"punjabi" poems
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.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 9:21 PM UTC
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.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 1:15 AM UTC
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.
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 10:49 PM UTC
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...>
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 5:43 AM UTC
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?"
==============
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:15 AM UTC
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.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
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
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:26 AM UTC
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
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
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
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
Yes I know it's your first language,
But don't let overconfidence get in,
And never let it bring you negatives.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
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
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 1:19 AM UTC
I sat down to watch the radio
There was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I could have watched one channel
And learned to fricasse
A chicken raised on wild grains
By a woman chef named Bea
I started checking channels
But I decided in mid flick
That I was getting tired
And I was also feeling sick
So I sat and watched the radio
Since there was nothing on TV
I have two hundred channels
But there was sweet F.A for me
I worked on through the listings
English, French and some bad ****
There were movies on one station
That were made 'fore I was born
Out of all the things I saw on there
The best show I could see
Was something shown in black and white
Made in nineteen sixty three
My TV s high definition
With cables left and right
But to find a show I'd like to watch
Was taking half the night
So I sat and watched the radio
Watching nothing happen fast
But as I sat there watching
I travelled bckwards to my past
Still flicking through the channels
Trying to find something to see
I thought I'd found a hockey game
But it was all in Punjabi
So, I listened to the music
Watched the radio, passing time
Then I thought, why do I have this?
With what I paid, it was a crime
eleven channels showed the same
times 8 networks made
at least eighty eight tv stations
That didn't make the grade
Twenty two were pay for view
The French networks were ten
Then the networks there in Real HD
And so, it started once again
Pay for **** was fourteen strong
New shows added two
Weather, sports and info shows
Now I was at one eighty two.
I could have bought alot of stuff
On informercials through the night
I could have bought Pro Active
But instead I watched the light
I turned back to the radio
With the station light in green
It was better than the tv set
And all the crap I'd seen
So, Tonight I watched the radio
There was nothing on TV
But as I sat there bathed in that green light
The music showed me all I need to see.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:03 AM UTC
Her name is Chandney
In Punjabi it means the Moon
The thing about the moon is
It's not always appreciated
as much as it should be
The Sun steals all the glory
The Moon merely awaits its time
To come and reflect on the days
the Sun has left behind
The Moon picks up the pieces.
Chandney is my best friend
for a time she was my only friend
The only person I would call a friend
Not because I'd known her for so long
But because of all the things she'd done
Like coming to my door everyday
after school when I'd dropped out
and wasn't leaving the house,
tellin me about her day through the
intercom when she was young
and had the time to do that
The Moon kept me in touch
with the world of the Sun,
gave me a little bit of light left over
in the days when I saw none
And that's something that I will never forget
Like the first time I saw the moon cry
This moon is strong, this moon has pride
That hurt me inside
And every time since when I've seen
a sad face etched on your surface
I've cried with you, side by side
As you were Beside yourself
Day I realised that love comes
In many different forms
Cause I'd go above and beyond
anything I could ever do for myself
To reach out to you, lift you up
make you Smile, offer help
As long as I'm around
I want you to know
That the Moon is never truly alone
You have a sky full of stars
to keep you company
Consider the closest one to You as Me
We've shared some memorable nights
You and I
From first sleep overs
To gettin waved for the first time
Unlike so many The Moon
doesn't change with the tides
Loyal friend to this lunatic
The Moon changes the tides
When I was left alone
Crying night after night
The Moon watched over me
The Moon kept me company
Even in silence when
I didn't want to speak
The Moon was there
The constant silver lining
Reminding me that a new
day was gonna come
And I'd see the dark times through
Moon by my side goin through
the dark times too
We met as kids
And together we grew
I believe life for me is like
Those late night car journies
I'm Lucky, It's True
That No matter where you go
When you look out the window
The Moon is always with you
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
the season-change of the vagrant pole-star easily picks up a sip
from the list of ducks of the night-watchers
standing on the bye-lane of the horse-race … by the weight of the confession made
by the spelling-mistakes of a moonlit night to the lotus-leaves … the amputated
tongues of the night-bulbs gradually rolls down to the banyan-pods of the side-characters
the sharp archer of the star-apple moves away some furlongs from the usual
word-stairs and swallowed a whole grammar with fumes by spoon
thus with the number of velocity-poems that the punjabi with boutique prints
can produce… or will produce … gluttonous flower-vase of the magic-painter
can make cool the slaughter-ground … spread to the horizons of the krishnachura
that is deviated from its own track
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 5:30 PM UTC
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
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
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:
Sand ******
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
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
While referring to me
She previously used it to mean a
Very Important Person.
But now I've realized
My mistakes & worth in her life as a
Very Idiotic Person.
I used to care so much for her
I was protective for her future
My directions were my misgivings
This is what she thought of my advice.
She grew sick of my advice
She used to not follow it and suffer
She wasted eons stuck in the bog
All that after eating Punjabi junk food
And guess what, she prefers suffering health problems
And wasting her precious time in pain
She ditched me instead of abandoning junk food.
But to tell my young girlfriend
To follow a discipline in her life,
Is it such a grievous crime by me?
Whatever you might say,
She ditched me for it,
Like she did 2 years back.
She will think, *'Atul is a true lover,
He'll wait for me to repent,'*
I am neither that ever forgiving God,
Nor I'm an idiot to again forgive,
I have moved on bearing at helm the self-respect I managed to preserve,
But she's surely not the one for me,
And I no longer care who's mine,
I'll live with that apparently egotistic persona.
Because I have kissed death once,
I realize what my standing in life means,
To me, I am the most important person now,
I'll live my life on my own terms,
Alone if I must.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 11:37 PM UTC
I saw a sweet dream just now,
She has gotten admitted here,
Pursuing her master's degree,
She's even plumpier than ever,
I now met her just about daily,
And she has not a single issue,
For she's really busy studying.
I meet her one evening nearby,
She is going to Kaveri Hostel,
Public display of my affection,
She loves them so much more,
I cuddle her publicly & softly,
And she just smiles so heartily,
For she is thankful to destiny..
I then text her on WhatsApp,
She smiles after reading text,
"Your Punjabi cheeks are soft,"
She just blushes to herself now,
I plan a date coming weekend,
And she happily agrees to meet,
For it was always her dream...
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
I reached home to be greeted by her brilliant Punjabi smile,
Her smile wasn't made up or forced, but it was a spontaneous one,
She was genuinely surprised to see me in reality and so was I.
She guided me to her room where I rested my bag after the journey,
Her face also carried a childish pure mischievous look in her brown eyes,
I then gladly complied when she came close to me for a lip lock.
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
The Condition of My Heart
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
There's no need for anyone else to get excited:
The condition of my heart is not the condition of hers.
But were we to receive any sort of good news, Munir,
How spectacular compared to earth's mundane sunsets!
Mystery
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
She was a mystery:
Her lips were parched ...
but her eyes were two unfathomable oceans.
I continued delaying ...
by Munir Niazi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I continued delaying ...
the words I should speak
the promises I should keep
the one I should dial
despite her cruel denial
I continued delaying ...
the shoulder I must offer
the hand I must proffer
the untraveled lanes
we may not see again
I continued delaying ...
long strolls through the seasons
for my own selfish reasons
the remembrances of lovers
to erase thoughts of others
I continued delaying ...
to save someone dear
from eternities unclear
to make her aware
of our reality here
I continued delaying ...
Keywords/Tags: Munir Niazi, Urdu, Punjabi, translation, Pakistan, Lahore, love, love hurts, heart, heartbreak, condition, mystery, pashto, relationship, delay, delays, delaying, mrburdu
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 2:57 AM UTC
Two Men's vibes
burning reach my Evez ice.
Two my diamond cave enter.
underneath my water fall.
Vibration's from beyond,
two distinctive voices won,
ever twirling on and on;
deep as violins his pitch fiddle
his electrical guitar's timbre
command starry skies above!
My tantrick abyss below.
I love thee two, lovers mine.
Punjabi voice lover divine.
I thirst for yours all's mine
Our stars wisely magnetized!
Both cosmically energized.
A state of knowing is ours.
dancing eons on two poles,
to twirl on and ages on,
the mornings and eves long.
I twirl on two magestic poles.
Long shiny studs hard as steal!
First pole's twirl echoes longer
Kemah lover elite's older
ancient memory hunger!
Implant blue pill chip slumber.
From willow tree, past pole lover
to renewed beloved my forever Kemah twin oaks
two glistening poles
I am art twirl divine
from past to present LOVE
Lives on and on!
~~~
By Karijinbba
All Rights Revised 7-29-21.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 12:58 PM UTC
"You're not black."
I don't care,
I'm well aware of that.
The big guy in the sky
couldn't have made me
any whiter if
I was a polar bear
stranded on an
ever diminishing
ice pack.
Irish blood got me
paler than that
pale a water
Jack and Jill
were sposed
to bring back.
But I speak
the way I speak,
not to distance
myself from identity
I just don't see
it as a matter
purely for ethnicity
cause I was lucky to be
bought up in a city
where I didn't see
those boundaries.
Apartheid tendencies
just hide
the truth you see.
That in many ways
I'm just like you
and you're just like me
and we kiss
and make up
humanity
though
bourgeoisie mentality
would have
divide and conquer.
But I come from
the melting ***
culture clash
is London's calling
and its the
richest melody
if only you'd
listen properly.
Where I can walk around
the corner to my neighbours
and converse in Punjabi
with those I consider
my extended family.
Where Mrs Henry
who lived in flat A
insisted I never
called her by her first name,
hand me and my brother
an ice pole and
send us on our way,
the Caribbean way.
No need for tolerance
when you learnt respect
for difference at an early age.
And not just respect
Appreciation
Celebration of all
these cultures
that influence me,
give me insight
so I can see
in kaleidoscope colours.
Sisters and brothers
that don't share
the same skin tone
but all call the
same place home.
And I hope
social solidarity
will one day
be found.
Like when we
were kids
in my school
playground
Because when
you look around
and I mean
really look around
you see we all
stand upon
common ground
And I don't believe
that the view
from my window
is idealistic.
And to say
"it's not that simplistic"
Is enough to justify
it being unrealistic.
Tear down Cynical City
In love I say
and in the ruins
build the foundation
Of SimpliCity Today
So I'll keep
putting the word "man"
inexplicably
at the
end of sentences
like I've done
since year 3,
embrace that
slang terminology
cause it's what I do man,
it's who I am man,
I'm hu-man.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
in the last night of solvency we gather
the last of the moccasins are gone
all the indians here are punjabi
they are the nicest, finest people
in the poor dark night of new poverty
all talk of justice is gone
the school houses are useless imprisonments
no taliban are
here
just some drugged up people gettin
beatin by the police
come
the corporate billionaires are talkin
listen if you'd be considered loyal
to the new world's god
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:12 PM UTC
My Apologies, Sona
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My apologies, Sona,
if traversing my verse's terrain
in these torrential rains
inconvenienced you.
The monsoons are unseasonal here.
My poems' pitfalls are sometimes sodden.
Water often overflows these ditches.
If you stumble and fall here, you run the risk
of spraining an ankle.
My apologies, however,
if you were inconvenienced
because my dismal verse lacks light,
or because my threshold's stones
interfered as you passed.
I have often cracked toenails against them!
As for the streetlamp at the intersection,
it remains unlit ... endlessly indecisive.
If you were inconvenienced,
you have my heartfelt apologies!
Come!
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Come, let us construct night
over the monumental edifice of silence.
Come, let us clothe ourselves in the winding sheets of darkness,
where we'll ignite our bodies' incandescent wax.
As the midnight dew dances its delicate ballet,
let us not disclose the slightest whispers of our breath!
Lost in night's mists,
let us lie immersed in love's fragrance,
absorbing the musky aromas of our bodies!
Let us rise like rustling spirits ...
Old Habits Die Hard
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The habit of breathing
is an odd tradition.
Why struggle so to keep on living?
The body shudders,
the eyes veil,
yet the feet somehow keep moving.
Why this journey, this restless, relentless flowing?
For how many weeks, months, years, centuries
shall we struggle to keep on living, keep on living?
Habits are such strange things, such hard things to break!
Inconclusive
by Gulzar
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A body lies on a white bed—
dead, abandoned,
a forsaken corpse they forgot to bury.
They concluded its death was not their concern.
I hope they return and recognize me,
then bury me so I can breathe.
Keywords/Tags: Gulzar, Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi, Triveni, translation, life, death, love, ghazal, couplet, mrburdu
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020 at 6:18 AM UTC
I read the personal ads in the Indian magazine,
people looking for partners like a king and a queen,
the men are always handsome, ladies with gsoh,
how attractive they all were was just a rumour.
I replied to one which I thought might be fun,
we both agreed to meet to see what could be done:
She said, 'Your white, not brown.'
I said, 'That you must look lovely with your hair down.'
She asked: 'Do you speak Hindi, Tamil or Punjabi?'
I said, 'No, but you're speaking English - that's all I need to know,'
She asked, 'Do you own a house, have a good job and a car?'
I said, 'Yes,' to all but there was no bar.
We went for a ride in the country: We said, 'Yours or mine.'
We knew that it was best if we tried them one at a time.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:11 AM UTC