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Àŧùl May 2013
Punjabi (Roman script, not in the Gurmukhi script)

Jadon teri khushboo udi-udi jaaye,
Mennu vaajaan maar bulaye,
Main kyun khincha chala aanda,
Ni main tenu pyar karda.


Translation in English

When I sense your scent in the wind,
Calling my name out,
Why I get pulled towards you,
It's because I love you.

OoOoOoO
My HP Poem #235
©Atul Kaushal
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
Shabash

Shābāsh (Hindi: शाबाश, Urdu: شاباش, Punjabi: ਸ਼ਾਬਾਸ਼, Bengali: শাবাশ, Telugu: శబాష్) is a term used in the Indian subcontinent to signal commendation for an achievement, similar in meaning to
bravo and kudos.


……………………………………………
a poem writ sometimes, oft,
snaps back,
I was surprising recipient
of a commendation in language
I knew not

the poem spoke well
of broken boundaries,
between in this instance,
Jew and Muslim,
capturing a momentary parting
of the seaways and
walls of misbelief
and mischief,
normally employed
to keep our divisions,
parted perpetually

I’ve decided to begin to
use shabash now,
my ‘go to’ word
from now on,
a small quiet way
to say
well done

it starts with one word,
a stretching hand across
the face fence,
imagining John Lennon’s
imagine-world,
who lay dying when I was
a young father of thirty,
me residing less than a
mile away from each other

little could I imagine then that
poetry would pick me at all,
especially to write of words
in dialects I don’t speak,
but imaging their pastel colorations
flying by in gentle breezes,
eager to be grabbed,
plucked from the air,
tongued and loved

so!
when I say to you,
in the softest spoke,

shabash!

to all of us,
for choosing this path,
using your words in
every dialect,
to spread the imagination
of good will

8-4-2019
10:10 am
S.I.
“Anyone that knows my work knows how I fit into the religious model. Like a polygon into a circular slot.
But this is actually a good piece. I was raised in a very orthodox Muslim family and although my experiences of faith are overwhelmingly negative, this piece is a breath of fresh air.”

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2570424/inshallah-my-cell-phone/

“Nicely written, matey. Shabash.”
 Jun 2018
Àŧùl Apr 2015
Male:
Main tennu eevein chaahnda,
<Yo baby! I love you like this,>
Jeevein Mor koi Morni nu - haaye...
<Like a peacock loves a peahen, yeah...>

^^

Together:
Saath poori jindadi daa...
<Well we'll be togetha foreva...>
Ehi saddaa vaada hai - haaye...
<Yea this is our commitment - yo...>

^
^

Male:
Jadon tu kitey meri jindadi vich jaaye, haaye...
<If you go away from my life someday, may mercy be upon me...>
Naal meri jindadi v jaaye, haaye...
<Along may go my life too, yea...>

^^

Female:
*Ke main tennu eevein chaahndi,
<That I love you like this,>
Jeevein Mor nu koi Morni ** - haaye...
<Like a peahen loves a peacock, yeah...>

Jadon main tennu kadi mildi haan,
<When I meet you,>
Bol paendiyaan akkhaan teriyaan, haaye...
<Your eyes start talking, yea...>

Main tennu eevein chaahndi,
<I love you like this,>
Jeevein Mor nu koi Morni **, haaye...
<Like a peahen loves a peacock, yea...>*

^
^

Male:
Main tennu eevein chaahnda,
<Yo baby! I love you like this,>
Jeevein Mor koi Morni nu - haaye...
<Like a peacock loves a peahen, yeah...>

^^

Female:
*Main tennu eevein chaahndi,
<I love you like this,>
Jeevein Mor nu koi Morni **, haaye...
<As if a peahen loves a peacock, yea...>*

^
^

Together:**
Saath poori jindadi daa...
<Well we'll be togetha foreva...>
Ehi saddaa vaada hai - haaye...
<Yea this is our commitment - yo...>
My HP Poem #842
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Mar 2015
So aged he is, but still so zealous for his job.
It feels like he has only known his rickshaw.
The ancient bard in him tells Punjabi poems.
He belies his wrinkles as he pedals his ride.
Just putting to shame his fellow rickshaw pullers.
None remembers or even cares to know his name.
He just pedals and remembers his deceased wife.

He told me a Punjabi tale of partition...

"We were really happy when it happened,
I was 16 and married to my beautiful wife,
But then he pressed for a separate Pakistan,
Just so much wicked was this demand of his,
Punjab was alight due to some people's doing,
We were to cross river Ravi en route to Amritsar,
In Lahore my childhood home was burnt to ashes,
My beautiful wife was still so young at that time,
She was ***** on the banks of river Ravi & killed,
In no cloth was she draped as they burnt her body,
After pouring whiskey all over her lifeless body."


His voice broke and a stream of tears escaped,
Down his eyes they flowed like the river Ravi,
"In front of my two eyes the men had ***** her,
Her mistake? Looking at them once & smiling,
Sin as great to be punished by such brutal drab?
What God, Ishwar or Allah did they follow?
I have known all & none advocates ****,
To which parents could they born?
Must be the devil & the witch."


By now his nose was red and his sobs audible.
He said, "She was not just *****, she was also killed,"
The ancient rickshaw puller gasped for breath as he said,
"Would the high heavens thank them for killing my wife,
She was a Hindu and an idolater with my mangalsootra,
Why they spared my life I have no idea but just remorse,
Will their Allah or God spare them on Doomsday?"

==============
And Google knows who pressed for a separate Pakistan in the name of communal majority.

My HP Poem #813
©Atul Kaushal
thrcy Apr 2017
Never be ashamed of your native language
Say those beautiful
Phrases and words
Loud and proud.

Do not let anyone stop you from speaking
Let your voice be
Heard and recognized
Don't you dare let anybody make fun of your accent
Embrace the thickness
Don't ever lose grasp of it.

For it is one of the precious treasure
You could ever hold on to
After leaving your homeland
To start a new life in a foreign country
That offers you a whole lot of new opportunities.

Hold on to your mother tongue
As tight as you can
Because this new country you now live in
Will do its very best to change your identity
And oppress your culture.

So it be French or Spanish
Korean, Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese
Tagalog, Cebuano, Ilonggo
Greek, Punjabi, Hindi, Sinhalese
Arabic, Vietnamese, Portuguese
German or Russian
And any other language there is in the world.

It has exquisite words that just cannot be simply translated into English
For it has far greater meaning behind it
It is very much well-written
Alluring to one's eye and
Spoken eloquently and gracefully
That the English language is not able to compare
To your admirably and enticing
Well-spoken mother tongue.
I salute your bravery
For moving into a brand new place
And the willing to learn
A whole new language
Because it is not easy for all of us to do so.

This is for the immigrants and internationals who have travelled into Canada and they are constantly being bashed for their accent and their difficulty with learning the English language, the same people who mock them are the ones who have only spoken English all their lives. I personally think the willingness of learning a language so different with your mother tongue in order to improve your future is amazing and I admire each and everyone of you who do so. As someone who has been made fun of in previous years because I had this thick accent, you shouldn't let them make you feel less and do not let them try to think that your race and culture is lower than theirs, cause it is not.

Also, happy national poetry month :-)
Jasraj Sangani  Feb 2016
Mumbai
Jasraj Sangani Feb 2016
Mumbai is rich, Mumbai is poor.
Mumbai is fast, Mumbai is slower.
Little bit sweet, and little bit sour,
Sometimes it’s hot but not too more….

Mornings are energetic and evenings are electric.
Noons are lazy but Nights are crazy
And any one you ask he always say “M busy”
Dude, life in Mumbai is not so easy

There is lot of Masti with little bit of Maska
Welcome to the city that can’t live, without Bollywood Chaska

From cooker whistles to the traffic jam horns,
From steaming tea kettles to breaking nut-betels
From telephone rings and doorbell brings.
There are people connecting through Blackberry pings

Where there’s little time to spare for kids
People here spend their lives on bids
Here you actually pay your travel fare by meter
But milkman mixing water is not a cheater!

Sev puri and bhel puri are all Mumbai chaat
Relishing it with spicy chutney is no easy art
From pop-corn to ice-cream, all sold on cart
Mumbai o Mumbai, you’re always close to my heart

Where local trains usually run on time
And violently rushing for a seat is not a crime
Here 3 PM for lunch and 12 AM to dine
People face hardships, but still say “it’s fine”

From Mt Mary in Bandra to Mumba Devi in Town
And ISKCON in Juhu to Haji Ali in Mumbai’s Crown
Faith runs deep as the Arabian Sea
But people don’t hesitate to pay early darshan fee.

Marathi, Punjabi, Gujarati and Bengali
Everyone forgather celebrate Id and Diwali
Holi is colourful and Christmas is cheerful
Spend some time here and your life will be un-forgetful

Billionaire to baggers, all found in this city
Be careful dude, this place is a bit witty.
Overall this dream-world is huge but pretty
Mumbai o Mumbai you’re wonderful city.
Perig3e Jan 2011
To speak all these languages:
Assamese, Bengali, Bodo,
Chhattisgarhi, Dogri , Garo -

Oh, to be able to tongue, "Love"
in Gajarati, Hini, Kannada, Kashmiri,
Khasi,  Kokborok, Konkani -

Or lip, "Desire" in
Maithili,  Malayalam,  Manipuri,  Marathi,  Mizo,  Nepali -

Or whisper, "Good night, Dear"
in Oriya, Punjabi,  Sanskrit,
Santali,  Sindhi, Telugu, Tamil, or Urdu.
All rights reserved by the author.
Àŧùl  Mar 2015
Punjabi
Àŧùl Mar 2015
Yes I know it's your first language,
But don't let overconfidence get in,
And never let it bring you negatives.
All the best for your Punjabi paper.
I know you'll outperform everyone.

:-)

My HP Poem #806
©Atul Kaushal
AO Baghi  Mar 2018
Punjabi Poetry
AO Baghi Mar 2018
Ankhian tu digan hanju, dil di sada ae
Rab kadi kise nu pere din na wikhaye
Ankhian tu digan hanju, dil di sada ae
Rab kadi kise nu v phuka na sulaye
Digan hanju ankhian tu // gham dunia ch sadian tu
darr dil ch basean kyun par // nafrat sab tu wada masla kyun
Zaalim dunia, jaali zamana // nava dor par hakim purana
jetan da laban bahana // haran da na karan samna!
Ankhian tu digan hanju, dil di sada ae
maran tu pehla jeena, zindagi dua ay
Ankhian tu digan hanju, dil di sada ae
Rab kadi kise nu pere din na wikhaye
here's I write some of my thoughts in Punjabi. I hope you like it.
Priya Devi  May 2015
Heritage
Priya Devi May 2015
First things first
I'd like to apologise

I'm sorry I'm not the good Indian girl I was bred to be
I'm sorry I don't make round rotis
I'm sorry that the tongue I use to speak punjabi is broken and hides in my mouth unused until desperately needed
I'm sorry that I don't cook and clean efficiently enough to be wifey material
Sorry that I love who I love and don't hate who I was told to
Sorry that I can't follow gods blindly and not try to sneak back stage to see their shining gold adornments and blue body paints and multiple arms in full and bare glory and scandal

I'm sorry that I'm actually not sorry for any of this
I'm sorry that these are false and empty apologies

I am unapologetically whole
A human not just a race
A female not a trust fund or business transaction

I filter out the good parts of the culture I'm from and the ones I identify with
I'll wear docs under my saari no apologies
I'll grind on dancefloors and do the best Bhangra dance you'll ever see unashamedly

Hareems and hoodies
Bindies and pin up eyeliner
Hedonism and head in the clouds

My ambition is Ambedkar untouchable
My drive is a salt march surging silently non violently through cities
My hometown pride is built in concrete and rickshaw dust,
Prejudice and Bollywood lust
More of a rant than a poem
Gilhooley had ordered a meeting
Everyone had to come round
St. Patricks day will be upon us
And a venue just has to be found

We have to find somewhere authentic
Our normal old pub just won't do
We can't celebrate with the punters
Where the beer isn't green, it's dyed blue

Gilhooley awaited suggestions
It had to be somewhere close by
There were all sorts of names on the table
So they decided to give them a try

It needed to be "somewhat old Irish"
with no dee jay, and a folky type band
they had to have red headed women
And a barman, with drinks poured and at hand

The first place they went was McKenna's
It seemed like a great place at first
but the service was slower than treacle
and a man would just die here of thirst

They found one that looked rather Irish
It was known as the new *** of gold
it had a rainbow outside on the awning
this should have been a warning fortold

the next one they tried was a classic
The green and gold tavern....a hit
but, it was booked on the day for a party
and this didn't please them one bit

they finally found one to their liking
full of guineess and pretty colleens
a punjabi bar by the  name of  ben doury's
where everything was curried and green

it was a party that no one remembered
that meant that it must have been good
nobody went to the jailhouse
even though three or four of them should

The beer and the curry were epic
the singing was like nothing we'd heard
a sitar and cymbal based trio
played so loud that nothing was heard

Gilhooley said next year we have to
come back here and do it again
It was the best St. Patty's ever
most of them passed out by ten

The next time you go out to party
call Ben Doury, the place is  spot on
the food and the beer are one colour
with a Punjabi Mumbai Leprachaun
Flame  Oct 2018
Ignorance
Flame Oct 2018
We are stopped for special checks
At TSA and immigration

We are murdered
In our house of worship
Six innocent lives lost
Oak Creek Gurdwara, 2012

Racial slurs hit our hearts:
*******
ISIS
Towel head

Out of fear
We stop wearing our beautiful salwar kameezes, lenghas, saris, and kurta pajamas
In colors and embroidery your clothes could only ever dream of
We take off our crowns you call turbans
And replace them with baseball caps

We think twice about speaking Punjabi,
Our mother tongue,
Around those that don't recognize it

We stop packing our grandma's handmade saag and roti
To school for lunch
And start eating
Processed Lunchables

We separate into two people
Our American selves
And our Punjabi selves
Almost never does anyone meet both

All because
You don't know
The difference
Between a Sikh and a terrorist
Maggie Emmett Mar 2016
In the seventies
we brought back silks and saris
hot with colours
that shocked the nights
Punjabi embroidery
on cheesecloth kaftans
mirror glittered skirts
that were spun with light
Kashmiri shawls
and Afghani dancing dresses
arms full of bracelets
silver and brass
enameled and etched
and singing with ***
rings of Ivory, sapphire and jet
necklaces of jade and threaded apple seeds
rain forest timber bowls
white marble boxes from Agra
with precious inlay stones
our little Taj Mahals
we wandered the globe
like a magical village
of lovers and
and came back
with backpacks of dreaming
and hope.


© M.L.Emmett

— The End —