Emigrant’s Notes/ प्रवासी नोट्स

9.   Emigrant’s Notes  (translation was done with help of Prof. Tom Montgomery )

 

The home no longer exists
In any village
Or a town
Or a city
Not within boundaries of any nation
Only some trails of past events are left
And some scattered fragments of paper
The address of home will remain missing forever
Alienation spreads over entire earth
And people constantly in an unsettled state of mind
Displaced from their native land and home
Sons and daughters of Eve roving forever
Scattered like little straws in a savannah
Large populace is at halt
Their citizenship is at pause
In a twenty-first century democracies their voices are silent
Devoid of heritage
Devoid of identity
Not citizens anywhere year after year
Indeed free everywhere

Why do people emigrate?
Who knows if only hope is a driver?
Or it was simply despair
Some degree of exasperation
If someone was making a forlorn attempt to escape
To an unknown landscape
Having no voice in matters of being
While another heartbroken soul
Had no one left to console
And breaking ties, escaping from burden, shame and pain

The motherland increasingly becoming unfamiliar
The adopted land of dreams is still strange
The lost souls keep searching for
Familiar faces, voices, gestures a spark in someone’s eyes
An emigrant
When engrossed in routine chores rapt in reminiscence
When asleep delves in the past and dreams dead and forsaken
Suddenly awakes to an  illusion of some sweet voice
And consciousness returns slowly , rays spreading  at dawn
For some time, the heartbeats slow down
Emotions ebb and flow
And then spread like lava in all/eight directions
In the early morning doze eventually a thought comes
Wholeness can only be found in dreams now…

***


             प्रवासी नोट्स

घर नहीं है अब

गाँव-

शहर-

किसी देश में

कुछ तारीखें हैं

चिंदी-चिंदी कागज के टुकड़े

कहीं नही है घर का पता

पृथ्वी पर पसरा परायापन

मुसाफिर मन सालों-साल

घर ज़मीन से बेदख़ल हव्वा के बेटे बेटियों का हुजूम

छिन्न विछिन्न पहचानों के बीहड़ में गुम

तिनके-तिनके बिखरा है

इक्कीसवीं सदी में नये पुराने लोकतंत्रों के बीचोंबीच

स्थगित है जीवन

स्थगित नागरिकता..

जाने कैसी कौन सी आस रही

कि निपट निराशा थी

ऊलजलूल से ढका आसमान था

पहचाने दायरे से ही भागा था मन

और कुछ खीझ भी थी कि

हमारे होने से भी कब कुछ होना था

अजाने भूगोल में गुम होने का रोमान था

अनचाहे बंधों, बेबसी, शर्म से मुक्ति का कोई गान था

अजनबी है अब वो देश

यहां, ये देश भी

बौराया मन ढूंढता है परिचित

कोई चेहरा,आवाज़,पहचानी हंसी

आँखों में उतरती एक जानी सी चमक

रोजमर्रा की भागदौड़ के बीच

स्मृति की नदी में तैरता बीतता है कोई

मन चोर के मानिन्द नींद में करता है सेंधमारी

किसी आवाज के अंदेशे में चौंकती उलटती है नींद

छनती आती मद्धम रोशनी सी पसरती चेतना

कुछ देर को बैठता दिल

लावा सा आठ दिशाओं में पिघलता बहता है मन

अल्‍लसुबह की खुमारी में सोचता कि

अब सपनों की सरहद तक है अपना होना...

***

Translations of my poems-02

6.    तस्सव्वुर

जमीन पर नहीं  

हवा में नहीं  हूँ

पानी से पुरानी यारी है

जो भी है

उसकी सतह पर चित्रकारी है

रोशनी का है उधार

सूरज, चाँद, तारे साहूकार

रंग का नाता सबसे

जो घेरे हैं मुझे

कुछ उन्ही का प्रतिबिम्ब हूँ

तरंग बस अपनी है

भीतर से उठते बुलबुले है

हलचल अंतरंग है...

***

6.    Self-portrait

I am not earthbound

I am not completely ethereal

I have a longtime affection for water

And I like to create ripples

I am in debt of illumination

And the creditors are:

Sun, moon and stars without numbers

I am deeply imbued with colors

I mirror people around me

Only the impulse is mine

The stimuli arise from within

And I am my own muse...

***

7.   बुराँश

करीने लगी कोई क्यारी

या सहेजा हुआ बाग़ नहीं होगा ये दिल

जब भी होगा बुराँश का घना दहकता जंगल होगा

फिर घेरेगा ताप

मनो बोझ से फिर भारी होंगी पलकें

मुश्किल होगा लेना साँस

मैं कहूंगी नही सुहाता मुझे बुराँश

नही चाहिए पराग

भागती फिरुंगी बाहर बाहर

एक छोर से दूसरे छोर

फैलता फैलेगा हौले हौले

धीमें धीमें भीतर कितना गहरे तक

बुराँश बुराँश... 

***

7.    Rhododendrons

My heart will never be a well tended bed of flowers

Or a skillfully pruned orchard /or a grove

But like a wild dense forest of blooming rhododendrons
At times red flames would surround me

My eyelids could weigh a ton

And breathing would be hard

I would say, “I don't fancy rhododendrons

I do not want the pollen”.

I am a vagabond 
Roving from one end of earth to another

Within my heart rhododendrons blossom

Gradually, softly, silently

O lovely rhododendrons!

Lovely rhododendrons…

***

8.    धूप

पतझड़ के बाद

शहर हुआ है सलेटी

सियाह

रंग रोशनी से महरूम

आह, कितना उदास

महीनों महीनों…

इस शहर सरीखे कई शहर

समयकाल से परे

सूरज की आस

धूप के ख्वाब में ऊंघते हैं

महीनों महीनों...

बारिश, बर्फ़,और धुंध के बीच

जो खिली आती है चटक धूप कभी

कनपटियाँ तपती

खिल उठती रूह

धूप का नाम होता

खुशी

हंसी

उम्मीद...

***

8.  Sunshine

After autumn when all trees are naked

This town has become grey and dark

deprived of colors, devoid of light

O! how melancholic

month after month

Like this town many others

since time beyond measure

in hope of sun

and dreaming sunshine are somnolent

for month after month

In the midst of rain, fog and snow

if sun shines even momentarily

my temples feel warmth

my spirit revives

and I name sunshine

happiness

laughter

hope...

***

(These translations were done with help of Prof. Tom Montgomery )

English translation of my poems

(These translations were done with help of Prof. Tom Montgomery and I am very thankful to him)

-->

1.   My Share of Words

In a deep cavern of oblivion
I search for my share of alphabets
As if in flicker of a firefly
someone is struggling to create Zardozi craft*
I fumble:
which one a golden string
and which is a cotton thread?
I am entangled in a silken cobweb

In somnolence I wonder through the night
And ask an ancestral mother of three million years past:
How she weaved images into speech
How often she was at a loss of expression
And how often she created new morphemes

Between dreams and wakefulness
I try to hear syllables
I try to decipher words
I try to describe images
Pursuing glimmers in the depth of memory
Often I falter
Sometimes I take wings
And in the process I decay
Bit by bit
Day by day.
********
*Zardozi  (a very special embroidery done with gold string)

2.       Corvallis Sky in Autumn

-->

It’s early morning

In between the rising sun and setting moon

Chirping-trilling-honking flocks speedily go by like arrows

Astonishing the head of one below

As momentarily the sky is full of birds

The birds seems to inviting us

Lets go across these continents

Lets go across these oceans

Migration is a part of life

Not searching for a destination of a sort

But only fulfillment for an adventurous soul

Perhaps there is a thirst for unseen worlds

or hope of unforeseen possibility

This earth is still full of wonders

****

3.  Flight

At first

The wings of mind beat

And an old saying emerges

“Look up and live”

The mind first falls into deep gorges

Before it attains height

And finally comes the flight

****

4.  Looking Back

All of a sudden
A streak of bliss illuminates a dark canvas,
At the end of a narrow street
I catch a momentary glimpse of hope
Somewhere in a deep gorge
A suspension bridge swings briefly
Now and then I sniff fennel in the air
And deep in my mind Raga “Peelu” plays

A blithe eagle takes off in the wind
Gradually a partial rainbow forms
in the midst of drizzle
A little girl wishing for ripples
keeps dropping pebbles in a pond
Just now I see a fish go by

The memories come and go like a breeze
creating dunes
I randomly encounter
ephemeral tranquility
ephemeral turmoil
at odd times
in strange locales
******

5.  Motherhood

A mother weaves a face, smiles

imagining a stranger taking  shape inside her

the first petal of a lily unfurls

numerous sunflowers turn in chorus

And a monarch butterfly gently flaps her wings

A mother weaves a face, smiles

within her inner self  

A small rivulet descends the side of a cliff

and flows toward unknown destiny

At the core of her soul the bond with humanity revitalizes

And the sense of shared existence imbibes in nectar

A mother, an immigrant, dark skinned woman

An outcast from the predetermined molds

is wandering in the midst of her time and claiming space

Escaping from hatred, malice, and baseness

somewhere in the New York of  2003

Hearing FOX, BBC, CNN

Hearing Freespeech, Zinn, Azeez, Arundhati

A mother weaves a face, smiles

Routinely falters hearing a sigh of another

And slowly whispers a prayer

“May life be possible, may life be beautiful

for everyone born from a mother’s womb”

A mother weaves a face, smiles

Within the father flows an unknown spring of care and caution

And wrapped within it the expectant mother counts her days.

***

Corporate Attack on Education, Chomsky