Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels'
hierarchies? and even if one of them suddenly
pressed me against his heart, I would perish
in the embrace of his stronger existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror
which we are barely able to endure and are awed
because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Each single angel is terrifying.
And so I force myself, swallow and hold back
the surging call of my dark sobbing.
......
I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping
tongues of old men, licking the breeze.
......
Passion
I picked my soul that had sagged to the floor,
Cold and tired she lay at my feet, sunken.
Like an oversized underwear
She had fallen from underneath my body,
So I picked her up and clipped her to the hem of my heart,
Willing for her to stay a bit longer
“You must stay”
I said. disgruntle, dissatisfied.
......
Remember that object we saw, dear soul,
In the sweetness of a summer morn:
At a bend of the path a loathsome carrion
On a bed with pebbles strewn,
With legs raised like a lustful woman,
Burning and sweating poisons,
It spread open, nonchalant and scornful,
Its belly, ripe with exhalations.
......
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
......
True life considers more than the vessel it resides in.
Sincere music’s insights are unlimited to the ears.
Authentic art faults never to its boundless perspectives.
Intuitive photography narrates beyond its frames.
Empathetic poetry humbles every language comprehensible.
True media is commissioned by the intangible.
Thursday 6 June 2024
......
Passion
I picked my soul that had sagged to the floor,
Cold and tired she lay at my feet, sunken.
Like an oversized underwear
She had fallen from underneath my body,
So I picked her up and clipped her to the hem of my heart,
Willing for her to stay a bit longer
“You must stay”
I said. disgruntle, dissatisfied.
......
In shadows of intelligence, a young man stood,
His mind ablaze, his spirit pure and good.
A brilliant flame, a flicker of creativity,
But society's pressure whispered for conformity.
With dreams of literature and arts so fine,
He yearned to let his creativity truly shine.
But the world, in its wisdom, had other plans,
Forcing the young man into law's demanding hands.
......
These are English translations of Urdu poems by Ahmad Faraz.
The Eager Traveler
by Ahmad Faraz
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Even in the torture chamber, I was the lucky one;
When each lottery was over, unaccountably I had won.
And even the mightiest rivers found accessible refuge in me;
......
i am a hundred people at once,
a poet, a painter, a dreamer—
and i can’t remember which one of them is mine.
each morning,
i wake up with a new ambition,
a new hope to be something different.
but by the time the sun sets,
i’ve forgotten what i wanted to be,
because there’s always something more
pulling me in a thousand directions.
......