Click here to read Part 2
You, a thousand miles away from here, somewhere in solitude
Or in a musical salon
Will be casting dreams about me, sitting in a stranger’s lap
And I, with a grief in my chest, work hard day and night
Dying for the sake of living
By humiliating my art, I fill the coffers of strangers
I am helpless, you are helpless, helpless is the whole world
The suffering of the body is heavier than heart’s
In this era, the price of living is either crucifixion or estrangement
I couldn’t rise to the cross, neither could you reach the threshold of industriousness
You loved me, but couldn’t embrace me
You and I are such souls, who couldn’t reach the destination of fulfillment
We live for the sake of living, but the chitas* burn in breaths
Silent loyalties burn
In the grave realms of facts, the shawls of dreams burn
And today, under these trees, two shadows have swayed again
Again, two hearts have come to meet
The tempest of death has risen again, the clouds of war have come over
I am thinking that they too, might (not) suffer the same end as ours
That their passion too, might (not) fail
Written in their fortunes too, there might (not) be an evening drenched in blood
The evening drenched in the blood of sun, I remember still
The end of the golden dreams of desire, I remember still.
Our love couldn’t bear the stroke of catastrophes
But at least they should get the night of (culmination of) desires
We only inherited the strife of homeless death
But at least they should get the ecstatic, singing life
For many days, it has been a hobby of politicians
That when kids grow up, they are murdered
For many days, it has been an obsession of rulers
That in faraway countries, famine may be sowed
For many days, the dreams of youth have been deserted
For many days, love searches for a refuge
For many days, on the highways witnessing oppression
The honor of the statue of existence searches for a refuge
Let’s go, to all the downtrodden souls
and tell them to give voice to each of their wounds
Our secret, is not ours alone, but belongs to everyone else
Let’s go and make the whole world our confidant
Let’s go to the political gamblers and tell them
That we abhor the tradition of conflict and war
The one that is not compatible with any color except (that of) blood
We abhor that mantle of existence
Say that if a murderer ever comes here
Then on every step, the land will keep becoming narrower
Every wave of the air would change its course to pounce
Every branch will become a vein of stone
Let’s stand and say today, to every warrior
That we need acres for the sake of work
We are not fond of snatching away anyone’s land
We only need ploughs on our lands
Say that no merchant should ever turn towards here
No maid shall be sold in this place
These fields have woken, these crops have revolted
No flower bed shall be sold here
This is the land of Gotham, and Nanak
Barbarians shall not walk on this pure land
Our blood is the heirloom for the new generation
On our blood, armies shall never be fed
Say_ _ _ that if we remain silent even today
Then this glowing soil is bound to be doomed
From the atomic monsters, shaped by madness
The Earth is threatened, the sky is threatened
In the previous war, only homes burnt, but this time
There’s no wonder if even these solitudes incinerate
In the previous war, only bodies burnt, but this time
There’s no wonder if even these silhouettes incinerate
Silhouettes of imaginations emerge
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*chita: Woods that Hindus use to burn the dead corpses.
Acknowledgment: Special thanks to Fahad Mehmood Sokhta for his help. Visit his blog here.
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