Sex And Taxes By Kevin Cantwell In Hindi/Urdu Translation Poem by Ravi Kopra

aaloo-bukhara ka sa kaala
aur saib ki dhaal ka sa laal-safed
turbooz aur cream, is tarah lagay
rung badan k; roshni main sub door ho gayey
aur rachna lagi sub kori si bheegi si.
teri jald madad se dheeray se
main teray andar se bahar nikal aaya.
weekend k lagataar vilamboN nay apnay
zaroori kaam-kaaj ko bhi bhula diya tha.

Aprail ka maheena, sardi k aadhay dhamaakay se bhra
aadhee roshni main, sadhaaran aur hara.
ab sandhya ka sameh hai, dur khoob lug raha hai.
hum pencil se cHotay form ko bharnay lagtay hain
hum ne sarkaar ko kya dena hai
khayaal rakhtay huay hamaray number theek thaak se lagaiN.
huns ki gardun jaisay bunnay lamp se aati roshni
tab din ki hamaari sub karwaaee ko saamnay la deti hai -

har kaat, har madu-makhi ki daank jaisi chumee,
hotoN pe lagi har kaat ka swaad fir aanay lagta hai.
fir hum post office ki line main jaa lagtay hain
ta k hamaray tax k form k lifafay pe daak ghar ki
mohr lag jaaaey. unt main mazaak main hum kehtay hain:
"ab tyaar hain hum marnay k liyay."

***

Sex and Taxes
BY KEVIN CANTWELL

Plum black & the blush white of an apple
shoulder, melon & cream, in tones to list
the flesh; in light, washed colors off at last
& textures sheer with damp I slowly pull
from you with your quick help. Weekend's ample
procrastinations to forget the least
of what we want to do. April, half a blast
of cold, half new light, green & simple.
Now dusk. Now fear. We pencil what we owe
on this short form, our numbers good enough.
The goose-neck glare undoes how we spent the day.
Each bite each bee-sting kiss each bitten O
all aftertaste. Later, at the drop-off,
postmark queue, we joke: "Now we can die! "