A Postcard from Gulmarg Dated 27th April 2019
A dull orange lulled me to dream
of saffron boiling in Samovars
on the streets of Gulmarg.
A convoy seems to scream
in hushed hues of gunmetal
on the streets of Gulmarg.
Pamposh, yi josh kate chut onmut?
O Lotus, wherefrom comes this zeal of yours?
Yours carelessly,
A Postcard from Gulmarg.
Six Haikus from Kashmir (August 2019 – January 2020)
Month 1, daGaabaaz[1]
Perverted justice!
Trust walked into your temple
and came out a slave.
Month 2, Sōn Kandur[2]
Our busy Kandur
sells politics, news, bread, and
hope to the hungry.
Month 3, Yim Matador kotu gaiy?[3]
Matador, drive past!
I ache to see you oppose
all of rich Kashmir.
Month 4, Shīn ha pĕwan.[4]
Snow falls silently
on your thoughts and your voices –
bring out your shovels.
Month 5, Iqra![5]
Read! Kashmiris read!
“Goran vonunam kunuy vatsun
Nebra dopnam ander atsun”[6]
Month 6, Kital[7]
Kashmir’s a kettle
forgotten on the stove top
whistling forever.
[1] Translation: A cheat
[2] Translation: Our baker
[3] Translation: Where have all the busses gone?
[4] Translation: It is snowing
[5] Translation: Read!
[6] Translation by Neerja Mattoo, Mystic and the Lyric:
“My teacher gave me a word of wisdom, From outside bade me turn within.”
[7] Translation: Stovetop Kettle
وہ مہکار غل اور وہ دانا بلبل
دشت مایوسی پے چھایا ہے ابر آ لود و بے قراری
دیکھو سُلا رہے ہیں معلم ساز مذہب لیے ہوئے
فقط برس جاے برگ چنار پے درود دِل دلیل آگاہی
اور پھٹ پڑے زمین پر وہ سیاہ بادل سیے ہوئے
پھر شاید یہ سوکھی مٹی سمولے آہستہ آہستہ
فایدہ زخم روح و صبر مزاحمت
اور پھر شاید پیدا کرے رحم سے یہ اس بار
وہ مہکار غل اور وہ دانا بلبل
Transliteration: Woh mehkar gul aur woh dana bulbul
Dasht-e-mayoosi pe chaaya hai abr-e-aalud-o-be qaraari
Dekho sula rahe hai mualim saaz-e-mazhab liye hue
Faqat baras jaye barg-e-chinar pe darood-e-dil, daleel-e-agaahi
Aur phat pade zameen par woh siyah baadal siye hue
Phir shayad yeh sookhi mitti samole aahista aahista
Faida e zakhm e rooh o sabr e muzhamat
Aur phir shayad paida kare rahm se yeh is baar
Woh mehkar gul aur woh dana bulbul
Translation: The Garden and the Nightingale
Over our despairing wilderness unease looms
Come, hear the preachers sing to us
their lullaby of belief
If only these dark skies above
would burst – upon this land – open
And pour out
the heart’s remembrance
those fables of imprisoned reason
And speak sentences – measured –
onto the wilted leaves of a chinar
Then – perhaps – our parched earth
will soak in the comfort
of the soul’s agony
of patient defiance
Then – perhaps – our piteous earth
will yield from it’s bosom
that garden – fragrant
the promised nightingale – wise
-Translation by Salik Basharat and Azhar Wani
All images courtesy of the contributor
