Insight Love Rhythm Imagination Perspective Connections Translations Languages Soul Metaphors Meaning brought to you in bite-size easy to digest pieces.
I heard that you’re settled down
that you found a girl and you’re married now.
I heard that your dreams came true.
Guess she gave you things I didn’t give to you.
Old friend, why are you so shy?
Ain’t like you to hold back or hide from the light.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
but I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I had hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
that for me it isn’t over.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you,
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,
sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.”
You know how the time flies,
only yesterday was the time of our lives.
We were born and raised
in a summer haze
bound by the surprise of our glory days.
I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited
but I couldn’t stay away, I couldn’t fight it.
I’d hoped you’d see my face and that you’d be reminded
that for me it isn’t over.
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too,
don’t forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.”
Nothing compares
no worries or cares
regrets and mistakes
they are memories made.
Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste?
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you,
don’t forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.”
Never mind, I’ll find someone like you.
I wish nothing but the best for you too.
Don’t forget me, I beg,
I remember you said,
“Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead,
sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead.”
A predilection for stone fruit
sees a trail of peach
and plum stones in his shadow
You had traced him down
this discreet path to where
his casual touch
was six light insect
feet on your forearm
In the magazine you read about
the ten sexiest women
for April; they all live
in suburbs beginning with W
and wear impossible shoes
You hunt for modern equivalents
of One hundred ways with mince
and watch his hand become
refined under its wedding ring,
the fingers longer and nails less bitten
He coaxes your shoulders straight,
uncurling them with firm hands
but you were merely bent over
with laughter
Now your tongue forks into four:
one part for being good-natured
one for lamentation
the third part of irony
and the last for an imaginary language
You move to a newly-invented
suburb beginning with X
where you will use the four parts
of the tongue with equilibrium
Again and again, however we know the landscape of love and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names, and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others fall: again and again the two of us walk out together under the ancient trees, lie down again and again among the flowers, face to face with the sky.
Note: Stephen Mitchell did the English translation. Following is the original in German.
Immer wieder, ob wir der Liebe Landschaft auch kennen und den kleinen Kirchhof mit seinen klagenden Namen und die furchtbar verschweigende Schlucht, in welcher die anderen enden: immer wieder gehn wir zu zweien hinaus unter die alten Bäume, lagern uns immer wieder zwischen die Blumen, gegenüber dem Himmel.
I’m crying everyone’s tears
And there inside our private war
I died the night before
And all of these remnants of joy and disaster
What am I suppose to do
I want to cook you a soup that warms your soul
But nothing would change, nothing would change at all
It’s just a day that brings it all about
Just another day and nothing’s any good
The DJ’s playing the same song
I have so much to do
I have to carry on
I wonder if this grief will ever let me go
I feel like I am the king of sorrow, yeah
The king of sorrow
I suppose I could just walk away
Will I disappoint my future if I stay
It’s just a day that brings it all about
Just another day and nothing’s any good
The DJ’s playing the same song
I have so much to do
I have to carry on
I wonder will this grief ever be gone
Will it ever go
I’m the king of sorrow, yeah
The king of sorrow
I’m crying everyone’s tears
I have already paid for all my future sins
There’s nothing anyone
Can say to take this away
It’s just another day and nothing’s any good
I’m the king of sorrow, yeah
King of sorrow
I’m the king of sorrow, yeah
King of sorrow
Wearing the blue jeans you bought me
I sit down to write to you
After a long time
Light blue is the denim and sapphire blue the ink
Between the two – this sheet of paper
Blank and white
On this sheet I write to you of my troubles
After a long time
We’re fine
How’re you?
I write for the sake of writing
Ask for the sake of asking
I want to write just that –
After growing grimier
Over the years, these jeans have got so soiled
That I no longer feel like washing them.
To wash these jeans –
No river flows by
No friends
No farm, no well, no birdsong of koels nearby
No white cranes either
Instead, a white washer, white dryer
White washing powder to wash blue jeans
A white anti-static fabric softener
For the occasional static
Green trees seem white
White, the blue sky
The rainbow is white
White kohl, white soorma
White kumkum, white the white rice
White, white, pure white, white gulal
In this country of the whites, what a black fate is mine
On this bright white day, I sit here pounding life’s misfortunes
Sit here to write to you
Feverishly
After a long time
Light blue is the denim and sapphire blue the ink
Between the two – this sheet of paper
Not so white and no longer so blank
On this sheet I write to you of my reflections
After a long time
I keep writing that –
There’s no mango orchard here
To dry washed jeans
Even the sunlight here is sterilised
The wind EPA-controlled
Different water sprinklers nurture different patches of green
Everyone here has different lawns, different water, different sunlight
The jeans here are different for meeting people
Different for behaving, different for socialising
Ways of loving also different
Different TVs, different remotes
Different parties, different votes
Different cars, different phones
Different names, Jaswant John
Different brides for different grooms
Under the same roof, people live in different homes
I sit in my home, different from myself, distant from myself
Far far away
I sit here to bridge the gap on paper
After a long time
Light blue is the denim and sapphire blue the ink
Between the two – this letter
Never intended to be so long
On this sheet I write to you of bridges and gaps
After a long time
I turn the page over and write all over again that –
When I turned the almost-dried jeans inside-out
To dry them out completely
My life almost turned upside-down
Upside-down roads, upside-down driving
Upside-down men, upside-down women
Having upside-down conversations, I spend my upside-down nights
I draw water each day from upside-down taps
In the upside-down darkness, upside-down switches for lights
Upside-down alphabets
Upside-down voices
Upside-down silences
Surround me as
I sit here silently to write a wedding song
After a long time
Light blue is the denim and sapphire blue the ink
Between the two – this letter
Complete and yet incomplete
On this sheet I write to you this wedding song
After a long time
And finally I just want to write that –
After repeated washing
These jeans are furrowed
By deep wrinkles of dilemma
Wrinkles that tell
Of the desire to settle in the USA anyhow
Of the conditions to settle here
Of the acceptance of these conditions
Of adjusting to this acceptance
Of surrendering to the ‘medical’
Of growing dependence on social security
I sit here in the USA totally attached to Vadodara
I sit here to write of this attachment
After a long time
Light blue is the denim and sapphire blue the ink
Between the two – this letter
Completed and blank
On this sheet I write to you of my troubles
After a long time
Note: The English translation is by Naushil Mehta and Arundhathi Subramaniam. Following is the original.
Letter to Ba in GujaratiLetter to Ba in GujaratiLetter to Ba in GujaratiLetter to Ba by Chandrakant ShahLetter to Ba by Chandrakant Shah
There was a star in life
agreed, it was much loved
when it sank, it did sink.
Look at the sky’s vastness,
so many stars have broken away
so many loved ones it has lost
the lost ones, were they ever found?
But tell me, for the broken stars
does the sky ever grieve?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a flower in life
which, I doted everyday on
when it dried, it dried away.
Look at the garden’s breast,
dried, many of its saplings have
welted, many of its flowers have
that which welted, did it ever bloom?
But tell me, for dried flowers
does the garden create an uproar?
That which is past, is gone.
There was a cup of wine in life
which, you gave your heart and soul for
when it broke, it did break.
Look at the winehouse’s courtyard
shaken, where many cups are
fall, and merge with the ground
that which fall, do they ever rise?
But tell me, for broken cups
does the winehouse ever regret?
That which is past, is gone.
Soft mud, we are made of,
wine drops do tend to fall.
A short life, we have come with,
winecups do tend to break.
Yet, inside the winehouse
there is a winepot, there are winecups.
Those, struck by intoxication
do splurge away on the wine.
He’s a raw drinker,
whose affection escapes no cup,
one who has burnt from true wine
does he ever shout, or scream?
That which is past, is gone.
Note: Please comment below if you know who translated this into English. Following is the original.
हरिवंश राय बच्चन द्वारा जो बीत गई सो बात गई
जीवन में एक सितारा था
माना वह बेहद प्यारा था
वह डूब गया तो डूब गया
अम्बर के आनन को देखो
कितने इसके तारे टूटे
कितने इसके प्यारे छूटे
जो छूट गए फिर कहाँ मिले
पर बोलो टूटे तारों पर
कब अम्बर शोक मनाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई
जीवन में वह था एक कुसुम
थे उसपर नित्य निछावर तुम
वह सूख गया तो सूख गया
मधुवन की छाती को देखो
सूखी कितनी इसकी कलियाँ
मुर्झाई कितनी वल्लरियाँ
जो मुर्झाई फिर कहाँ खिली
पर बोलो सूखे फूलों पर
कब मधुवन शोर मचाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई
जीवन में मधु का प्याला था
तुमने तन मन दे डाला था
वह टूट गया तो टूट गया
मदिरालय का आँगन देखो
कितने प्याले हिल जाते हैं
गिर मिट्टी में मिल जाते हैं
जो गिरते हैं कब उठतें हैं
पर बोलो टूटे प्यालों पर
कब मदिरालय पछताता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई
मृदु मिटटी के हैं बने हुए
मधु घट फूटा ही करते हैं
लघु जीवन लेकर आए हैं
प्याले टूटा ही करते हैं
फिर भी मदिरालय के अन्दर
मधु के घट हैं मधु प्याले हैं
जो मादकता के मारे हैं
वे मधु लूटा ही करते हैं
वह कच्चा पीने वाला है
जिसकी ममता घट प्यालों पर
जो सच्चे मधु से जला हुआ
कब रोता है चिल्लाता है
जो बीत गई सो बात गई।।
Across these miles I wish you well.
May nothing haunt your heart but sleep.
May you not sense what I don’t tell.
May you not dream, or doubt, or weep.
May what my pen this peaceless day
Writes on this page not reach your view
Till its deferred print lets you say
It speaks to someone else than you.
A Poem a day 