April 29, 2011

मैं ढूँढता हूँ जिसे वो जहाँ नहीं मिलता

मैं ढूँढता हूँ जिसे वो जहाँ नहीं मिलता
नई ज़मीं नया आसमाँ नहीं मिलता

नई ज़मीं नया आसमाँ भी मिल जाये
नये बशर का कहीं कुछ निशाँ नहीं मिलता

वो तेग़ मिल गई जिस से हुआ है क़त्ल मेरा
किसी के हाथ का उस पर निशाँ नहीं मिलता

वो मेरा गाँव है वो मेरे गाँव के चूल्हे
कि जिन में शोले तो शोले धुआँ नहीं मिलता

जो इक ख़ुदा नहीं मिलता तो इतना मातम क्यूँ
यहाँ तो कोई मेरा हमज़बाँ नहीं मिलता

खड़ा हूँ कब से मैं चेहरों के एक जंगल में
तुम्हारे चेहरे का कुछ भी यहाँ नहीं मिलता.

--कैफ़ी आज़मी

April 25, 2011

Poems of Kunwar Mahendra Singh Bedi Sahar

कुँवर महेंद्र सिंह बेदी 'सहर' की शायरी से:

1---

आए हैं समझाने लोग
हैं कितने दीवाने लोग

दैर-ओ-हरम1 में चैन जो मिलता
क्यूं जाते मैखाने2 लोग

1. मंदिर मस्जिद, 2. शराबखाना

जान के सब कुछ कुछ भी ना जाने
हैं कितने अनजाने लोग

वक़्त पे काम नहीं आते हैं
ये जाने पहचाने लोग

अब जब मुझको होश नहीं है
आए हैं समझाने लोग

2---

तुम हमारे नही तो क्या गम है
हम तुम्हारे तो हैं यह क्या कम है

मुस्कुरा दो ज़रा ख़ुदा के लिए,
शाम-ए-महफिल में रौशनी कम है,

3---

अभी वो कमसिन उभर रहा है, अभी है उस पर शबाब आधा
अभी जिगर में ख़लिश है आधी, अभी है मुझ पर एतमाद1 आधा

मेरे सवाल-ए-वस्ल2 पर तुम नज़र झुका कर खड़े हुए हो
तुम्हीं बताओ ये बात क्या है, सवाल पूरा, जवाब आधा

कभी सितम है कभी करम है, कभी तवज़्जह3 कभी तगाफ़ुल4
ये साफ ज़ाहिर है मुझ पे अब तक, हुआ हूँ मैं कामयाब आधा
1. विश्वास, 2. मिलने की बात पर, 3.ध्यान देना , 4. उपेक्षा

4---

ऐ नौजवान बज़ा कि जवानी का दौर है
रंगीन सुबह शाम सुहानी का दौर है
ये भी बज़ा कि प्रेम कहानी का दौर है
लेकिन रहे ये याद गरानी1 का दौर है
1.मँहगाई

5---

इश्क़ हो जाए किसी से कोई चारा तो नहीं
सिर्फ मुस्लिम का मोहम्मद से इजारा* तो नहीं
*अधिकार
************************************

April 17, 2011

It’s the Dream

It’s the dream we carry

that something wondrous will happen

that it must happen

time will open

hearts will open

doors will open

spring will gush forth from the ground–

that the dream itself will open

that one morning we’ll quietly drift

into a harbor we didn’t know was there.

---by Olav H. Hauge from Borealis (March/April 2002), translated from the Norwegian by Robert Hadin.

April 11, 2011

बोल कि लब आज़ाद हैं तेरे

बोल कि लब आजाद हैं तेरे
बोल, जबां अब तक तेरी है
तेरा सुतवां* जिस्म हे तेरा
बोल कि जां अब तक तेरी है.

देख कि आहनगर** की दुकां में
तुन्द** हैं शोले, सुर्ख है आहन^
खुलने लगे कुफलों के दहाने^^
फैला हर जंजीर का दामन.

बोल, ये थोड़ा वक्त बहुत है
जिस्मों जबां की मौत से पहले
बोल कि सच जिंदा है अब तक
बोल कि जो कहना है कह ले.

* तना हुआ,**लोहार, *** तेज, ^लोहा, ^^तालों के मुंह

---

शबाना आज़मी एक कुशल अभिनेत्री के साथ साथ एक अच्छी गायिका हैं. शबाना आज़मी की आवाज़ में फ़ैज़ की ये मशहूर नज़्म जो हमेशा से लोगों की आवाज़ को हुक्मरानों तक पहुंचाने के लिए प्रेरित करती रही है।:

April 7, 2011

With the Land

The land comes near me
drinks from me
leaves its orchards with me
to become a beautiful weapon
defending me

Even when I sleep
the land comes near me
in my dream.
I smuggle its wild thyme
between exiles
I sing its stones
I will even sweat blood
from my veins
to drink its news
so the land comes near me
leaves a stone of love with me
to defend it
and defend me

When I repay it
I will embrace it a thousand times
I will worship it a thousand times
I will celebrate its wedding on my forehead
on the rubble of exiles
and the ruins of prisons

I will drink from it
It will drink from me
So that the Galilee would remain
beauty, struggle, and love
defending it
defending me

I see the land;
a morning that will come
---Rashid Hussein
* Translated by Sinan Antoon. The poem appear in Al-A`mal al-Shi`riyya (al-Taybe: Markaz Ihya’ al-Turath al-`Arabi, 1990)

Without a Passport

I was born without a passport
I grew up
and saw my country
become prisons
without a passport

So I raised a country
a sun
and wheat
in every house
I tended to the trees therein
I learned how to write poetry
to make the people of my village happy
without a passport

I learned that he whose land is stolen
does not like the rain
If he were ever to return to it, he will
without a passport

But I am tired of minds
that have become hotels
for wishes that never give birth
except with a passport

Without a passport
I came to you
and revolted against you
so slaughter me
perhaps I will then feel that I am dying
without a passport

---Rashid Hussein
* Translated by Sinan Antoon. The poem appear in Al-A`mal al-Shi`riyya (al-Taybe: Markaz Ihya’ al-Turath al-`Arabi, 1990)

Trees

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

---Joyce Kilmer

April 4, 2011

कहाँ तो तय था (Kahan to Tay ttha)

कहाँ तो तय था चिराग़ाँ हर एक घर के लिए
कहाँ चिराग़ मयस्सर नहीं शहर के लिए

यहाँ दरख़तों के साये में धूप लगती है
चलो यहाँ से चलें और उम्र भर के लिए

न हो कमीज़ तो पाँओं से पेट ढँक लेंगे
ये लोग कितने मुनासिब हैं इस सफ़र के लिए

ख़ुदा नहीं न सही आदमी का ख़्वाब सही
कोई हसीन नज़ारा तो है नज़र के लिए

वो मुतमइन हैं कि पत्थर पिघल नहीं सकता
मैं बेक़रार हूँ आवाज़ में असर के लिए

तेरा निज़ाम है सिल दे ज़ुबान शायर की
ये एहतियात ज़रूरी है इस बहर के लिए

जिएँ तो अपने बग़ीचे में गुलमोहर के तले
मरें तो ग़ैर की गलियों में गुलमोहर के लिए.

---Dushyant Kumar

And If...

And if the branches tap my pane
And the poplars whisper nightly,
It is to make me dream again
I hold you to me tightly.

And if the stars shine on the pond
And light its sombre shoal,
It is to quench my mind's despond
And flood with peace my soul.

And if the clouds their tresses part
And does the moon outblaze,
It is but to remind my heart
I long for you always.

-Written by Mihai Eminescu. (Translated by Corneliu M. Popescu)

Imparat si poletar (Emperor and Proletarian)

Squatting on wooden benches, within a tavern bare,
Where daylight's rays but dimly through dirty windows show,
Before a long, stained table, their faces drawn with care,
Wearied out by wandering and doubting's black despair,
These are the wretched sons of poverty and woe.

"Ah friends," said one, "you think man is a light that glows
Upon this earth of sorrowing and misery?
Why, not a spark is there in him that candid shows;
His lamp is dark as is this globe on which he grows,
And over which the lord omnipotent is he.

Tell me then what justice means... The powerful secure
Behind their wealth, within their circling laws conspire
To mass still greater wealth against the needy poor,
Against ourselves, that we shall all the toil endure
Bowed down and bent in labour's yoke our lives entire.

Some pass their time in ceaseless revelry and play;
The hours smile for them, and amber wine they drink;
The winter months in gardens do they wile away,
Coolness of alpine snows the summer fires allay;
They turn the morn to eve, and from the sun's eye shrink.

Virtue for them does not exist, but they will preach
Sacrificing, love and diligence to us.
The heavy car of state must rumble on, and each
Of you must pour his blood into the battle's breach,
That of your endless pain they may grow prosperous.

Countless, mighty hosts, and navies on the sea,
Splendid golden crowns on noble foreheads worn,
Riches from near and far, in thoughtless quantity,
These hold the rich aloft in high sublimely;
While on our aching backs are all the burdens born.

Religion-but a tale, astutely spread abroad
To rivet on your shoulders the heavy harnessed load,
For, had you lost all hope of heavenly reward
After a life on earth with pain and hardship scored,
Would you go on working as an ox beneath the goad?

With what strange phantom shadows are your illusions fed
That make you set your faith in heaven's promised store?
No, when your life is passed, all hope of joy is sped,
And he who dies in misery, in misery is dead;
For those who pass the grave come back again no more.

In lies and windy phrases their state and safety stands,
Their holy law and order is but an empty creed,
To keep their stolen wealth safe from your needy hands,
They arm you to destroy your like on foreign lands,
And you against yourselves triumphantly they lead.

Why should you be slaves of their immoral gold,
You who scarcely live for all your endless toil?
Why should disease and death you in their arms enfold,
While they in plenitude and boundless wealth grow old
Even as though they hoped to cheat death of its spoil?

How do you forget the power that numbers mean?
You could take back today your rights they will not give.
Build no more these walls with which their wealth they screen,
Or which for prisons serve when pressed by torments keen
You dare assert at last the right you have to live.

Every pleasure they enjoy surrounded by their law
And all their careless days in utmost sweetness spend,
In luxury and vice, and drunken wild uproar.
They call your virgins in, blind instruments before
Their old corrupted satyrs who their young beauty rend.

And should you ask yourselves what part is left for you
The drudgery on which is based their happiness,
A lifelong servitude, and crumbs of bread a few.
Robbed of your daughters, and dishonoured too . .
For them the earth and sky, for you naught but distress.

They have no need of rules: virtue is easy when
All that you want you have. Round you their laws are wound,
Their punishments designed to strike you, wretched men
Who date to stretch a hand to ask your own again:
Even your needs become a crime that has no bound.

Hurl to the earth their scheme founded on greed and wrong.
This system that divides, making us rich and poor !
Since there will be no prize in death awaited long,
Demand the rights today that do to you belong,
And let us live in equal brotherhood secure !

Smash down the antique bronze that Venus naked shows;
Let pictures that do wickedly entice be brought to dust,
Snowy limbs that tell of wonders no man knows,
And break in passions rude our maidens soft repose,
And lead them unawares into the claws of lust !

Scatter wide what rouses and sustains perverted mind,
Temple and palace storm that shield disgrace and crime,
Melt the statues tall that of tyranny remind;
Wash from the marble steps the footprints left behind
By those who near the great through lies and pandering climb !

Banish the signs of pomp and false deceiving pride;
O, strip from daily life the granite robe it wears,
Its purple and its gold... its foul and ugly hide;
To make of life a dream, of living purified,
That without passion is and happiness prepares.

Gigantic pyramids from this life's ruins raise,
A memento mori unto the end of time;
To open out our souls that we may justice praise
Unto eternity, not nude and shameful ways,
With harlot soul, and eyes grown wild with lust and crime

Oh, let the deluge loose; you've waited long to know
What recompense your meek humility will get;
The wolf and the hyena do in the courtiers grow,
Their cruelties of old still baser patterns show,
Only the form is changed, the evil lives on yet.

Strike and the golden era will return to us again,
Of which old legends tell us that all was gay and fair;
That happiness in life be equal for all men.
Even the touch of death will not be awful then,
But seem a smiling angel with long and golden hair.

Then you will die contented and not by sorrow wrung,
Your children will be born and in full gladness live.
Even the church will not bewail with iron tongue
The passing of the free to live the blest among:
None will lament the dead who took all life could give.

Thus slowly will grow less the toll of dire disease,
While that alone will flourish which nature did intend,
And all these things will come in gradual degrees,
Till man but leaves the earth when earth no more can please.
The brimming cup of life drained empty to the end."
.............................................................................

Along the banks of Seine, drawn in a gala coach
The great king slowly goes, pallid and deep in thought.
Neither the lapping waves, nor rumbling wheels encroach
Upon his brooding mind; before his train's approach
There stands the suffering crowd with suffering distraught.

With ready piercing glance, and subtle smiling air,
He reads the secret thought that fills the people's soul,
The hand that holds the fate of those poor creatures there
Salutes them now with bland, acutely reasoned care
Because his fate and theirs is but one single whole.

Loveless he is, and lone, going so grandly by;
Convinced like all of you that malice, vice and hate
Will always govern all things and under all things lie,
While ever human history its age-old course will ply
As on time's heavy anvil blind hammers heedless fate.

So he whose very person is tyranny's high crest
Nods a gentle greeting to these ragged human things.
If they who are the power on which his glories rest
Would one day raise their heads or challenge his behest,
Low, yes low indeed, would fall the king of kings.

For all your shrewd mistrust, your deeply doubting sense,
Your cold and bitter smile that ne'er to pity woke,
For all your strong belief that law is but pretence,
For all your numbers might, the shade of violence,
'Tis he who holds you dumbly, still toiling in the yoke.
.............................................................................

Paris is drowned in fire; the tempest bathes in flame,
Steeples like black torches blaze in the wind away.
Amidst the billowing sea whose waves no power could tame,
Cries and the clash of arms high battle do acclaim.
In very truth in France an age has died today.

Down streets where flaming houses glitter on pikes and sword
Barricades arise from blocks of granite piled;
An army marching forwards, the proletarian horde,
Company on company, that soon the ramparts board
Midst thunderous echoing clang of the alarm bells wild.

With faces pale as marble, as marble too as cold,
Women carrying muskets pass through the ruddy glow.
Their hair hangs o'er their shoulders and does their breasts enfold;
Mad with lifelong suffering and with dark hatred bold,
Black their eyes, yet gleaming with the brightness of despair.

Courage little soldiers wrapped in your tresses long,
Great today has grown the poor abandoned child,
Through the fire and ashes to justice march along,
For all your deeds of horror do to this hour belong;
Not you to blame, but those who your young souls defiled !
.............................................................................

And now the ocean shines, as though were on it laid
And slid upon themselves broad plates of crystal bright;
While low above the trees, the secret forest glade,
The lonely yellow moon on azure field displayed
O'er floods the silent world with her triumphal light.

Across the silver swell, with motion smooth and slow
Ocean battered ships draw their old wooden sides;
Like mighty gliding shadows across the sea they go
While through their straining canvass the moonbeams seem to throw
A fiery golden wheel that e'er before them rides.

Upon a cliff corroded by the billows' restless chide,
Beneath a weeping willow, with branches to the ground,
The king of kings is gazing out o'er the falling tide
Where gleaming silver circles midst one another glide,
And where the night breeze wanders with slow and cadenced sound.

And to the king it seemed that through the starlight fair,
Treading the forest trees, and crossing the ocean clear,
With long and snowy beard, and heavy thoughtful air,
A crown of withered grasses caught to his tangled hair
There came the mad King Lear.

With mute astonishment he watched that shadow hang
Against the riven clouds, through which the stars unfurled
Blazed out; and in his head a train of visions sprang..
Till loudly echoing above it all there rang
The people's voices that clothed in fire the stricken world:

"In every man the earth is entirely built once more.
Old Demiurges still strives within each heart in vain,
For every mind puts in questions that all have put before:
Why is the flower that blooms to death inheritor?
Longings strange and sad, that rise in obscure pain.

The seed of a whole world of greatness and desire
At hazard have been sown within the hearts of all;
And when their time is come, their nature does aspire
After a perfect fruit, with all its strength entire;
Yet ere the fruit be ripe, the blossoms often fall.

Thus is the human fruit oft frozen in the bloom;
One man becomes a king, another but a slave,
Covering with chaos their different lots too soon,
Before the morning sun their works like petals strewn;
Yet nature to them all an equal knowledge gave.

Throughout the length of time, different and still the same
Their yearnings and their hopes are of one kind composed,
And though of countless fashions does seem life's secret flame,
All are alike deceived that call upon her name;
While infinite desire is in an atom closed.

When you but recollect that death will end this dream,
That nothing much is changed the day your life is passed,
This struggling desire to right the world will seem
Folly, and you'll grow tired; but one thing true you'll deem:
That life is but the way to endless death at last.

--- Mihai Eminescu. English version by Corneliu M. Popescu

April 2, 2011

शीशों का मसीहा कोई नहीं (Sheeshon Ka Maseeha Koi Nahin)

मोती हो कि शीशा, जाम कि दुर1
जो टूट गया सो टूट गया
कब अश्कों से जुड़ सकता है
जो टूट गया, सो छूट गया

तुम नाहक टुकड़े चुन चुन कर
दामन में छुपाए बैठे हो
शीशों का मसीहा कोई नहीं
क्या आस लगाए बैठे हो

शायद कि इन्हीं टुकड़ों में कहीं
वो साग़रे-दिल2 है जिसमें कभी
सद नाज़3 से उतरा करती थी
सहबाए-गमें-जानां की परी

फिर दुनिया वालों ने तुम से
ये सागर लेकर फोड़ दिया
जो मय थी बहा दी मिट्टी में
मेहमान का शहपर4 तोड़ दिया

ये रंगी रेजे5 हैं शाहिद6
उन शोख बिल्लूरी7 सपनों के
तुम मस्त जवानी में जिन से
खल्वत8 को सजाया करते थे

नादारी 9, दफ्तर, भूख और गम
इन सपनों से टकराते रहे
बेरहम था चौमुख पथराओ
ये कांच के ढ़ांचे क्या करते

या शायद इन जर्रों में कहीं
मोती है तुम्हारी इज्जत का
वो जिस से तुम्हारे इज्ज़10 पे भी
शमशादक़दों11 ने नाज़ किया

उस माल की धुन में फिरते थे
ताजिर भी बहुत रहजन भी बहुत
है चोर‍नगर, यां मुफलिस की
गर जान बची तो आन गई

ये सागर शीशे, लालो- गुहर
सालम हो तो कीमत पाते हैं
यूँ टुकड़े टुकड़े हों तो फकत12
चुभते हैं, लहू रुलवाते हैं

तुम नाहक टुकड़े चुन चुन कर
दामन में छुपाए बैठे हो
शीशों का मसीहा कोई नहीं
क्या आस लगाए बैठे हो

यादों के गरेबानों के रफ़ू
पर दिल की गुज़र कब होती है
इक बखिया उधेड़ा, एक सिया
यूँ उम्र बसर कब होती है

इस कारगहे-हस्ती13 में जहाँ
ये सागर शीशे ढ़लते हैं
हर शै का बदल मिल सकता है
सब दामन पुर हो सकते हैं

जो हाथ बढ़े यावर14 है यहाँ
जो आंख उठे वो बख़्तावर15
यां धन दौलत का अंत नहीं
हों घात में डाकू लाख यहाँ

कब लूट झपट में हस्ती16 की
दुकानें खाली होती हैं
यां परबत परबत हीरे हैं
या सागर सागर मोती है

कुछ लोग हैं जो इस दौलत पर
पर्दे लटकाया फिरते हैं
हर परबत को हर सागर को
नीलाम चढ़ाते फिरते हैं

कुछ वो भी हैं जो लड़ भिड़ कर
ये पर्दे नोच गिराते हैं
हस्ती के उठाईगीरों की
हर चाल उलझाए जाते हैं

इन दोनों में रन१७ पड़ता है
नित बस्ती बस्ती नगर नगर
हर बसते घर के सीने में
हर चलती राह के माथे पर

ये कालक भरते फिरते हैं
वो जोत जगाते रहते हैं
ये आग लगाते फिरते हैं
वो आग बुझाते रहते हैं

सब सागर शीशे, लालो-‍गुहर
इस बाज़ी में बिद जाते हैं
उठो, सब ख़ाली हाथों को
इस रन से बुलावे आते हैं.

1. एक तरह का माणिक
2. हृदय रूपी मदिरा पात्र, 3.गर्व से
4. सबसे मज़बूत पंख
5. टुकड़े, 6. साक्षी, 7. काँच, 8. एकाकीपन
9. दरिद्रता
10. विनम्रता 11. सरों के पेड़ ऍसे कद वालों ने
12. सिर्फ
13. संसार
14. सहायक, 15. भाग्यवान
16. जीवन
१७. संघर्ष

---

जो बीत गई सो बात गई ( Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi)

जीवन में एक सितारा था
माना वह बेहद प्यारा था
वह डूब गया तो डूब गया
अंबर के आंगन को देखो
कितने इसके तारे टूटे
कितने इसके प्यारे छूटे
जो छूट गए फ़िर कहाँ मिले
पर बोलो टूटे तारों पर
कब अंबर शोक मनाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई

जीवन में वह था एक कुसुम
थे उस पर नित्य निछावर तुम
वह सूख गया तो सूख गया
मधुबन की छाती को देखो
सूखी कितनी इसकी कलियाँ
मुरझाईं कितनी वल्लरियाँ
जो मुरझाईं फ़िर कहाँ खिलीं
पर बोलो सूखे फूलों पर
कब मधुबन शोर मचाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई

जीवन में मधु का प्याला था
तुमने तन मन दे डाला था
वह टूट गया तो टूट गया
मदिरालय का आंगन देखो
कितने प्याले हिल जाते हैं
गिर मिट्टी में मिल जाते हैं
जो गिरते हैं कब उठते हैं
पर बोलो टूटे प्यालों पर
कब मदिरालय पछताता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई

मृदु मिट्टी के बने हुए हैं
मधु घट फूटा ही करते हैं
लघु जीवन ले कर आए हैं
प्याले टूटा ही करते हैं
फ़िर भी मदिरालय के अन्दर
मधु के घट हैं,मधु प्याले हैं
जो मादकता के मारे हैं
वे मधु लूटा ही करते हैं
वह कच्चा पीने वाला है
जिसकी ममता घट प्यालों पर
जो सच्चे मधु से जला हुआ
कब रोता है चिल्लाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई.

---

April 1, 2011

आरज़ू

जाने किसकी तलाश उनकी आँखों मे थी,
आरज़ू के मुसाफिर भटकते रहे,
जितने भी वो चले उतने ही बिछ गए राह में फासले,
ख्वाब मंजिलें थे और मंजिलें ख्वाब थी,
रास्तों से निकलते रहे रास्ते जाने किसके वास्ते,
आरज़ू के मुसाफिर भटकते रहे...

कोई पुरानी याद मेरा रास्ता रोककर मुझसे कहती है
इतनी जलती धुप में यूँ कब तक बैठोगे
आओ चल के बीते दिनों की छाव में बैठे
उस लम्हे की बात करे जिसमे कोई फूल खिला था
उस लम्हे की बात करे जिसमे किसी की आवाज की चांदी खनक उठी थी
उस लम्हे की बात करे जिसमे किसी की नजरो के मोती बरसे थे
कोई पुरानी याद मेरा रास्ता रोके...

सच तो यह है की कसूर अपना था,
चाँद को छूने की तमन्ना की,
आसमान को ज़मीन पर माँगा,
फूल, चाहा की पत्थरों में खिलें,
कांटो में की तलाश खुशबू की,
आरज़ू थी की आग ठंडक दे,
बर्फ में ढूंढते रहे गर्मी,
ख्वाब जो देखा चाहा सच हो जाये,
इसकी हमको सज़ा तो मिलनी ही थी,
सच तो यह है कसूर अपना ही था...

---जावेद अख़्तर

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