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Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Faiz read)

is tarah hai ke har ek peR ko’ii mandir hai

ko’ii ujRaa huaa, benuur puraanaa mandir
DhuunDtaa hai jo Kharaabii ke bahaane kab se
chaak har baam, har ek dar kaa dam-e-aaKhir hai
aasmaaN ko’ii purohit hai jo har baam tale
jism par raaKh male, maathe pe sinduur male
sar-niguuN baithaa hai chup-chaap na jaane kab se
is tarah hai ke pas-e-pardaa ko’ii saahir hai

jis ne aafaaq pe phailaayaa hai yuN seh’r ka daam

daaman-e-vaqt se paivast hai yuN daamna-e-shaam
ab kabhii shaam bujhegii na andheraa hogaa
ab kabhii raat Dhalegii na saveraa hogaa

aasmaaN aas liye hai ke ye jaaduu TuuTe

chup ki zanjiir kaTe, vaqt kaa daaman chhuTe
de ko’ii shanKh duhayii, ko’ii paayal bole
ko’ii but jaage, ko’ii saaNvlii ghuuNGhat khole

Translation by Agha Shahid Ali


The trees are dark ruins of temples,

seeking excuses to tremble
since who knows when–
their roofs are cracked,
their doors lost to ancient winds.
And the sky is a priest,
saffron marks on his forehead,
ashes smeared on his body.
He sits by the temples, worn to a shadow, not looking up.

Some terrible magician, hidden behind curtains,

has hypnotized Time
so this evening is a net
in which the twilight is caught.
Now darkness will never come–
and there will never be morning.

The sky waits for this spell to be broken,

for history to tear itself from this net,
for Silence to break its chains
so that a symphony of conch shells
may wake up to the statues
and a beautiful, dark goddess,
her anklets echoing, may unveil herself.

(from The Rebel’s Silhouette)


7 comments May 23, 2008


Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Faiz read)

phir ko’ii aayaa, dil-e-zaar! nahiin, ko’ii nahiin;

raah-rau hogaa, kahiin aur chalaa jaaegaa.
dhal chukii raat, bikharne lagaa taaron kaa ghubaar,
larkharaane lage aiwaanon mein khwaabiida charaagh,
so ga’ii raasta tak takke har ek rah guzaar;
ajnabi khaak ne dhundlaa diye qadmon ke suraagh.

gul karo shamiin, barhaa do mai-o-miinaa-o-ayaagh,

apne be khwaab kivaaron ko muqaffal kar lo;
ab yahaan ko’ii nahiin, ko’ii nahiin aayega!

Someone, finally, is here! No, unhappy heart, no one -
just a passerby on his way.
The night has surrendered
to clouds of scattered stars.
The lamps in the hall waver.
Having listened with longing for steps,
the roads too are fast asleep.
A strange dust has buried every footprint.

Blow out the lamps, break the glasses, erase

all memory of wine. Heart,
bolt forever your sleepless doors,
tell every dream that knocks to go away.
No one, now no one will ever return.

Tr. by Agha Shahid Ali

More Faiz.


3 comments May 17, 2008

Paas Raho

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Faiz read)

tum mere paas raho

mere qaatil, mere dildaar, mere paas raho
jis gha.Dii raat chale
aasamaano.n kaa lahuu pii kar siyah raat chale
marham-e-mushk liye nashtar-e-almaas chale
bain karatii hu_ii, ha.Nsatii hu_ii, gaatii nikale
dard kii kaasanii paazeb bajaatii nikale
jis gha.Dii siino.n me.n Duubate huye dil
aastiino.nme.n nihaa.N haatho.n kii rah takane nikale
aas liye
aur bachcho.n ke bilakhane kii tarah qul-qul-e-may
bahr-e-naasudagii machale to manaaye na mane
jab ko_ii baat banaaye na bane
jab na ko_ii baat chale
jis gha.Dii raat chale
jis gha.Dii maatamii, sun-saan, siyah raat chale
paas raho
mere qaatil, mere dildaar, mere paas raho

Be Near Me

You who demolish me, you whom I love,

be near me. Remain near me when evening,
drunk on the blood of skies,
becomes night, in the other
a sword sheathed in the diamond of stars.

Be near me when night laments or sings,

or when it begins to dance,
its stell-blue anklets ringing with grief.

Be here when longings, long submerged

in the heart’s waters, resurface
and everyone begins to look:
Where is the assasin? In whose sleeve
is hidden the redeeming knife?

And when wine, as it is poured, is the sobbing

of children whom nothing will console–
when nothing holds,
when nothing is:
at that dark hour when night mourns,
be near me, my destroyer, my lover me,
be near me.

Agha Shahid Ali’s translation. From The Rebel’s Silhouette


3 comments May 13, 2008

Rang pairahan ka, khushboo zulf lehrane kaa naam

Faiz Ahmed Faiz


Rang pairahan ka, khushboo zulf lehrane kaa naam

Mousam-e-gul hai tumhare baam par aane ka naam

Doston us chasm-o-lab ki kuch kaho, jiske bagair

Gulistaan ki baat rangeen hai, na mehkhane ka naam
Phir nazar mein phool mehke, dil mein phir shamayen jali
Phir tasavvur ne liya us bazm mein jane ka naam

Dilbari thehra zabaan-e-khalk khulwane ka naam

Ab nahin lete pari-roo zulf bikhrane ka naam

Ab kisi laila ko bhi ikraar-e-mehboobi nahin

In dinon badnaam hai har ek deewane ka naam

Muhatsib ki khair, uncha hai usi ke faiz se

Rind ka, saaki ka,may ka, khum ka, paimane ka naam.

Hum se kehte hain chaman vale, gareebane chaman

Tum koi accha sa rakh lo apne veerane ka naam

Faiz unko hai takazaa-e-vafa humse jinhe

Aashna ke naam se pyaara hai begaane ka naam.

English Translation (mine):

Colour is a dress, fragrance is a name for your flowing tresses.

Your appearance at the window gives the Spring its name.

Say something about this sight, my friends, without which

neither the garden would have colour, nor the tavern have a name.

Again the eye fills with the scent of flowers, again the heart is lit with a leaping flame;
Imagination exults, and hesitating no longer, rejoins this happy company again.

Romance is a trick to set the tongues of the world wagging,

now even those with angel faces must keep their tresses tamed.

No beloved will now declare her desire openly

for where is the lover who is not defamed?

Praise to the naysayers! for by their grace

the drunkard, bartender, wine, cask and shotglass have their fame.

Those with the gardens say to us, “You, out there,

why don’t you give your wilderness a pretty name?”

Faiz, they demand faith from us now, who

would rather be outsiders than bear a lover’s name.
Not Faiz’s greatest ghazal, perhaps, but one I’m fond of, if only for those two glorious couplets
at the end. I’ve tried to emulate the pattern of end rhymes (though without a refrain), though
obviously this has meant taking some luxuries with the text.


4 comments October 9, 2007

Kuch kahti hai har raah har ek raahguzar se

Faiz Ahmed Faiz


Phir lauta hai khurshid-e-jahaantaab safar se

Phir noor-e-sahar dast-o-garebaan hai sahar se.

Phir aag bharakne lagi har saaz-e-tarab mein

Phir sholay lapakne lage har deeda-e-tar se.

Phir niklaa deewana koi phoonk ke ghar ko

Kuch kahti hai har raah har ek raahguzar se.

Vo rang hai imsaal gulistaan ki fazaa ka

Ojhal hui deewar-e-kaphas hadd-e-nazar se

Saagar to khanakte hain sharaab aaye na aaye

Baadal to garajte hain ghata barse na barse.

Paaposh ki kya fikr hai, dastaar samhaalo

Paayab hai jo mouj guzar jayegi sar se.

English Translation (mine):

Again the sun returns, bathing the world in its journey,

Again the morning light goes hand in glove with the sky.

Again the fire roars in every merry song,

Again the flames leap from every weeping eye.

Again a madman leaves, having set fire to his house

And every path says something to every passer by.

That colour is implicated in the garden’s very air,

Obscured the prison walls from the limits of the eye.
The glasses will rattle, whether the liquor flows or not
The clouds will thunder, whether it rains or stays dry.

Don’t worry about shoes now, better look to your turban

This wave that laps at your feet will soon be head high.

It’s been a while since we ran any Faiz so I figured it was time. This isn’t really one of Faiz’s
finest ghazals, but it’s one that I personally am rather fond of. It starts off slowly – the first two
couplets are nice but hardly spectacular, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, you get ‘phir nikla
hai deewana phoonk ke ghar ko’. It’s a stunning line, its explosive impact doubled by the fact
that Faiz lulls you into a sense of predictability with his repetition of the ‘phir’ (again) starting,
and by the casual way Faiz tosses the image in, as though a madman setting fire to his house
were a daily occurence (which, in Faiz’s imagery it is, of course). It’s as though Faiz had tossed
a grenade into the poem and then timidly shut the door.

From there on the poem just gets better and better. The fourth couplet is glorious and the fifth
ends with one of the cleverest rhymes I’ve ever seen done in a ghazal (and which no translation
can ever hope to duplicate), the ‘ar se’ sound flowing so naturally in at the end that I always find
myself forced to do a double take just to make sure that he did actually have a rhyme there. This
ghazal is so much fun, that by the time you get to that swinging last couplet you can almost feel
the exhilaration of it sweeping over you, just like the wave that Faiz ends by warning you about.


P.S. A note on the translation – I’ve taken a few more liberties with the text than I usually like to
do, mostly because I wanted to write the translation as a ghazal (the first line doesn’t really
rhyme with the second, but it’s close enough). Frankly, no translation was going to do justice to
this poem anyway.

2 comments April 7, 2007


Faiz Ahmed Faiz


Aaj ke naam
Aaj ke gam ke naam
Aaj ka gam ke hai zindagi ke bhare gulistan se khafa
Zard patton ka ban
Zard patton ka ban jo mera des hai
Dard ki anjuman jo mera des hai
Kilarkon ki aphsurda janon ke naam
Kirmkhurda dilon aur zabanon ke naam
Postmanon ke naam
Tangevalon ke naam
Railbanon ke naam
Karkhanon ke bhole jiyalon ke naam
Badshaah-e-jahan, Vaali-e-maseeva, Naybullah-e-fil-arz, dehkan ke naam
Jiske dhoron ko zaalim hanka le gaye
Jiski beti ko daakoo utha le gaye
Haath bhar khet se ek angusht patwar ne kaat li hai
Dusri maliye ke bahane se sarkar ne kaat li hai
Jiski pag zor valon ki paon tale
Dhajjiyan ho gai hai

Un dukhi maaon ke naam

Raat mein jinke bacche bilakhte hain aur
Neend ki maar khae hue bazooaun se sambhalte nahin
Dukh batate nahin
Minnaton zariyon se bahalte nahin

Un hasinaon ke naam
Jinki aankhon ke gul
Chilmanon aur dareechon ki belon pe bekaar khilkhil ke
Murjha gaye hain

Un byahtaon ke naam
Jinke badan
Be-muhabbat riyakaar sejon pe saj-saj ke ukta gaye hain
Bevaon ke naam
Katriyon aur galiyon, muhallon ke naam
Jinki napaak khashaak se chand raaton
Ko aa-aa ke karta hai aksar vazu
Jinke saayon se karti hai aah-o-bukaa
Aanchalon ki hina
Churiyon ki khanak
Kakulon ki mahak
Aarzoomand seenon ki apne paseene mein jalne ki boo.

Talibilmon ke naam
Vo jo asahab-e-tabl-o-alam
Ke daron par kitaab aur kalam
Ka takazaa liye, hath phaileye
Pahuchen, magar lautkar ghar na aaye
Vo masoom jo bholpan mein
Vahan apne nanhe chragon mein lau ki lagan
Le ke pahuchen, jahan
Bant rahe the ghatatop, beant raaton ke saaye.

Un aseeron ke naam
Jinke seenon mein pharda ke shabtab gouhar
Jailkhanon ki shoreeda raaton ki sarsar mein
Jal jal ke anjum-numa ho gaye hain

Aane vaale dinon ke safiron ke naam

Vo jo khushboo-e-gul ki tarah
Apne paigam par khud phida ho gaye hain

My (extremely inept) translation:


In the name of this day

In the name of this day’s sorrow:
Sorrow that stands, disdaining the blossoming garden of Life,
Like a forest of dying leaves
A forest of dying leaves that is my country
An assembly of pain that is my country

In the name of the sad lives of clerks,

In the name of the worm-eaten hearts and the worm-eaten tongues
In the name of the postmen
In the name of the coachmen
In the name of the railway workers
In the name of the workers in the factories
In the name of him who is Emperor of the Universe, Lord of All Things,
Representative of God on Earth,
The farmer
Whose livestock has been stolen by tyrants,
Whose daughter has been abducted by bandits
Who has lost, from his hand’s breadth of land,
One finger to the record keeper
And another to the government as tax,
And whose very feet have been trampled to shreds
Under the footsteps of the powerful.

In the name of those sad mothers

Whose children cry out in the night
And will not be silenced by the defeated arms of sleep,
Who will not say what saddens them
Or be consoled by tears or entreaties.
In the name of those beauties
The flowers of whose eyes
Blossomed from every curtain and balcony
And withered away in waiting.

In the name of those wives

Whose unloved bodies
Have grown tired of the treachery of beds
In the name of the widows
In the name of neighbourhoods
Whose scattered garbage the moon
Blesses every night,
And from whose shadows cries out
The fragrance of veils
The tinkling of bangles
The scent of loosened hair
The smell of passionate bodies burning in their own sweat.

In the name of students

Who went to the masters of drums and banners
Prostrating themselves on doorsteps
With their books and pens
Praying, with open arms, to be heard,
But never returned.
Those innocents, who, in their naivete
Took their tiny lamps,
Their candle flames of hope, to where
The shadows of endless nights were being given out.

In the name of those prisoners

In whose breasts the shining gem of the future
Burns, polished by the noise of the jailer’s night,
To a star like radiance.

In the name of those harbingers of the days to come

Who, like the flower with its scent,
Have become enamoured of their own message.

There are some poems that have an anthem-like, declamatory quality. Poems that demand not so
much to be read aloud as to be shouted into microphones, fed line by hungry line to some roaring
mob that raises its fists high in support after every stanza. Poems that seem addressed, not to a
single person, but to the People. Ginsberg’s Howl is like that. Gil Scott-Heron’s The Revolution
will not be televised is like that.

And then there’s Faiz’s Intisaab. This is a marching, singing paean of a poem, at once heroic and
sorrowful, at once incantatory and delicate. There are some unforgettable lines here (Zard patton
ka ban jo mera des hai / Dard ki anjuman jo mera des hai) and some beautiful images (Jinki
napaak khashaak se chaand raaton / Ko aa-aa kar karta hai aksar vazu) but the overall effect is
of being swept up in the urgency of a historical moment, in the tidal wave of an entire people and
their determination to stand firm against suffering, stand firm against oppression. This is a poem
whose every line screams Revolution.

Politics and poetry do not, in general, go well together. Which is not to say that there aren’t
good, even great, political poems; only that the rawness and stridency that makes for good
politics doesn’t always fit comfortably with more poetic aims. There are exceptions, of course,
but poems with a ‘message’ often end up sacrificing poetic merit for political momentum, so that
they remain memorable not so much for their poetry per se but for the protest they contain. This
is emphatically not true of Intisaab. This is a poem that is as political as you can get, that fairly
overflows with attitude, and yet is also a sophisticated and stunningly visual lyrical work.

The poet I’m always reminded of, reading this, is Whitman. Think of the long enumerations from
Song of Myself. Think of all the other songs – The Song of Occupations, the Song of Joys, The
Song of the Open Road, Salute Au Monde!, I sing the Body Electric. There is the same rhythm of
repetition, the same grandness of vision, the same deceptive simplicity. Faiz, like Whitman,
writes from a well-spring of humanism, from a desire to celebrate the common people. Faiz, like
Whitman, understands in his deeply democratic heart that it is here that true power lies, in the
suffering of ordinary men and women, in the uncomplaining courage with which they bear
whatever History thrusts upon them. Faiz, like Whitman, is a poet of his people. That is why he
matters. That is why he will survive.


As should be obvious, my translation doesn’t do anywhere near justice to the poem. Frankly,
there are things I just cannot translate. In the stanza about students, for instance, Faiz says “kitab
aur kalam / ka takaaza liye, haath phailaye / pahuchen” which I translate as “Prostrating
themselves on doorsteps / with books and pens/ praying, with open arms, to be heard”. That
doesn’t begin to do justice to the metaphor. Sanderson Beck writes:

“In takaza a man may restrain an equal or inferior from leaving his house or eating or compel
him to sit in the sun until he makes some accommodation. If the debtor is a superior, the creditor
may supplicate and lay on his doorstep, appealing to his honor and shame.”

That’s just one example.

5 comments June 8, 2006

Tum kya gaye ke rooth gaye din bahar ke

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Dono jahaan teri muhabbat main haar ke
Voh jaa rahaa hai koi shab-e-gam guzaar ke

Veeran hai maykada, khum-o-saagar udaas hai

Tum kyaa gaye ke rooth gaye din bahaar ke

Ek phursat-e-gunah milee, voh bhi chaar din

Dekhe hain humne housle parvardigaar ke

Duniya ne teri yaad se begaana kar diyaa

Tujshe bhi dil-fareb hai, gam rozgaar ke

Bhoole se muskara to diye the voh aaj “faiz”

Mat poocho valvale dil-e-nakardaa kaar ke

Translation (by Agha Shahid Ali):

He bet both this life and the next

and gambled all night for your love
he first lost earth then eternity
Now he departs from his night of grief
defeat visible in his eyes

Oh what a desolation
the taverns deserted each glass disconsolate
Love when you left
even springtime forsook me
you left and that season disowned this world

You made it so brief our time on earth

its exquisite sins this sensation Oh Almighty
of forgetting you
We know how vulnerable you are
we know you are a coward God

This rapture of simple routines life’s common struggles

have surpassed my memory of your love
It’s proved more enticing just to survive
even more than you
my love

Today she forgot herself her usual ways

her face broke as if by chance
into a smile
Don’t ask what happened to the defeated heart
Oh Faiz how it broke once again
into hopeless longing.

Translation (mine):

Craving your love, he gambled away

both this world and the next.
Look – he is leaving now -
having spent the night in grief.

And the taverns are deserted,

and the wine glasses are upset;
hurt by your departure
even the Spring has turned away.

Forgetting you was a reprieve,

but it did not last.
Now we have seen how far
even God can be trusted.

The world seduced us,

made us exiles from your memory;
day by day, the business of living
proved more deceptive than your love.

And then, today, she smiled,

forgetting herself,
and the heart, so long unused,
began to beat with a new urgency.

One of my favourite Faiz ghazals. Such a wonderful and passionate description of the utter
abandonment of unrequited love. Such an overwhelming sense of despair, of defeat, of
resignation. And then, just when the world seems ruined beyond measure, that one casual smile
of a line that revives everything, sets the pulse racing again.

Tennyson writes: “The world were not so bitter / But a smile could make it sweet” (Maud, I. VI).
Faiz’s ghazal shows us how desperate a redemption this is. How desperately the heart must long
to hope, must long to believe, that it will stake all its happiness on something as fickle as a smile.
“Dono jahan teri mohabbat mein har ke” indeed – the game of love is played on precisely so
fragile a wager.

4 comments May 21, 2006

Baazi hai ab ke jaan se badhkar lagi hui

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Falstaff read)

Sunne ko bheed hai sar-e-mahshar lagi hui

Tohmat tumhare ishq ki hum par lagi hui

Rindon ke dam se aatish-e-may ke bagair bhi

Hai maykade mein aag barabar lagi hui

Aabad karke shahar-e-khamoshan harek soo

Kis khoj mein hai teg-e-sitamgar lagi hui

Jeete the yon to pahle bhi hum jaan pe khelkar

Baazi hai ab ke jaan se badhkar lagi hui

"Lao to katlnama mera, mein bhi dekh loon

Kis kis hi muhar hai sar-e-mahzar lagi hui

Aakhir ko aaj apne lahoo par hui tamaam

Baazi miyan-e-kaatil-o-khanjar lagi hui.

That bet has now been placed on me

Translation by Agha Shahid Ali

The Day of Judgement is here.

A restless crowd has gathered all around the field.
This is the accusation: that I have loved you.

No wine is left in the taverns of this earth.

But those who swear by rapture,
this is their vigil:

they've made sure,

simply with a witnessing thirst,
that intoxication is not put out today.

In whose search is the swordsman now?

His blade red, he's just come from the City of Silence,
its people exiled or finished to the last.

The suspense that lasts between killers and weapons

as they gamble: who will die and whose turn is next?
That bet has now been placed on me.
So bring the order for my execution.
I must see with whose seals the margins are stamped,
recognize the signatures on the scrolls.

More than my life is at stake

Translation by Falstaff

The day of judgement has arrived.

A crowd has gathered to hear them proclaim:
I am accused of having loved you.

There is no wine left now;

But the thirst of the drunkards
Has kept the taverns burning.

Who is the tyrant's sword searching for?

Now that it has filled every graveyard,
Populated every silence?

I have lived this way before, it is true,

Playing games with death;
But this time more than my life is at stake.

So bring the order for my execution

Let me see who accuses me
Who signs his name to my death.

In the end,
This is all my life turns out to be:
A gamble between a killer and his sword
With my blood as the prize.

More Faiz on pō'ĭ-trē ,

[1] Raat Yun Dil Mein Teri

[2] Paon se Lahoo Ko Dho Dalo
[3] Aur Bhi Gham Hain Zamaane Mein
[4] Jinhe Zurm-e-ishq Pe Naaz Tha


6 comments April 7, 2006

Jinhe zurm-e-ishq pe naaz tha

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Falstaff read)

Tere gum ko jaan ki taalash thi, tere jaan nisaar chale gaye
Teri rah mein karte the sar talab, sar-e-rehguzaar chale gaye

Teri kaj-adai se haar ke shab-e-intezar chali gayi

Mere zabt-e-haal se rooth kar mere gumgusar chale gaye

Na saval-e-vasl na arz-a-gum, na hikaytein, na shikaytein

Tere ahad mein dil-e-zaar ke sabhi ikhtiyar chale gaye.

Yeh humi the jinke libaas par sar-e-ru siyahi likhi gayi
Yahi daag the jo saja ke hum sar-e-bazm-e-yaar chale gaye.

Na raha junoon-e-rukh-e-vafa, ye rasan, yeh dar, karoge kya

Jinhei zurm-e-ishq pe naaz tha, voh gunehgaar chale gaye.

Faiz broke away from the idea of the Beloved, the archangel of urdu poetry. Yes, he puts her on
the pedestal too, as tradition seems to demand. Only to build another pedestal (/tradition),
equally exquisite, for all things just as precious.

“aur bhii dukh hai.n zamaane me.n mohabbat ke sivaa

raahate.n aur bhii hai.n vasl kii raahat ke sivaa
mujh se pahalii sii mohabbat merii mahabuub na maa.Ng”

“There are other sorrows in this world,

comforts other than love.
Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.”

Posting poems by Faiz without the translation by Shahid Ali has always sparked interesting
discussions on translation( [1], [2], unlike [3]). So here, we have two translations. One by Shahid
Ali and the other by Falstaff. Compare, contrast, critique, appreciate…

Those once proud to be accused of love

(tr. by Agha Shahid Ali)

Your sorrow in search of someone

willing to spill his blood
but they who once lined the roads

ready to give up this life

at a moment’s notice
for you

have left
no longer to be found
the night waited with me for you
at dawn it admitted defeat and left

my consolers also departed

hurt to find my eyes
without tears

let down that I held back my grief

Nothing’s left now

no possibility of the night of love
and no way to show even a glimpse of pain

there’s no room for complaints

no margins allowed for suggestions

it’s your era
the restless heart’s lost its every right

It was me
it was my shirt
that was printed

with blood on the streets

darkened there with inks of accusation

I declared these stains a new fashion

and went to mingle with the guests
at my lover’s home

Nowhere anymore
that abandon of passion

no one wear’s fidelity’s raw fabrics

what will you do with that rope?
who’s asked you to build the scaffold?

those once proud to be accused of love

they all have vanished.

And the other,

Those who were proud to be accused of love
(tr. by Falstaff)

Your sorrow came, searching for life,

But those who would have died for you are gone,
Those who would have bowed their heads when you passed
Have all gone their own ways.

And the night is gone too,

Annoyed with you for keeping it waiting;
And those who came to console me have left,
Angry with me because I would not cry.

There is no question of love now,

I cannot complain, cannot say what grieves me,
I have no suggestions to make
In the tyranny of your love
My heart has lost all its rights.

I was the one

Whose shirt turned red with the blood from the streets;
These are the stains that I wore proudly
All the way to my beloved’s house.

But passion is out of style now,

And this rope, these gallows, are no longer needed;
Those who were proud to be accused of love
Have all vanished like criminals.


Add comment March 16, 2006

Paon se lahoo ko dho dalo

Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Listen (to Falstaff read)

Hum kya karte kis reh chalte

Har raah mein kaante bikhre the
Un rishton ke jo choot gaye
Un sadiyon ke yaranon key
Jo ik-ik karke toot gaye.
Jis raah chale jist simt gaye
Yun paon lahoo-luhan hue
Sab dekhne vaale kahte the
Ye kaisi reet rachai hai
Ye mehndi kyon lagvai hai
Vo kehte the, kyon kahat-e-vapha
Ka nahak charcha karte ho
Paon se lahoo ko dho dalo

Ye raatein jab at jayengi

Sow raste in se phootenge
Tum dil ko sambholo jismein abhi
Sow tarah ke nashtar tootenge.

And an excellent translation by Falstaff.

Wash the blood from your feet

Where should we go and what should we do

When every road is scattered
With the thorns of our fallen loves?
When the friendships of centuries
Have broken, one by one?

Whatever path we take, whatever direction we choose

Our feet come away bathed in blood.

And the onlookers say:

What is this ritual you have devised?
Why have you tattooed yourself with these wounds?
Who are you to question
The barrenness of faith?

Wash the blood from your feet.

When the night has passed

A hundred new roads will blossom.
You must steady your heart,
For it has to break many, many times.

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