It was pleasant the sun was mild
the breeze gentle a man on foot
could have carried on for miles
without trouble
...
A poem already bad gets even worse.
No mortal effort can improve it.
Effort spoils it even more.
It turns ever murkier –
...
Something was to happen in the seventies but it did not happen.
Strange winds began to blow in the eighties.
And in the nineties what was not to happen, happened.
And so did an entire century take leave
...
In the upper shelves of the almirah
there was, as ever, patience.
And silence too.
Below, so much lay scattered.
...
What language can be better than of translation?
It alone is the white screen on which,
like grime,
the doings of us all become starkly visible.
...
The battles of 1857
that once upon a time were far-off battles
are here and now.
...
What could be a better language than the language of translation
A white curtain on which
All our handiwork stands apart like dirt
All crimes are perpetrated in mother tongues
...
the battles of 1857 –
once so distant,
are now the battles ever so close
in this age of remorse and crime
...
we have been reduced to coal said the sisters sinking into sand
cover us up now if you want we shall stop here you may go
the sisters kept visiting us during day changing appearances
we had fever in evenings
...
So distant once, the battles of 1857
have drawn ever so close to our daily lives.
Strange that in these times of remorse and regret
when mistakes appear like misdeeds, all our own,
...
Wars of 1857, which were very distant wars
Are wars that are nearer these days
In this age of shamefulness and crime when
...
O decrepit and empty, closed, solitary hut!
Open your door. Offer water to the guests.
See, your lazy inmate has come.
Speak! How long have your doors been shut like this?
...
Do pay us a visit
at home some time
and see for yourself
our poverty in all its grandeur
...
What kind of a life did you live asked 'Bari Aapa'
A very good sort of a life, Bari Aapa!
Ate flavoured trimmings, gathered piquant knowledge from shops
Wore out shoes and nursed the indigestion
...
Asad Zaidi is among the best-known contemporary Hindi poets today.)
Islamabad
It was pleasant the sun was mild
the breeze gentle a man on foot
could have carried on for miles
without trouble
All this was a misnomer though
When Shuklaji walking beside me
could take it no more
he said:
I think it’s high time now
we dropped a nuclear-bomb
on Islamabad.
(Islamabad)
Translated from the Hindi by Samartha Vashishtha