Mozoo’-e-Sukhan (Gul Hui Jaati Hai…)


Gul hui jaati hai afsurdah sulagti hui shaam,
Dhul ke niklegi chasma’ee maahtaab se raat,
Aur mushtaaq nigaahon ki suni jaayegi,
Aur un haathon se mas honge, Yeh tarse hue haath.

Un ka aanchal hai keh rukhsaar keh pairaahan hai,
Kuch toh hai jis se hoti hai chilman rangeen,
Jaane us zulf ki mauhoom ghani chaaon me,
Timtimaata hai woh aaweezah abhi tak keh nahi.

Aaj phir husn-e-dil-aara ki wohi dhaj hogi,
Wohi khaabeeda si aankhen, Wohi kaajal ki lakeer,
Rang-e-rukhsaar pe halka sa woh ghaaze ka ghubaar,
Sandali haath pe dhundli si hina ki tehreer.

Apne afkaar ki, Ash’aar ki duniya hai yehi,
Jaan-e-mazmoon hai yehi, Shaahid-e-m’aana hai yehi,
Aaj tak surkh-o-siyaah sadiyon ke saaye ke tale,
Aadam-o-havva ki aulaad pe kya guzri hai?
Maut aur zeest ki rozaanah saf-aarai mein,
Hum pe kya guzregi, Ajdaad pe kya guzri hai?

In damakte hue shehron ki faraawaan makhlooq,
Kyun faqat marne ki hasrat mein jiya karti hai?
Yeh haseen khet, phata padta hai joban jin ka,
Kis liye in mein faqat bhook uga karti hai?

Yeh har ek simt par asraar kadi deewarein,
Jal bujhe jin mein hazaaron ki jawaani ke chiraagh,
Yeh har ik gaam peh un khaabon ki maqtal-gaahein,
Jin ke partoo se charaaghaan hain hazaaron ke dimaagh.

Yeh bhi hai, Aise kai aur bhi mazmoon honge,
Lekin us shokh ke aahista se khulte hue hont,
Haye! Us jism ke kam-bakht dil-aaweez khatoot,
Aap hi kahiye, kahin aise bhi afsoon honge?

Apna mozoo’-e-sukhan in ke siwa aur nahin,
Tab’-e-shaa’ir ka watan in ke siwa aur nahin…….

My Poetry and My Muse (English Translation by Ashok Subramanian)

The ashes of a melancholy evening crumbles,
To give way to night, bathed in silver moonlight,
When expectant stares would be rewarded,
My pinings would effervesce, at her gentle touch.

Is it her garb, or the facade of her countenance,
Or a spark that illuminates the murk,
Or through the refuge of her fancied tresses,
Shines ebullient the orb of night?

Tonight, my beloved’s familiar form shall overwhelm,
Her latent kohl-laden stares shall pierce,
With a hint of rouge, Her effulgent cheeks,
Her pearly hands, Ornately embellished with Henna!

Thus the cosmos of my musings, My poetry,
She manifests my soul and every resolve,
Under dark shadows that centuries cast,
What did humanity painfully endure?
Vacillating between abodes of life and death,
Would I endure my unpleasant inheritance?

The abundant hordes, Of alluring cities,
Why merely death inspires their existence?
These charming pastures, Once teeming with life,
Why merely reaps hunger now in fecundity?

The obstinate, abstruse, cluttered hurdles,
That doused the flames of countless youth,
At every stride, A million dreams guillotined,
To illuminate a billion ignited minds!

And thus, There would spring numerous rimes,
The graceful parting of her playful lips,
Ah! The wretched beauty of her material form,
Opine! Is there a greater enchantment?

Devoid of my muse, My poetry ceases to exist,
A poet’s dream, His identity ceases to exist………….

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