दिल ही तो है ना..

दिल ही तो है ना संग-ओ-खीसत
दर्द से भर ना आये क्यों?
रोयेंगे हम हज़ार बार
कोई हमें सताये क्यों?
देर नहीं, हरम नहीं,
दर नहीं, आस्तन नहीं
बैठे हैं रह-गुजर पे हम
ग़ैर हमें उठाये क्यों?
जब वेह जमाल-ए-दिल्फरोज़
सूरते-मेहरे नीम-रोजे
आप ही हो नज़र-सोजे
पर्दे में मुँह चुप्पये क्यों?
दश्ने-ए-गमाज़ जान-सीतां
नाव्के-नाज़ बेपनाह
तेरा ही अक्स-रुख सही,
साम तेरे आये क्यों?
कैदे-हयात-ओ-बंद-ए-गम,
असल में दोनो एक हैं
मौत से पहल्रे आदमी
गुम से निजात पाये क्यों?
हुस्न और उस पे हुस्न-ए-जून
रह गयी बुल्हावास कि एस
हर्मपने पे एतमाद है,
ग़ैर को आजमाये क्यों?
वन वेह गरुरे-इज्ज़-ओ-नाज़
यां यह हिजबे-पासे-वज़न
राह में हम मिलें कहां
बज़्म में वेह बुलाये क्यों?
हाँ वोह नहीं
खुदा परसत
जाओ वेह बेवफा सही
जिसको हो दिनों-दिल अज़ीज़
उसकी गली में जाये क्यों?
घलिब-ए-खास्त के बगैर
कौनसे काम बंद हैं?
रोईये ज़र-ज़र काया?
कीजिये हाय-हाय क्यों?

मिर्ज़ा घालिब

Wings of Victory

Once in the bright red sun,

Soared a gull from its fun

Of a joyful dream,

Where this gull, in nature,

Soared way above his stature,

Being the best of flight around and found,

That he was best left to sleep,

For fishing around in the deep

Was not his way, but of the others,

Who cared, loved and abandoned him.

He found himself

On hard, cold earth,

His way of life reinstated,

For on this very hard, cold earth

He found what he most wanted.

This gull, though famous

For his dismissal from the flock,

Returned in the morning to the dock,

Where nestled were the others,

Who cared, loved and abandoned him.

Another day, another try,

To what most gulls call “revolting”,

To find for himself a life of flying.

Than for fish, bolting.

Aiming for perfection

Was what he wanted most,

His thirst for the knowledge of flight,

And to prove to those

Who banished him forever,

That there was much beyond the food.

So this seagull

Abandoning all pretence

For the dull, routine life of a gull

Proved in the end, to them

That perfection comes to those

Who have the will to learn.

----------Arunjit Singh

The Desert

I maybe silent,
Full of sand,
And here and there
A weary band.

People won’t live here,
Trees won’t grow,
Water won’t flow here,
But I still survive.

Hot sun during day,
Cold winds at night,
As dry as a bone,
But I still survive.

You write and I swallow,
You fight but I win,
You curse me in pain,
But I still survive.

You hold my sands
In your cupped hands
Alas! It falls!
Yet you try again, and fail again

Again you fight,
Again I win,
Again you curse me,
Again I survive.

--------------- Arunjit Singh

An Open Book

“Since before History,

Writing and drawing were.

But before History,

Books never were.”

Sang an open book

But that’s not all, it continued

“Luckily there were those,

Who wanted their writings stored.

Giving thoughtful looks,

They wrote then in books.

“It continued for centuries,

It continues today,

It'll continue tomorrow,

It'll continue till the last day.”

“Men live on blood,

I live on ink.

Men depend on me,

I depend on them.”

“Men can only reach me

With a quill and a pot of ink.

Although I reach men

With an invisible link.”

“It continued for centuries,

It continues today,

It'll continue tomorrow,

It'll continue till the last day.”

--------------Arunjit Singh

और फिर एक दिन

नीली नीली पत्तीयों पर
आसमानी रंगों कि एक तितली
छोटी छोटी काली आँखें
सून्गती उडती
सोचे कि वो आज़ाद है
स्वरूप से मिले उसे पंख
थर्थाराये हुए झूमे वो
अपने छोटे से जग में बहुत खुश
क्या जाने वो पगली
पंख हैं उसके बहुत छोटे
पंछी नहीं तितली है वो
उड़ ना पाये वो कहीँ दूर
चार दीवारों में कैद न सही
हवाओं ने, मह्कों ने उसे रोका है
छोटीसी दुनिया देखी उसने
जग की क्या उसे परिभाषा है
हरी डाल पे बीज तो फूके
झींगा उस तितली का स्वरूप है
निरा निर्विकार उसका जीवन
सुन्दर उसका मोल
पगली समझे खुद को अनमोल
उड़े वो उस ऊंचे आसमान की ओर
और जाने ना उसकी ऊंचाई
जाल बिछें हैं गुलशन गुलशन
और फिर एक दिन
आया ज़मीन से बुलावा
उन छोटी छोटी काली आंखों में
जागी फिर अन्वेशना।

Caliban

Caliban, Caliban; wherefore arte thou?
tu me manque
I see you everyday
you make eyes at me
and I should feel afraid
I should detest your look
I really should
stay away?

I see you when you're not looking
when the moon is too high
and you wield your stick
I can see the sweat on your bare back
the deliberate movement of your hands

I see you everyday when you see me too
and you make eyes at me
I shouldn't turn back to look at you
and I don't
yet I can see you looking at me

I can see you when you're not there
you, the freckled whelp, born of a hag
you, who dishonour the human shape
you, with your knotty trails
which tremble me in my sleep

I can see you when they think you have disappeared
into the bowels beneath
I see you again and again
without averting my eyes in disgust
and no despair

but he has seen you too
you filthy abhorred slave
you hag dependant on our mercy
you, on the street
never supposed to be seen

........................

And I see your cold countenance
turning glazy
I see the sweat freeze
I see your eyes still on me
and I'm afarid

I see you though you've gone
I sense your eyes follow me
everywhere behind my back
all that's left of you now
And I finally see thw flame turn to smoke.


15/4/07 1.00AM
Eve of the Shakespeare paper

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.


....MY MAN:Shakespeare, Sonnet 116