Great Ghalib had a few photos of beloved
And a few love letters
Found as his belonging after his demise
But I do not have letters of lovely ones
Because I am not Ghalib
But for sure I have some photos of idols I worshiped
While had good days
I keep casting glances upon them
Not diverting eyes
That pierces and pricks
Which one fails to attain
Bereaved I am
I endeavor to forget the realities implied
In photographs
Which remind me a line of Tennyson
'So sad so fresh the days that are no more'
It happens often that
Poverty becomes the cause of deprivation
And failures
What a state of mind!
That neither I could tear off the prints
Nor have patience to possess them
But just to compose heart I see them
Eyes are filled with tears
The photograph I feel slabbing
On the face of my poverty
I blubber
No body is there to share my agony
You also see these photographs of- -
ONION AND OF PULSE OF ARHAR
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Arhar=a kind of grain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem