Bachay
Jaldi main paida hua
somewaar main jumma bacha
abhi paida hony main tyaar na tha;
hamesha k liyay log kaheN gay:
bhaag aaya ye is sansar main sub se pehlay.
Laal mirch ka ek tukra
jo swaliya nishan sa lagat hai
us ko bada pasand hai
*
Magalwaar ka paida bacha
jab bolta hai
to us k moonh se jawala-mukhi ubar baitha hai
jo chahey kar baitha hai
matlab ye k vo broccolo nahin khata -
us ko ye behazam devdar k peD dikhai deti hai
vo chamach laga kar
cHila paneer khata hai
aur kabhi unglioN ko chaat-ta hai.
*
to be continued
THE KIDS
Born too soon,
Monday's child was unready to be seen;
is destined to be early for ever.
She's selected a slice of red pepper
shaped
like a question mark.
*
The volcanic breath of Tuesday's child!
He remembers where poetry comes from;
the literal potential of things,
which means he can't eat broccoli -
seeing it right, a tiny indigestible oak.
He eats grated cheese with a teaspoon,
assisting it with a finger.
*
The hidden's the vocation of bird-like Wednesday's child,
perfecting her dust-baths with sweeping boughs of pine.
She can find anything hidden in the dark,
as a cat finds a rabbit -
by steam escaping
the warren.
*
Thursday's child says he saw Wednesday's child
run so fast she began to fly.
Thursday's child shall be called a liar.
*
Friday is afraid of the suit of spades
and jigsaw pieces the shape of the suit of spades.
She's afraid of plug-sockets, pylons,
dams, flowered wallpaper.
She knows what magic is -
the stress we're under.
*
Saturday's child is still growing into her eyes
(lamps above her chin, a frog's eyes surfacing
the muds of winter) .
She can't help what she does and doesn't see -
salting away what she sees
inside her.
*
Sunday's child knows what blasphemy is
and where the devil's grave.
He makes the lovely graves
of long grass and speedwell.
© Jen Hadfield
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem