BY NARAYAN “SHYAM”

ON THE SEA-SHORE

The life is like the glistening sands
on the sea-shore
Whose ruffled furrows
every incoming wave reshapes.

So is my voice like a hollow-shell
Which resonates with every fitful gust
Rendering silence painfully tremulous.

Like the vast boundless main
is my fate
Whose horizon eye espies at a distance
Blotting out the prospect at my feet.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)

Vers Libre:
Skirtful of Sand

The perfect calm of the desert
unending expanses of sand
gnomes and dunes overspreading
sand over sand
sand beneath sand
desolate wilderness. Not a blade of grass visible
not a bird on the wing. But
at the dead of scorching noon
a stream takes a spectral form
meandering its way
across the desert.
A shimmering stream
its every wave aglow!
Suddenly
the desert starts breathing;
and behold!
A simple rustic of the desert
lifts the sand with his bare hands
and fills his skirt
as if it is a shimmering wave
that he carries home!
The sun travels west
Heat wave recedes
and the mirage disappears;
perfect calm returns to the desert.
The unending expanses of sand
 take shape again;
 the desolate wilderness sets in as before.
 

Salvation

Holiday -
A longing for an outing...
Bus-stop - a long wait.
A dead body
funeral procession,
accompanied by band,
passes by.
An old man is dead, perhaps.
By my side stands a child;
his feet move with the rhythm of the band.
And others?
Their hands raise - mechanically -
and fold in obeisance.

Drrrrrrr...
Drone of the engine
a bus heading towards the stop.
A tumult!
Passengers - a mulfitude -
crowd the entrance.
Hustle of the agitated life;
agitated life on the run
demands its share of time -
ruthlessly -
Meaningless, aimless,
this existence is
full of struggle.
So much bustle,
so much trouble
saps the entire energy.
Who is happy?
What's that happiness?
Who can tell!

While in the bus,
I once again
see the funeral procession

on its onward march.
Someone heaved a lingering sigh
and murmured,
'To heaven he may go not,
nevertheless,
what a salvation
from this wretched existence.'
 

Ghazals

I don't command much respect, maybe;
Yet it's much beyond you to comprehend.

You think reason is a gift bestowed by knowledge;
But you never reason out how long life is.

For long I was thinking standing beneath the tree,
Leaf is green, how could it loosen itself free.

I can't carry even my own burden,
And you insist I carry your burden too.

Compose some poems, please do, but think never so deep
That the expanding world reduced to a point be.

* * * * *

There are those, outside, who torture me,
But how about the one who inspires awe in me?

Ah! The city is sleeping a sleep of the dead,
But there they are, tolling bells at the temple-head.

Oh! Singer, I don't behold in your picture
Images of your lilting voice of rapture.

Moments of the night had themselves to obliterate
To transform long evening into infinitesimal morning.

Those who keep changing their attire,
Why is it they look stark naked?
And those who lost their past, are still immersed in thought,
It shouldn't have happened the way it did

Haikus

The thud on the floor echoed;
The Lizard fell from the ceiling,
The heart missed a beat.

Sky overcrowded with stars;
Newly wedded brides and concubines
Enjoy in the same night.

Far away from the horizon
As if my goal is,
A poet's fancy.

See the dexterity of birds,
While flying how they cast
Shadows over each other.

Wai (Lyric)

Dawn follows the night
Oh! heart, don't be uneasy
Under the shade of stars will pass over this night
Oh! heart, don't be uneasy
Sleep will open like a bud, silence will sing a song
Oh! heart, dont be uneasy
Suffering will take you to your goal, sorrow will turn into a gift
Oh! heart, don't be uneasy
Everytime life falls off the lap of death
Oh! heart, don't be uneasy

(Translated by Param Abichandani)
 

By: Dr. ARJAN “SHAD”

FIRE

Each word in every poem of mine
Emerges like a fire-ball
What else can an afflicted heart entertain?
Not in dew-drops
But in lambent images of flame alone
Can it shape itself ?

Such is this fire
That not all the waters
of the circumambient ocean can quench.

It is not the passion of my heart only
but of countless beings like myself.
Aye, it is the rage of this age.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)
 
 

By: GOVERDHAN BHARATI

A FUNERAL MARCH

Along the lone sleepy path
in the moon-lit night
Crawls like an afflicted dream
A heavily laden bullock cart.

Like an ancient custom
or tradition
It moves effortlessly along
It looks as though
The load is like his aches
Over which the wornout driver
has stretched himself comfortably
and fallen asleep.

Truth to tell
He is dead, dead a long time
The cold night now coffins him
in a white sheet.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)

By: ARJAN “HASID”

HUNGER

While the full moon shone in its glory
A hungry dog sniffed at the canal bank
Peering as though a piece of bread
frowned in the depth of water.

A silver screen spread over
the fragrant scene
But the sniffing dog growled
as if the air stank.

Same as this dog in pain
was the afflicted state of my being
with feelings distraught
in a night so fair and fragrant.

Verily, I also could sniff like this dog
in the moonlight
But the man in me
forced me to desist.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)
 
 
 

By: Dr. MOTI PRAKASH

ON THE CROSS-ROADS
 

What is it
that has shoved me here in this place?
It seems
Having trod blind-folded
The blind alley of darkness in a trance
I have landed here on this spot.

As stars slip one by one away
From the inky darkness of the sky
Paths untrod for ages
Have slipped away from my dust-laden feet.
What now remains
Are two paths only.
Just two paths only.

From the east
A rusty corroded sword of the sun
Will slowly emerge
Out of its skyey sheath

And shine like a sharpened scimitar
While the innocent blood
Of a few unyielding stars
Renders it more lustrous.
Thus the victorious array of he sun’s rays
Will launch an all out attack
On the slumbering earth
And shake it into wakefulness

Then in the night
Will also shine
These two paths.

Maybe, then I shall also rise
On my blistered dust-laden feet
And proceed along the path
That to me appears uneven
Difficult and dangerous.

After some time
When my fellow-travellers yawn
Rub their eyes and wake up
They too will find themselves
On this parting of ways
And after a moment’s thought
Diverge on the path other than mine.

And it will not occur to them
Any one of them
Which of the ways
Has swallowed the erstwhile crazed traveller.

(Translated by S.M. Jhangiani)
 
 

By: KRISHIN “RAHI”

DAY AND NIGHT

The day is for all
The night alone is mine
The day is the fight
in which, like a soldier, I engage
alongwith the rest.

The night has its own essence
its zest
It is aware only of itself and its own kin.

The day is a cup of poison
which needs must be gulped
Death levels all
Night alone breathes in Life
Distinctive in each living being.

During day, mixing with fellowmen
I lose count of myself
and shed all hope

The night retrieving this precious Me
Robes my aspiration
in a seductive dream.

The world is made not of reality alone
Dream too has gone into its making.

(Translated by Tirth Basant
 
 

 By: LAXMAN BHATIA “KOMAL”

THE SEVERED ARM OF  *ULUGBEG

Hands – extended towards a torch-light
Lips – ajar to kiss a rose
Eyes – seeking the ultimate in emptiness.
Beneath a broken Cross
The blood of his amputated arm
Is glued to the earth.
A wailing sea of groans
Whines through the fissures of his clenched fist
The air suffused with sorrow
Awaken the lonesome waste from sleep.
Shrieks the mouth exhales
And a drop of blood cleaves in the gullet.
The inheritors of this amputated arm
Perceive the ugliness of their visage
in a mirror, before revulsion shatters it.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)

*Note:
Striving for awakening in Central Asia, Ulugbeg – the ruler of Samarqand – observed “knowledge begins, where religion ends”.  This enraged the Mullas of Samarqand, who incited Ulugbeg’s son to kill his father.  They severed his right arm first and then cut his body in twenty-one pieces.  Today the magnificent edifice of learning in Samarqand is named after him.
 
 

 By: VASUDEV “NIRMAL”

EYES IMMORTAL

While I am alive
I wish to make this Will :
The moment I breathe my last
My eyes be immediately plucked
And given to someone without sight
So that with the help of this pair
He may see the world
And all beautiful sights it offers
The dancing waves of the ocean
The rhythmic movements of the fish
Birds of variegated colours
Innocent butterflies
Flowers of tender hues
Shining pearls of dew
Twinkling of the stars
Sweet maddening moonlight
Clouds dark and pouring
Beautiful rainbow
Gushing waterfalls
And other miracles of divine beauty.

And when he too nears his death
May he pass them on, in turn,
To some one else – sightless.
Thus my eyes
My discerning eyes
May live for ages to come
And my love for the bounties of Creation
May continue till eternity
Making a part of me immortal.

(Translated by H. I. Sadarangani)
 
 

By:  VASHDEV “MOHI”

MAN OF FAITH

Darkness reigned deep in his heart
While faith flourished high
Faced with endless todays
He left his young wife and home
To fight crusades abroad.
When after years of wear
He returned victorious
A shattering tomorrow began to dawn
A morrow of relisation
And perception of waste
The waste of all the bygone years.
But before he could see it
Death gripped him
Verily, he was blessed to be the man of today
Tomorrow was not for him.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)
 
 confronting the Mahatma

You said:
To speak truth is our duty
I accepted it without any grudge.
You said:
Non-violence is our supreme duty.
I owned it without a word.
You said:
Honesty breeds inner solace.
And I bowed my head.
You said:
Charity is a virtue.
And my eyes emitted a humble demand.
You said:
Humility is mans treasure.
And I touched your feet.
You said:
Patriotism is my duty,
I wished I committed hara kin.
 

Life in Parts

I have discarded many emotions.
What if I am a poet!
Shall I tell you the truth?
Of course, if you have the courage to listen.
You will come
and my face will lighten up;
 but I shall not be elated.
 You will go away and I shall be disappointed;
but I shall not be forlorn.
Well, I am like a electric switch.
 Press it on
and light there will be.
While you have been away
 I have never thought of you for once.
I have been as happy with others
 as I was with you;
and that way sharing smiles with others,
 I have learnt to live in parts.
 

I Was One of Them

I was one of those,
who started their day
shouting for tea early morning.
Running and panting,
and raising blood pressure,
they reached their office.

I was one of those,
who religiously cherished the principles of time;
but every principle
made their existence hollow and potholed.

I was one of those,
whose veins never vibrated,
but made the sound of grrr... grrr...
like a machine,
and gave a rugged and grating feeling of existence.

I was one of those,
for whom the question of Life and Death
was something ordinary and prosaic.

I was one of those,
who never knew
why, for what they exist.

I was one of those,
who never knew they were dying,
 and died.

(Translated by Pram Abichandani)
 

By: HARI DARYANI “DILGIR”

ETERNAL YOUTH

Am I old?
No;
Maybe you are old.
Time can never age me,
nor can it dampen my ebullient spirit.
Some people never blossom into youth,
others never grow old,
I’m the one who is ever young.

In the garden of life,
like a glancing butterfly,
I caress the beauteous blossoms,
and drink deep their nectar.
Yet I tarry not,
Within their charmed circle
Confine coop the old alone,
I’m ever free
I always keep abreast of my time
and outpace it too.
I’m ever young;
maybe you are old.

(Translated by S.M. Jhangiani)
 
 

 By: PRABHU CHUGANI “WAFA”

PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE

1. Life is like a lamp
Whose breath trembles in the wind
Soon the darkness will swallow it
As a gust puts out its flame.

2. As the rain from the cloud
Life is born
Day, as old as eternity,
Each time ushers in a new dawn
Thus is life born.

3. Life is a gift of sorrow
A painful walk over steep incline
Yet its prospect pleases
And turns each ache into joy
Although life is a gift of sorrow.

4. Life is there to enjoy
Who knows the sun will rise next morn
Enjoy its delightful transience
It is there to enjoy.

5. Lovely, indeed, is this shadow show
Lovable its strain and strife
Not Mukti or Nirwan I crave
Through countless births I have loved it
And do love it still.

6. Those whom renunciation afflicts
Lament the transience of its shape, colour,
taste and sound
Brief as a dew-drop on a flower they feel
And renounce.

7. Nowhere shalt thou find a world so fair
A firmament bedecked with luminous stars
This fragrant earth with odours sweet
And the most wondrous being – Man
Peerless paragon of the universe.

8. Both Soul and Over Soul are a mystery
unsolved
This world alone we see
Square with it as best you can
Who knows the hereafter?
Both Soul and Over Soul being unknown.

9. With this world we have to deal
Not with the Almighty throned in heaven
Yes, with this world we have to deal
And Man-its master.

10. Beyond the sea the end is dark
Learn to love the sound, the beauty, the
dance of the waves
Sail on and on
It, indeed, is dark beyond.

(Translated by Tirth Basant)
 

 
By: SUNDRI UTTAMCHANDANI

Pain

The magic of your song!
The web of your sorrowful cry
My soul is in its embrace
Your sorrowful music has kindled my soul
The pain!
which whirled up from your song
like a streak of fire
and charred my core
O, Assayer of sorrow!
You cannot share my sorrows
But can’t you share yours?
My bowl is before you
Fill it with your sorrows
I shall take my share of alms
And be fulfilled.
 

DID NOT BOTHER TO CONSOLE

Whole body seemed sobbing
Like a candle hot tears trickled
But you never bothered to console.

Your taunt has ragged my soul
I had not put ‘warmala’ for your riches
It was your splendour, which conquered me
The goodness in you
made me keep my neck on the altar
But  you never bothered to console me.

The rainwater flowed
No one could curb its flow
Children danced playfully and
the tinkling drops made their mothers giggle
Then I felt like seeing myself as a young soul
laughing and playing
But you roared like a father
My playful dreams torn … you could see
But my love,
you did not bother to console me.
 

=========================================
Courtesy :All but Sundri Uttamchandani's poems,  Indian Poetry Today Vol: III  Published by Sec Indian Council for Cultural relations , New Delhi.  Year 1977
Poems translated by Shri Param Abichandani are published in Indian literature Volume 87 by Sahitya Acedamy