Ye daagh daagh ujaalaa - Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Subh-e-Aazaadii ( written in August 19747)

Ye daagh daagh ujaalaa, ye shab-gaziida sahar,

Vo intizaar thaa jis-kaa, ye vo sahar to nahiiN,

Ye vo sahar to nahiiN jis-kii aarzu lekar

Chale the yaar ke mil-ja`egi kahiiN na kahiN

Falak ke dasht meN taroN kii aakhiri manzil,

KahiN to hogaa shab-e sust mauj kaa sahil,

KahiN to jaake rukegaa safiina-e-gham-e-dil.

JawaaN lahu kii pur-asraar shaahrahoN se

Chale jo yaar to daaman pe kitne hath paRe;

Diyaar-e-husn kii be-sabr khwaabgaahoN se

Pukaarti-rahiiN baahen, badan bulaate-rahe;

Bahut ‘aziiz thii lekin rukh-e-sahar ki lagan,

Bahut qariin thaa hasiinaN-e-nuur kaa daaman, ,

Subuk subuk thii tamannaa, dabii dabii thii thakan.

Sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai firaaq-e-zulmat-o-nuur,

Sunaa hai ho bhii chukaa hai visaal-e-manzil-o-gaam;

Badal-chukaa hai bahut ahl-e-dard kaa dastuur,

Nishaat-e-vasl halaal o ‘azab-e-hijr haraam.

Jigar kii aag, nazar kii umang, dil kii jalan,

kisii pe chaara-e-hijraaN kaa kuchh asar hii nahiiN.

KahaaN se aa’ii nigaar-e-sabaa, kidhar ko ga’ii?

Abhii charaagh-e-sar-e-rah ko kuchh khabar hii nahiiN;

Abhii giraanii-e-shab meN kamii nahiiN aa’ii,

Najaat-e-diidaa-o-dil ki ghaRii nahiiN aa’ii;

Chale-chalo ke vo manjil abhii nahiiN aa’ii

****

This leprous daybreak, dawn night’s fangs have mangled –

This is not that long-looked-for break of day,

Not that clear dawn in quest of which those comrades

Set out, believing that in heaven’s wide void

Somewhere must be the stars’ last halting-place,

Somewhere the verge of night’s slow-washing tide,

Somewhere an anchorage for the ship of heartache.

When we set out, we friends, taking youth’s secret

Pathways, how many hands plucked at our sleeves!

From beauty’s dwellings and their panting casements

Soft arms invoked us, flesh cried out to us;

But dearer was the lure of dawn’s bright cheek,

Closer her shimmering robe of fairy rays;

Light-winged that longing, feather-light that toil.

But now, word goes, the birth of day from darkness

Is finished, wandering feet stand at their goal;

Our leaders’ ways are altering, festive looks

Are all the fashion, discontent reproved; –

And yet this physic still on unslaked eye

Or heart fevered by severance works no cure.

Where did that fine breeze, that the wayside lamp

Has not once felt, blow from — where has it fled?

Night’s heaviness is unlessened still, the hour

Of mind and spirit’s ransom has not struck;

Let us go on, our goal is not reached yet.

translated by V.G. Kiernan

I found an audio piece of the same poetry read by Naseer- ud- din Shah. It was used in the movie Firaaq

Dasht - e -tanhaai Faiz Ahmed Faiz

dasht-e tanhaai mein, ai jaan-e jahaan
larzaan hain
teri aavaaz ke saaye
tere honton ke saraab
dasht-e tanhaai mein
doori ke khas-o-khaak tale
khil rahe hain tere pehlu ke saman aur gulaab

in this lonely desolation, o life of my world
tremble
the shadows of your voice
and the mirages of your lips
in this lonely desolation
beneath the ash and dust of distance
bloom the jasmines and roses of your nearness

uth rahi hai kahin qurbat se
teri saans ki aanch
apni khushboo mein sulagti hui
maddham maddham
door ufaq paar chamakti hui
qatra qatra
gir rahi hai teri dildaar nazar ki shabnam

from somewhere close by, arises
the heat of your breath
smoldering in its own fragrance
slowly, unhurriedly
while far away, beyond the horizon
the shiny dewdrops of your loving glance
fall gently, one by one

is qadar pyaar se ai jaan-e jahaan rakkha hai
dil ke rukhsaar pe
is vaqt teri yaad ne haath
yoon gumaan hota hai
garche hai abhi subh-e firaaq
dhal gaya hijr ka din
aa bhi gayi vasl ki raat

with such love, o life of my world
does the hand of your memory caress the cheek of my heart
that in this moment
I can allow myself to believe
(even though it is still the morning of farewell)
that the day of separation has ended at last
that the night of union has finally begun

The above poem has been translated by Mir Ali Hussain. There is a video available on youtube of the same in the form of song/ghazal by Iqbal Bano.

Questions From A Worker Who Reads

A poem by Bertolt Brecht

Who built Thebes of the seven gates?
In the books you will find the name of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?
And Babylon, many times demolished.
Who raised it up so many times? In what houses
Of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live?
Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished
Did the masons go? Great Rome
Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song,
Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis
The night the ocean engulfed it
The drowning still bawled for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India.
Was he alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Did he not have even a cook with him?
Philip of Spain wept when his armada
Went down. Was he the only one to weep?
Frederick the Second won the Seven Years' War.
Who Else won it?

Every page a victory.
Who cooked the feast for the victors?
Every ten years a great man.
Who paid the bill?

So many reports.
So many questions.

Fragen Eines Lesenden Arbeiters

Wer baute das siebentorige Theben?
In den Büchern stehen die Namen von Königen.
Haben die Könige die Felsbrocken herbeigeschleppt?
Und das mehrmals zerstörte Babylon,
Wer baute es so viele Male auf ? In welchen Häusern
Des goldstrahlenden Lima wohnten die Bauleute?
Wohin gingen an dem Abend, wo die chinesische Mauer fertig war,
Die Maurer? Das große Rom
Ist voll von Triumphbögen. Über wen
Triumphierten die Cäsaren? Hatte das vielbesungene Byzanz
Nur Paläste für seine Bewohner? Selbst in dem sagenhaften Atlantis
Brüllten doch in der Nacht, wo das Meer es verschlang,
Die Ersaufenden nach ihren Sklaven.

Der junge Alexander eroberte Indien.
Er allein?
Cäsar schlug die Gallier.
Hatte er nicht wenigstens einen Koch bei sich?
Philipp von Spanien weinte, als seine Flotte
Untergegangen war. Weinte sonst niemand?
Friedrich der Zweite siegte im Siebenjährigen Krieg. Wer
Siegte außer ihm?

Jede Seite ein Sieg.
Wer kochte den Siegesschmaus?
Alle zehn Jahre ein großer Mann.
Wer bezahlte die Spesen?

So viele Berichte,
So viele Fragen.

Written by Brecht in 1935 - in German - "Fragen eines lesenden Arbeiters" - translated by M. Hamburger from Bertolt Brecht, Poems 1913-1956, Methuen, N.Y., London, 1976

Hum Dekhenge

- Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Hum dekhenge
Lazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
Wo din ke jis ka wada hai
Jo lauh-e-azl mein likha hai

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garan
Rooi ki tarah ur jaenge
Hum mehkoomon ke paaon tale
Ye dharti dhar dhar dharkegi
Aur ahl-e-hakam ke sar oopar
Jab bijli kar kar karkegi

Jab arz-e-Khuda ke kaabe se
Sab but uthwae jaenge
Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-harm
Masnad pe bethae jaenge
Sab taaj uchale jaenge
Sab takht girae jaenge

Bas naam rahega Allah ka
Jo ghayab bhi hai hazir bhi
Jo manzar bhi hai nazir bhi
Utthega an-al-haq ka nara
Jo mai bhi hoon tum bhi ho
Aur raaj karegi Khalq-e-Khuda
Jo mai bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho



English Translation:

We shall Witness
It is certain that we too, shall witness
the day that has been promised
of which has been written on the slate of eternity

When the enormous mountains of tyranny
blow away like cotton.
Under our feet- the feet of the oppressed-
when the earth will pulsate deafeningly
and on the heads of our rulers
when lightning will strike.

From the abode of God
When icons of falsehood will be taken out,
When we- the faithful- who have been barred out of sacred places
will be seated on high cushions
When the crowns will be tossed,
When the thrones will be brought down.

Only The name will survive
Who cannot be seen but is also present
Who is the spectacle and the beholder, both
I am the Truth- the cry will rise,
Which is I, as well as you
And then God’s creation will rule
Which is I, as well as you

Strange Fruit

By Abel Meeropol

Southern trees bear strange fruit,

Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,

Black body swinging in the Southern breeze,

Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.

Pastoral scene of the gallant South,

The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,

Scent of magnolia sweet and fresh,

Then the sudden smell of burning flesh!

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,

For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,

For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,

Here is a strange and bitter crop.

Abel Meeropol: An American Communist poet.. In 1937, she a photograph ( the one below) of the lynching of Thomas Shipp and Abram Shipp. She was inspired to write this poem as she was haunted by the photograph for few days. She a member of the American Communist Party, using the pseudonym, Lewis Allan, published the poem in the New York Teacher and later, the Marxist journal, New Masses.

Khwaab Martay Naheen

ख़्वाब मरते नहीं
ख़्वाब दिल हैं न आँखें न साँसें कि जो
रेज़ा-रेज़ा हुए तो बिखर जाएँगे
जिस्म की मौत से ये भी मर जाएँगे
ख़्वाब मरते नहीं
ख़्वाब तो रोशनी हैं नवा हैं हवा हैं
जो काले पहाड़ों से रुकते नहीं
ज़ुल्म के दोज़खों से भी फुकते नहीं
रोशनी और नवा के अलम
मक़्तलों में पहुँचकर भी झुकते नहीं
ख़्वाब तो हर्फ़ हैं
ख़्वाब तो नूर हैं
ख़्वाब सुक़रात हैं
ख़्वाब मंसूर हैं।

--- अहमद फ़राज़

Dreams do not die.
Dreams are not heart, nor eyes or breath
Which shattered, will scatter (or)
Die with the death of the body.

Dreams do not die.
But dreams are light, voice, wind,
Which cannot be stopped by mountains black,
Which do not perish in the hells of cruelty,
Ensigns of light and voice and wind,
Bow not, even in abattoirs.

But dreams are letters,
But dreams are illumination,
Dreams are Socrates,
Dreams - Divine Victory!'

Ahmed Faraz (1931-2008) one of the greatest Urdu poets..

Life is but a dream

by: Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

A boat, beneath a sunny sky

Lingering onward dreamily

In an evening of July--




Children three that nestle near,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Pleased a simple tale to hear--




Long has paled that sunny sky;

Echoes fade and memories die;

Autumn frosts have slain July.




Still she haunts me, phantomwise,

Alice moving under skies

Never seen by waking eyes.




Children yet, the tale to hear,

Eager eye and willing ear,

Lovingly shall nestle near.




In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die;




Ever drifting down the stream--

Lingering in the golden gleam--

Life, what is it but a dream?