The End And The Beginning, A Poem By Wislawa Szymborska In Hindi/Urdu Translation Poem by Ravi Kopra
The End And The Beginning, A Poem By Wislawa Szymborska In Hindi/Urdu Translation
Har jung k baad
kisi ko to karne hi hogi safaee
cheezain khud bakhud saaf nahin hoti hain
Kisi ko to karna hi hoga kooDa ekatha saDak k kinare par
ta k murday se bhari ghaDian saDak par chal sakaiN
Kisi ko to hi lag jana hoga kooDa-karkat aur raak uthane
sofe k springs
tootay footay glass k tukDe
aur khoon se bhare kattay kapDe
Kisi ko to lana hoga ek girder
girti deewar k bachane
khiDki ke glass pooncHne
darwaza theek karne
photo achhi na camera pe ayeNgi
baDe saaloN k baad
sare camray shehar se chale gayeN hain
kisi aur jung ki photos k liye
pull banane paDeN gay
railway station banane paDeN gay
aasteen k ho jaeN gay tukDe tukDe
ye sab kam karne k liye
koee haath man jhaaDoo liye
yaad karega jung se pehle yahaan kya tha
aur koee jiska sar katta nahin hai
sar hilate haan haan karte sune ga usko.
lakin ab yahaan kuch aur bhi hain
chakkar lagate idhar udhar firte hain
aur is gand mand ko saaf karna un k dil main nahin hai
bahar jaDion k neeche khudaaee kartay hue
pa leta hai koee purane jhagDoN ko
aur phenk deta hai vo unay
kooDae karkatoN ke dher pe
jinko pata hai k yaahn kya ho raha tha pehle
hat jaate hain vo unse jine kam maloom hai
ya us se bhi kam maloom hai
ya pata nahin hai une kisi baat ka
bahar jaDion k neeche khudaaee kartay hue
pa leta hai koee purane jhagDoN ko
aur phenk deta hai vo unay
kooDae karkatoN ke dher pe
hare hare oonche ghass main jisne bhula diye hai
laDaee kya laee aur uski ki the kya wajha
leta hoga koee ghass ka tinka moonh main liye
aasman main baadloN ko dekhte hue
After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.
Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.
Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.
Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.
Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.
We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.
Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.
From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.
Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.
In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.
-Wislawa Szymborska
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/5/2024 5:58:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
