Sahir In English |
Sahir In English |
r&d |
Oct 25 2011, 11:10 PM
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#1
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Dedicated Member Group: Members Posts: 3578 Joined: 2-April 05 Member No.: 1955 |
Taken from http://www.sahirludhianvi.com/blog/index.p...h-translations/
BLOOD IS BUT BLOOD ! A slain Lumumba is by far mightier than a living Lumumba -Nehru Repression is sill repression Rising, it must flop Blood is sill blood Spilling it must clot. Whether it clots on desert sands Or upon assassin’s hands On justice’s head or around shackled feet On injustice’s sword or on the wounded corpse Blood is still blood Spilling, it must clot. However much one lies in ambush Blood betrays butcher’s hideout Conspiracies may veil in thousand darkly mask Each blood drop ventures out with burning lamp on its palm. Tell oppression’s vain and blemished fate Tell cruelty’s crafty Imam Tell the UN Security Council Blood is crazy It can leap up to the cloak It is inferno, it can flare up to burn grain-stock. The blood you sought to suppress in abattoir Today that blood moves out into street Here an ember, there a slogan, there a stone Once blood comes to flows Bayonets are no avail Head, once it is raised Is not downed by law’s hail. What is about oppression? What is with its impression? Oppression is, all of it, but oppression From beginning to end Blood is still blood Myriad form it can assume Forms such as are indelible Embers such as are inextinguishable Slogans such as are irrepressible. |
r&d |
Oct 25 2011, 11:19 PM
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#2
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Dedicated Member Group: Members Posts: 3578 Joined: 2-April 05 Member No.: 1955 |
Taj Mahal
The Taj, mayhap, to you may seem, a mark of love supreme You may hold this beauteous vale in great esteem; Yet, my love, meet me hence at some other place! How odd for the poor folk to frequent royal resorts; ‘Tis strange that the amorous souls should tread the regal paths Trodden once by mighty kings and their proud consorts. Behind the facade of love my dear, you had better seen, The marks of imperial might that herein lie screen’d You who take delight in tombs of kings deceased, Should have seen the hutments dark where you and I did wean. Countless men in this world must have loved and gone, Who would say their loves weren’t truthful or strong? But in the name of their loves, no memorial is raised For they too, like you and me, belonged to the common throng. These structures and sepulchres, these ramparts and forts, These relics of the mighty dead are, in fact, no more Than the cancerous tumours on the face of earth, Fattened on our ancestor’s very blood and bones. They too must have loved, my love, whose hands had made, This marble monument, nicely chiselled and shaped But their dear ones lived and died, unhonoured, unknown, None burnt even a taper on their lowly graves. This bank of Jamuna, this edifice, these groves and lawns, These carved walls and doors, arches and alcoves, An emperor on the strength of wealth, Has played with us a cruel joke. Meet me hence, my love, at some other place. |
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