Tuesday, 2 August 2016

'Silhouettes": A Translation of 'Parchayan' by Sahir Ludhianvi (Part 2)

How delightful were those times, how beautiful were those moments
How delicate were those sehrey*, how beautiful were those garlands

Every bloomed street of the hamlet was like an island of dreams
Every wave of the self, every stream of the morning breeze was like a reservoir of symphonies

Out of nowhere, from the lush fields, started coming the sounds of trots
Carrying the heavy odor of the gun powder, started coming the winds from the West

On the radiant face of Modernity, spread the clouds of exploitation
Savageness danced in every village, forests spread in to every city

From the civilized countries of the West, came a few uniformed men
Came the arrogant pompously, the intoxicated (who were) swaying

In the silent chest of the Earth, the tent poles were being rooted
On the ways soft like butter, boot scratches started making their marks

Beneath the horrific (sound of the) band of the armies, the sounds of the spinning wheels drowned
Beneath the sweltering dust of the jeeps, the robes of the flowers drowned

The price of humans started falling, the worth of commodities started rising
The stir of the chaupaul*** started decreasing, the conscription offices started increasing

The sturdy, gregarious men of the hamlet started going as soldiers
The trail from which few return, travelers started going on that path

With these departing batches, departed honor, departed youth
Departed also the young sons of mothers, the adored brothers of sisters

Melancholy started coming over hamlets, the springs of the galas ended
From the supple branches of Mango trees, the rows of swings vanished

Dust started flying in the markets, hunger started growing in the field
The impoverishment of the impoverished houses, grew in to a plight

Inflation grew in to shortage, the whole hamlet became bankrupt

The shepherdesses lost their way, the maidens left the panghat **
So many virgin maidens, left the doorstep of their mothers and fathers

Of the poverty stricken peasants, the plough and ox was sold, the fields were sold
From the hands of the desire to live, all the means to live were sold

When there remained nothing to sell, then the trading of bodies started happening
The thing that was forbidden even in solitude, started being dared in company

The silhouettes of imaginations emerge
You are coming at dusk, (your hair) hair scattered

Carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid accusations 
Silhouettes of imaginations emerge 

From the tearing apart of lust worshiping eyes
(You are) Hiding the reluctant nudity of the body

I have gone to the city and returned after peeking in to every door
Nowhere the worth of my labor was found

In the political casinos of the oppressors
Nowhere was the worth of the wisdom acquired by ill-luck found

Silhouettes of imaginations emerge

In your house reigns the doomsday’s noise
The messenger has brought a ‘telegraph’ from the battle field

The rendition of whom you held dearer than life,
That brother got killed in the ‘line of fire’

Silhouettes of imaginations emerge

On every footstep is a cluster of ignominies
On every corner are carnivals of disgraces 

Neither friendship, nor formality, nor whole-heartedness, nor sincerity
No one is of anyone else, today all are alone

Silhouettes of imaginations emerge

That pathway which is as deserted as my heart
Who knows where it is about to take you

The murderers of conscience are buying you
On the horizons is the redness of the blood of heart’s craving

Silhouettes of imaginations emerge

The evening drenched in the blood of sun, I remember still
The end of the golden dreams of desire, I remember still

That evening I realized that in this world, like fields
The smile of the scared maidens is also sold

That evening I realized, that in this world driven by wealth
The identity of two naive souls is also sold

That evening I realized, that when the parents’ harvest is snatched away
The priceless mark of the mother’s love is also sold

That evening I realized, that when brothers are killed in war
The youth of the sisters is sold in the taverns of capital

The evening drenched in the blood of sun, I remember still
The end of the golden dreams of desire, I remember still.


*sehrey: A traditional head dress worn by the groom on his wedding. It covers his face.

**panghat: A small water fountain in homes in rural subcontinent.

***chaupal: A gathering place in the village 

Acknowledgment: Special thanks to Fahad Mehmood Sokhta for his help. Visit his blog here.

Update: 12-08-2016

Click here to read Part 3