Ghoomtay Firtay (Walking Around) , A Poem By Pablo Neruda In Hindi/Urdu Translation Poem by Ravi Kopra

Ghoomtay Firtay (Walking Around) , A Poem By Pablo Neruda In Hindi/Urdu Translation

kabhi aisa lagta hai main aadmi honay se tung ho gaya hoon
main darzeeioN ki dukanoN main aur cinema halls main ghoomta phirta hoon
sookha, waterproof ek roohi se bani bathaq ki tarah
gharb aur swaah k paani main apna raasta nikalata hua

neyeeoN ki dukaoN ki boo se mujhe khushk khansi aaney lagti hai
aur fir main ek pathar ya oon ki tarah bina hilay late jaana chahta hoon
aur dukanaiN, bageechay, cheezaiN, tamashoN aur elevators ko dekhna na chata hoon

aisa fir lagta hai main apna parioN aur nakhooN se dukhi hoon
baloN aur parcHaaeeoN se dukhi hoon
mai ek aadmi hoon, is se baDa dukhi hoon

-to be continued


Walking Around
Pablo Neruda,1904 - 1973



It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.

Saturday, September 15, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: despair
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Savita Tyagi 15 September 2018

We create lofty goals and ideals......some time nothing seems to matter......frustrations of life expressed well. Good translation.

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