Poems by Danish Husain

 

Refuge

 There are places in our heads

Where we draw the blinds, snuggle

Like in the arms of a former lover

 

एक गुमशुदा नज़्म 

 

ज़हन के किसी धुंधले गलियारे में
तुम्हारी एक तसवीर पर
धुंए की परत की तरह पाई मैंने
अपनी ही एक नज़्म

Translation: ( A Lost Poem Found

In some corridor of my mind

Like a coat of soot

On your portrait

I found this poem )

 

 

किसी और दोपहर में

 

किसी और दोपहर में
धूप उन ऱुख़सारों पे अलग होती
और मेरे अल्फ़ाज़ भी

Translation: ( This Afternoon

In another afternoon

Light falling on those cheeks would’ve been different

And so would have been my words )

 

वो जो नहीं कहा गया  

 

नहीं, नहीं! मुझे मत बताइये!
उस राज़ को  राज़ ही रहने दीजिये
वो जो मुक़द्दस शह छुपी है हम में
गर यूं ही इज़हार कर दी जाए
भक से उड़ जाएगा उस का सेहर,
मैली हो जाएगी उसकी पाकीज़गी
और जैसे शीरीं मिठाई से लुत्फ़अन्दोज़
होते वक़्त होंटों बीच आ जाए काग़ज़,
ये ख़ूबसूरत गुमान तैर जाएगा आँखों बीच
किसी मामूली सच की तरह!

Translation: ( That What Is Not Said

No, no! Please don’t tell me!

Let it be! Let it be!

That which is innocent,

Hidden – hidden within

If expressed casually

Would break its spell

Would sully its purity

And like one finds the wafer thin covering of a candy,

When savoring, stuck between the teeth,

This spell of mine broken too

Floating like an ordinary truth. )

yearning_feature

Yearning

Like dew you slid off my soul

Seemingly leaving it fresh

But to a morning walker, it should have rained more

 

Breach

Though they were

Held for long

Your words

Now seep

Through the cracks

In your silence

Breaching

Every gated thought

Of mine

 

At The Bend…

(A tribute to Faiz Ahmed Faiz)

 

Right here at the bend

Of the line you just read

The line read above

Or imagined you read

At the bend of that line

The line you read above

(You scroll up the memory

Which line, which line it could be)

You don’t wish to miss the bend

But before the bend

There is an azure sky

Greyed by our misgivings

Where million stars

Of our wishful thinking

Strangely embellish it

And in the foreground

Of that greying sky

Is a tree of pain

Looming taller than

Mine and your pain

Put together

Caravans after caravans

Of these stars,

These stars of wishful thinking

Handcuffed,

Have lost their way

In the shade of this tree

That looms taller

Than mine and your pain

Put together

 

I read in a book

Strangely titled

Life After Death

That a tree like this

Forms the boundary

Between heaven and

Our personal hell

And if one rides a horse

For seventy years

Incessantly, non-stop

One may cover the distance

That its shade covers

The shade of this tree

This tree

That looms taller

Than mine and your pain

Put together

Where a thousand moons

Have wept their moonlights

Where a thousand dreams

Dreams that like a muse’s spell

Vanish at the dawn’s break

Rest

 

Oh wait! Is this not a poem

By… Yes it is Faiz Ahmed Faiz

 

Ye raat us dard ka shajar hai

Jo mujhse tujhse azeemtar hai

 

But then what the heck

This is not a translation

Just a misappropriation

Why would a poet write

If not be balm to others

Somewhere in his heavenly

Poetic gatherings, he too

Inwardly smiles

That I visit places

Live in rooms

Which he once inhabited

Sit with people he once loved

Recite to them his very poems

 

But from this very tree

This tree

That looms taller

Than mine and your pain

Put together

Few leaves of your memory

Have broken free

And are entrapped

In the curls of your hair

A taut memory has dropped

From this very tree

This tree

That looms taller

Than mine and your pain

Put together

A taut memory dropped

Like dew on your forehead

And has strung itself

Into a pearl necklace

That I always envisaged

Tying around your stately neck

 

But then that poem

That poem

 

Ye raat us dard ka shajar hai

Jo mujhse tujhse azeemtar hai

 

 Was a poem of hope and revolution

Was a poem, a poem that promised

That where we stood, that where we thought we stood

That very point, that very moment

Was where the horizon existed

That very horizon

On which the dawn broke

But I don’t serve any revolution

And hope is only a morsel

In a starving child’s mouth

Who wishes another soon

I have chewed many a hope

And spat them out

On black unyielding tarmac

 

“Sir, this would be a fine in Singapore!”

“Uh! Is this the end? The end?”

“No, Sir! This is the bend!”

“The bend you asked for!”

I pay the guy and get off

Without bothering for the change

The city bus strutters, spurts

billowing smoke in my face



Danish Husain hasn't figured out the labels he should give himself. Finds people mistake his sarcasm for humility. And lives from one performance to another.

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