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मैं और मेरी तनहाई अक्सर ये बातें करते है



मैं और मेरी तनहाई अक्सर ये बातें करते है
तुम होती तो कैसा होता
तुम ये कहती तुम वो कहती
तुम इस बात पे हैरां होती
तुम उस बात पे कितनी हँसती
तुम होती तो ऐसा होता
तुम होती तो वैसा होता
मैं और मेरी तनहाई अक्सर ये बातें करते है
ये रात है या जुल्फ़े तुम्हारी खुली हुई
है चांदनी या तुम्हारी नज़रों से मेरी रातें धुली हुई
ये चाँद है या तुम्हारा कंगन
सितारें है या तुम्हारा आँचल
हवा का झोका है या तुम्हारे बदन की खुशबू
ये पत्तों की है सरसराहट
या तुमने चुपके से कुछ कहा है
ये सोचता हूँ मैं कबसे गुमसुम
की जबकि मुझको भी ये खबर है तुम नहीं हो……कही नहीं हो
मगर ये दिल है की कह रहा है
तुम यही हो यही कही हो
मजबूर ये हालत इधर भी है उधर भी है
तनहाई की एक रात इधर भी है उधर भी है
कहने को बहुत कुछ है मगर किस से कहे हम
कब तक यूँही खामूश रहे है और सहे हम
दिल कहता है दुनिया की हर एक रसम को उठा दे
दीवार जो हम दोनों में है गिरा दे
क्यूँ दिल मैं सुलगते रहे लोगों को बता दें
हाँ हम को मोहब्बत है मोहब्बत है मोहब्बत
अब दिल में ये बात इधर भी है उधर भी है
जाँवेद अख्तर

English Translation:
Me and my loneliness often have this conversation
how would it be to have you, you would say this, you would say that
you would be shocked to hear this, you would laugh to hear that
it would be like this if you would be here, it would’ve been like that if you would be here
Me and my loneliness often have this conversation

Is is the night or is your hair open
Is it the moonlight or your eyesight in which my night’s set
Is it the moon or your bangle
Are they stars or your shawl
Is it the breeze or the aroma of your body
Is it the sound of the leaves
Or you have quietly said something
I have been thinking quietly
Though I am well aware
That you are not around, not there at all
But this heart which is telling me
That you are here, somewhere around her
Difficult situation is present in this place too and there too
Lonely night is present here also, there also
There are so many things to be said
But, to whom shall i say
Till when can i stay silent and tolerate
Heart says that i should cross every tradition present in this world
Break the walls between the both of us today
Why should we leave it in our hearts
Lets tell the people
Yes, we are in love, we are in love, love
Now the same thoughts present in my heart are here also, there also

IMDB Link: Silsila 1981

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एक चेहरा साथ-साथ


एक चेहरा साथ-साथ रहा जो मिला नहीं
किसको तलाश करते रहे कुछ पता नहीं

शिद्दत की धूप तेज़ हवाओं के बावजूद
मैं शाख़ से गिरा हूँ नज़र से गिरा नहीं

आख़िर ग़ज़ल का ताजमहल भी है मकबरा
हम ज़िन्दगी थे हमको किसी ने जिया नहीं

जिसकी मुखालफ़त हुई मशहूर हो गया
इन पत्थरों से कोई परिंदा गिरा नहीं

तारीकियों में और चमकती है दिल की धूप
सूरज तमाम रात यहाँ डूबता नहीं

किसने जलाई बस्तियाँ बाज़ार क्यों लुटे
मैं चाँद पर गया था मुझे कुछ पता नहीं

-बशीर बद्र

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बस इक लम्हे का झगड़ा था


गुलज़ार

 
बस इक लम्हे का झगड़ा था –
दरो-दीवार पे ऐसे छनाके से गिरी आवाज़ जैसे काँच गिरता है –
हर इक शै में गयीं उडती हुई, जलती हुई किरचें!
नज़र में, बात में, लहजे में, सोच और साँस के अन्दर |
लहू होना था इक रिश्ते का, सो वह हो गया उस दिन
उसी आवाज़ के टुकड़े उठा के फ़र्श से उस शब,
किसी ने काट ली नब्ज़ें – 
न की आवाज़ तक कुछ भी,

कि कोई जाग न जाये

 

An English Translation

A mere one-moment tiff –
And the voice crashed on the walls like a glass shatters –
The splinters, stinging, flew into everything
In our eyes, in our conversation and its tone, in our thoughts and breaths even |
A relation was to be murdered, and that happened eventually –

Using a fragment of that very voice, that night,
Someone slit their veins –
Not making the slightest noise,
Lest someone wakes up

 

The same was recited by Dia Mirza for “Dus Kahaniyaan(2007)” album.

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ताजमहल – ये चमनज़ार यह जमुना का किनारा ये महल


ताज तेरे लिए इक मजहर-ऐ-उल्फत ही सही
तुझ को इस वादी-ऐ-रंगीन से अकीदत ही सही

मेर्री मेहबूब कहीं और मिला कर मुझ से

बज़्म-ऐ-शाही में ग़रीबों का गुज़र क्या मा’अनी
सब्त जिस राज पे हों सतवत-ऐ-शाही के निशाँ
उस पे उल्फत भरी रूहों का सफ़र क्या मा’अनी

मेरी महबूब पास-ऐ-पर्दा-ऐ-ताश-हीर-ऐ-वफ़ा
तू ने सतवत के निशानों को तो देखा होता
मुर्दा शाहों के मकाबिर से बहलने वाली
अपने तारीक मकानों को तो देखा होता

अनगिनत लोगों ने दुनिया में मुहब्बत की है
कौन कहता है की सादिक न थे जज्बे उन के
लेकिन उन के लिए ताश-हीर का सामान नहीं
क्यूँ के वो लोग भी अपनी ही तरह मुफलिस थे

ये इमारात-ओ-मकाबिर ये फ़सीलें,ये हिसार
मुतला-कुल्हुक्म शहंशाहों की अजमत के सुतून
दामन-ऐ-दहर पे उस रंग की गुलकारी है
जिस में सामिल है तेरे और मेरे अजदाद का खून

मेरी महबूब! उन्हें भी तो मुहब्बत होगी
जिनकी सन्ना-ई ने बख्शी है इसे शक्ल-जमील
उन के प्यारों के मकाबिर रहे बेनाम-ओ-नमूद
आज तक उन पे जल्ला-ई न किसी ने कंदील

ये चमनज़ार यह जमुना का किनारा ये महल
ये मुनक्क़श दर-ओ-दीवार, यह मेहराब ये ताक
इक शहंशाह ने दौलत का सहारा ले कर
हम ग़रीबों की मुहब्बत का उराया है मजाक

मेरी महबूब कहीं और मिला कर मुझ से!

–साहिर लुधियानवी(Sahir Ludhianvi 1921-1980)

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does the sky ever grieve?


This is englsih Translation of जो बीत गई सो बात गई

There was a star in life
agreed, it was much loved
when it sank, it did sink.
Look at the sky’s vastness,
so many stars have broken away
so many loved ones it has lost
the lost ones, were they ever found?
But tell me, for the broken stars
does the sky ever grieve?
That which is past, is gone.

There was a flower in life
which, I doted everyday on
when it dried, it dried away.
Look at the garden’s breast,
dried, many of its saplings have
welted, many of its flowers have
that which welted, did it ever bloom?
But tell me, for dried flowers
does the garden create an uproar?
That which is past, is gone.

There was a cup of wine in life
which, you gave your heart and soul for
when it broke, it did break.
Look at the winehouse’s courtyard
shaken, where many cups are
fall, and merge with the ground
that which fall, do they ever rise?
But tell me, for broken cups
does the winehouse ever regret?
That which is past, is gone.

Soft mud, we are made of,
wine drops do tend to fall.
A short life, we have come with,
winecups do tend to break.
Yet, inside the winehouse
there is a winepot, there are winecups.
Those, struck by intoxication
do splurge away on the wine.
He’s a raw drinker,
whose affection escapes no cup,
one who has burnt from true wine
does he ever shout, or scream?
That which is past, is gone.

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And then there were none


Ten little Indian boys went out to dine;

One choked his little self and then there were nine.

Nine little Indian boys sat up very late;

One overslept himself and then there were eight.

Eight little Indian boys traveling in Devon;

One said he’d stay there and then there were seven.

Seven little Indian boys chopping up sticks;

One chopped himself in halves and then there were six.

Six little Indian boys playing with a hive;

A bumblebee stung one and then there were five.

Five little Indian boys going in for law,

One got in Chancery and then there were four.

Four little Indian boys going out to sea;

A red herring swallowed one and then there were three.

Three little Indian boys walking in the Zoo;

A big bear hugged one and then there were two.

Two little Indian boys sitting in the sun;

On got frizzled up and then there was one.

One little Indian boy left all alone;

He went and hanged himself and then there were none.

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the indian to his love


W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)

The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.

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Sonnet


Elizabeth Bishop
Buy Books By Elizabeth Bishop Poems

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

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Riding the Red Line


Eric Nixon
Buy Book – Anything but Dreams: Selected Poems

On the subway
On a hot summer night
Riding the Red Line
Outbound to Alewife
So is everyone else
Standing in the packed car
Staring blankly at the
Reflections in the window
Stealing looks every so often
At the pretty mid-20-something
Sitting on the seat near me
Noticing that she is
Glancing sideways
At the paper the person
Next to her is reading
Well not so much reading
Since he’s got his eyes
Looking to the side at
Someone else behind me
Everyone is pretending
To look somewhere neutral
Everyone is experiencing
Ulterior motives checking out
Everyone else around them
Trying to be all sneaky about it
With each stop
The people change
The dynamics change
Keeps the subway car
Fresh and interesting
Just as long as she doesn’t leave
I’ll be happy standing here
Packed among strangers
With wandering eyes
And stealing glances
Alongside them
On this hot, hot night.

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Some Glad Morning


Joyce Sutphen
Buy Book – Naming the Stars: Poems

One day, something very old
happened again. The green
came back to the branches,
settling like leafy birds
on the highest twigs;
the ground broke open
as dark as coffee beans.

The clouds took up their
positions in the deep stadium
of the sky, gloving the
bright orb of the sun
before they pitched it
over the horizon.

It was as good as ever:
the air was filled
with the scent of lilac
s and cherry blossoms
sounded their long
whistle down the track
It was some glad morning.

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