15.6.11

Two Poems of Resistance

First Poem

We neither want to live in a palace.

Nor do we love the leaders.

We are a people who kill degradation and misery.

We are a people who destroy the foundation of oppression.

We are a people who do not want the people to remain in this setback.

Second Poem

(A dialogue between Hamad bin Khalifa and Iblis, the Devil, takes place on a table set with the suffering of the people)

Devil: Hamad, have some fear of God, on their behalf.

My heart is in pieces over them.

I and I, Iblis, by God, now want to put my hands in theirs.

Turn against you, my tyrant.

Kneel this hour before their prophet,

And return to my Lord,

As I am distraught by the way they are chased.



Hamad: You have taught me, my supporter,

How to renounce them,

With humiliation and degradation and disasters

For which I blame them.

And the time has come, little brother Iblis,

When you act as their mediator.

Your identity appears to have been shaken

By their father, by their consciousness



Devil: Yes, Hamad, your people have shaken me.

Don’t you hear their cries?

Don’t you see the crowds?

Don’t you see their case?

Listen to their complaints,

To their attempt to plan their steps.

Listen to your people’s cries, which you have purchased,

Hamad.



Hamad: My stomach still has not had its fill of their blood,

Little brother Iblis.

I have yet to nationalize the rest of my family and their wives.

I have yet to decree the uncivilized become machines.

I have yet to leave every candle at the streetlight,

Imploring every passerby:

I have water, come, buy.

I have yet to torture every mu’amam in this land,

Every youth and child,

And push into my prisons the blossom of youth,

And open for degradation a thousand doors,

And force all the people to cry for their lamentations.

Still, little brother Iblis, the number of youth hasn’t risen,

Each one of them, a diploma on his chest.

No occupation and no pre-occupation left to them.

I still have not had every Indian on this land.

Hold in his hand our flag and cheer: “Long live, Abu Sleiman!”

I still have not sucked their blood.

From the scourge of rents and leases,

From apartment to apartment,

While the uncivilized have homes and lands,

But they still number 120.

I don’t think anyone hears their echoes.



Devil: Listen.

How could the Hajji say the world?

If 120 and their echoes don’t reach?

Look, Abu Sleiman, my brave pupil,

Your treachery has surpassed your teacher’s.

Your people in revolt have aged me.

And their brothers have aged me.

Sunni, Shi’a are brothers.

There is no division among them.

But your heart is like stone.

Will you heed some advice from

Your supporter, oppressive one?

Pack up your regime’s encampment,

Until they are satisfied.

Because your people, my darling …

You are not at their level.

---Ayat al-Qormezi [ Poet was sentenced to one year in prison. Below are some of her poems, translated to English by Nahrain Al-Mousawi]

8.6.11

ज़िंदगी की कहानी रही अनकही !

ज़िंदगी की कहानी रही अनकही !
दिन गुज़रते रहे, साँस चलती रही !

अर्थ क्या ? शब्द ही अनमने रह गए,
कोष से जो खिंचे तो तने रह गए,
वेदना अश्रु-पानी बनी, बह गई,

धूप ढलती रही, छाँह छलती रही !

बाँसुरी जब बजी कल्पना-कुंज में
चाँदनी थरथराई तिमिर पुंज में
पूछिए मत कि तब प्राण का क्या हुआ,

आग बुझती रही, आग जलती रही !

जो जला सो जला, ख़ाक खोदे बला,
मन न कुंदन बना, तन तपा, तन गला,
कब झुका आसमाँ, कब रुका कारवाँ,

द्वंद्व चलता रहा पीर पलती रही !

बात ईमान की या कहो मान की
चाहता गान में मैं झलक प्राण की,
साज़ सजता नहीं, बीन बजती नहीं,

उँगलियाँ तार पर यों मचलती रहीं !

और तो और वह भी न अपना बना,
आँख मूंदे रहा, वह न सपना बना !
चाँद मदहोश प्याला लिए व्योम का,

रात ढलती रही, रात ढलती रही !

यह नहीं जानता मैं किनारा नहीं,
यह नहीं, थम गई वारिधारा कहीं !
जुस्तजू में किसी मौज की, सिंधु के-

थाहने की घड़ी किन्तु टलती रही !

---Acharya Janki Ballabh Shashtri

कविता पर रोक

कविता लिखना चाहता हूँ
शर्त रख दी जाती हैः

मुसलमान हो तो;
कुरआन-हदीस पर मत लिखना.

ईसाई हो तो; ईसा के पिता का सवाल
नहीं उठाओगे.

हिंदू हो तो; अयोध्या छोड़कर सारी
‘रामायण’ लिख सकते हो.

मैं बोलना चाहता हूँ
तो प्रतिबंधित कर दिया जाता हूँ.

****शहरोज़

Thanks to BBC article for this poem.

Shamm-E-Mazaar Thi Na Koi Sogwaar Tha

शम्म-ए-मज़ार थी ना कोई सोगवार था,
तुम जिस पे रो रहे थे वो किसका मज़ार था ।

तड़पूँगा उम्र भर दिल-ए-मर्हुम के लिये,
कम्बख़्त नामुराद लड़कपन का यार था ।

जादू है या तिलिस्म तुम्हारी ज़ुबान में,
तुम झूठ कह रहे थे मुझे ऐतबार था ।

क्या क्या हमारे सज़दे की रूसवाईयाँ हुई,
नक़्श-ए-क़दम किसी का सरे रह-गुज़ार था ।

---Bekhud Dehlvi

6.6.11

Like you (Como tu)

I, like you,
love love, life, the sweet delight
of things, the blue
landscape of January days.

Also my blood bubbles over
laughing through my eyes
which have known the rush of tears.

I believe the world is beautiful,
that poetry is, like bread, for everyone.

And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
things,
countryside and bread,
poetry for everyone.

---Roque Dalton

3.6.11

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

---William Wordsworth

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