Poem # 47
subuh chhum baagh
fresh youth and a passionate heart,
And my morning just begun,
I'd drink delight in the living hue
Of all bewitching flowers.
My heart's garden is in bloom,
And I am in the midst of flowers.
I don't need to adorn them,
Or invite excited bulbuls !
Why fill our glass with foreign brew,
Or alien pockets with our wealth ?
This must cease. A new orientation
Must begin in my own home !
Bulbuls faint when they watch me
Shaping flowers with my hands.
They should know that if I can shape
A bulbul, I can also shape a flower !
Poor bulbuls' blood has been used
By flowers to dye their robes.
This stops now. They'll get a new dye;
But before that, they'll have to have new faces !
The florist says to the poshinools:
I must put to rest all strife -
Of bulbuls chasing flowers,
And the bee the yemberzal.
I visit markets not to buy or sell,
But to see how I can stand
The lure of heaps of fraudulent goods
And the spell of blood-stained wealth.
My aim is not to show I'm wise,
Or make a bee line forfame,
But to share my honest thoughts on life
With friends and genuine souls.
I have both courage and means.
And since the time is ripe,
I must now launch my flying carpet
To make our foes lick the dust.
Flower bushes have shrivelled up,
Fountains have ceased to flow.
I must ascend the heavens
And bring a shower of rain.
I have to lay a new garden,
And to build a new world !
I must plant lasting flowers,
And bring bulbuls who will stay.
Being insensible, being submissive
Poisons life's perennial joy.
I'll storm this citadel of moral stupor
With the guns of identity.
No longer will there be in my world
The arrogant man of wealth,
Who claims luxury as a birthright,
While ruin stalks poor men's homes.
There shall be a single gate
That leads to various homes -
Mosques, temples and churches,
Pilgrims' homes and shrines of saints.
The time is not far when Kashmir
Will reawaken the eastern world.
I must ensure that this message
Reaches every soul in my land.
Mahjoor is filling glasses with wine,
And says he will serve
All friends and foes alike,
For it is the wine of love !
Poem # 48
vesiye aadnuk yaar kot gom......
has he gone, my dearest friend,
My heart's mainstay, my lord of love,
That accomplished soul, my garland of pearls ?
I moved fast, but arrived nowhere
At nightfall. The goal was far away,
And my exuberant youth was gone !
Autumn winds left me distraught,
With silent blackbirds and withered flowers.
O, where is my flowering spring ?
Chasing him, my feet were sore,
My youth in bloom was blown away.
How cruel to leave me desolate !
With a passion that gripped me, body and soul,
I got the headiest wine, drank long and deep.
But where is that fine intoxication gone ?
The faith which I avowed till now,
I now recant, with no one prompting me.
O, what happened to my wisdom at this stage ?
When Mahjoor is seen no more,
The wild rose will ask the hyacinth:
Where is that warm indulgent soul ?