud,

To sear open a million inward wounds,

My muse's longish fingernails,

Plows deep into my tired flesh,

And I profusely pour out,

A scarlet stream of hapless dreams,

And transcend to perpetual damnation,

My beloved muse and I!