Archive | ਅਪ੍ਰੈਲ 2008

Ode To Warris Shah – Amrita Pritam

ਅਪ੍ਰੈ.17

Ode To Warris Shah – Amrita Pritam
Roman version by Amritjit Singh
Translated by Darshan Singh Maini


Warris Shah

aj aakhan waaris shah nooN kito.n qabra.n vicho.n bol!
te aj kitab-e-ishq da koi agla varka phol!

ik roi si dhii punjab dii tuu likh-likh mare vaiN
aj lakkha.n dheeyan rondian tainuu.n waaris shah nooN kahaN!

uTh darmandaN diaa dardiiaa uTh tak apNa punjaab!
aj bele laashaa.n vichiiaa.n te lahu dii bharii chenaab!

kise ne panja paaNia.n vich dittii zahir rala!
te unhaa.n paaNiaa.n dharat nuu.n dittaa paaNii laa!

jitthe vajdii phuuk pyaar di ve oh vanjhli gayi guaach
ranjhe de sab veer aj bhul gaye usdi jaach

dharti te lahu vasiya, qabran payiyan choN
preet diyan shaahazaadiiaa.n aj vich mazaaraa.n roN

aj sab ‘qaido’ baN gaye, husn ishq de chor
aj kitho.n liaaiie labbh ke waaris shah ik hor

aj aakhan waaris shah nooN kito.n qabra.n vicho.n bol!
te aj kitab-e-ishq da koi agla varka phol!


English Translation

(This translation is taken from book in English by Darshan Singh Maini called STUDIES IN PUNJABI POETRY)

I say to Waris Shah today, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love

Once one daughter of Punjab wept, and you wrote your long saga;
Today thousands weep, calling to you Waris Shah:

Arise, o friend of the afflicted; arise and see the state of Punjab,
Corpses strewn on fields, and the Chenaab flowing with much blood.

Someone filled the five rivers with poison,
And this same water now irrigates our soil.

Where was lost the flute, where the songs of love sounded?
And all Ranjha’s brothers forgotten to play the flute.

Blood has rained on the soil, graves are oozing with blood,
The princesses of love cry their hearts out in the graveyards.

Today all the Quaido’ns have become the thieves of love and beauty,
Where can we find another one like Waris Shah?

Waris Shah! I say to you, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love.

[Quaido’n, a maternal uncle of Heer in “Heer Ranjha” is the villain who betrays the lovers]

Poems by Pash

ਅਪ੍ਰੈ.17

Poems by Pash

NO, I AM NOT LOSING MY SLEEP

No
I am not losing my sleep over
how and when
you�ll strike
to finish me off
frankly, I couldn�t care less
about it
because
I don�t have the patience
of a watchman
to be on eternal guard
to sift and filter
countless moments
to await
the time slot
your henchmen have fixed for me.
No
I don�t waste my time thinking such trifles
nor am I sentimental about
the memories of my village
and the folks I left behind
No I don�t think now about
such things as
the fine hues of red
when the sun sets over the village
nor do I care about
how she feels.

THE MOST DANGEROUS THING

The life of a pirate is not so dangerous
nor is a bashup in a police lockup
spying too is not very dangerous

to be woken up in the middle of the night
by the secret police
I admit is nerve wrecking
so is the quiet lonely fear
which follows you
and throttles your chest
when you are locked up in a cell
on a framed up false charge
for a crime you did not commit
all this I admit is bad enough
but all these are still not so dangerous

because the most dangerous thing is
to live like a dead man
when you don�t feel any thing
when the routine of daily life saps you totally
the fixed life of
home to work
work to home
that is a life without dreams
that is the most dangerous thing

that is when
the hour is alive and kicking for everyone
excepting for you
that life is the most dangerous thing

because
like the eyes of a dead fish
you stare at everything
but cannot feel anything
about yourself
or about others
that�s why
the most dangerous are those people
who have forgotten how to love people
for such people
live and shift aimlessly
in the ordinary humdrum orbit of their lives
in which nothing happens
nothing moves
like a placid cemetery

these people
are like that cold blooded moon
which feels nothing
no pain, love, sympathy or revulsion
when it goes over the courtyards
of the innocent victims
butchered in a slaughter

the most ugly sight is
that of a debauched old man
who is trying to sing a melody
but only succeeds in racking his weak chest

So the most dangerous life is the one
in which our conscience doesn�t prick you
because your soul is dead
that�s why I say

piracy is not so dangerous
spying is not so dangerous
bashup in a police lockup is not so dangerous
the most dangerous life is…