Room III

She lays bare her breasts,
standing by the mantle edge,
wearing a light skirt
that folds over her thighs.

Her right foot on a stool.
Her round breasts touch
yellow oranges she holds
on her arm and palms.

Pensive looks, lips soft,
dark hair short, figure slim.
She looks into your eyes
with unforgettable looks.

Oranges on oranges,
succulent and sweet,
inviting lover’s lips
for gentle nips on tips.

Inspired by a painting, ‘Lemons and Oranges’
by Julio Romero de Torres in a museum
by the same name in Cordoba, Spain.
http://usuarios.lycos.es/mezquita/sala3.htm

Her toes painted red

Her bare slender feet
in white open sandals,
her toes painted red,
golden embroidered border
of her blue sari
touched tiny silver bells
tied around her ankles -
she walked softly
with gentle grace.

The bells chimed:
Jhan, jhan
Jhanan, jhanan
Jhan, jhan.
I looked at her.
She smiled.

Years later,
when I think of her,
I hear jhan, jhan
jhanan, jhanan.
I see her beguiling smile,
her glances sideways
searching my eyes.

PS: Inspired by a poem of Rahul Pandita.

my darling, my beloved

my darling, my beloved
he says it to himself
missing her every passing day

no one knows -
only his love knows -
how happy he feels

when he sees her, feels her
steals a fleeting kiss
being reborn in love

it is her he desires
tossing and turning
dreaming all night of her

beside him he wants her
his heart aches for her
his passion for her

puts him on fire
he wants to love her
always, always...

my dear friend

doing well?
mood in the gutters?
need time to ride the troughs?

or unending back and forth
meditations with booze
to pull you out of rut?

wanting solitude?
waiting for the lightning striking
the skies for an awakening?

nervous breakdown?
no desire to share a word?
what are you up to?

my dear friend

To Ogden Nash

Ogden Nash, master of pun
To me your ‘Versus’ are lot of fun

Dear old uncle Ogden Nash
I wish I heard your poetry bash

Inventor of new words and rhymes
Your verses in my ears chime

Your “candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker,”
Bring images of drunk Randy licking a Snicker

Your women “constantly getting bedzined,”
Tell me your trials were not randomized

Your scientists “spending their lives trying to give mice nervous breakdowns”
Are no different than bored bitchy wives celebrating their husbands’ letdowns

“Well, what shall I do to day?
Shall I spend the day in hay?
Shall I cover my head with sheet,
Or go downstairs and eat?”

Today, Mr. Nash, is Saturday,
I will not get out of bed till mid-day.
My bastard of a boss is getting crazy,
His wife gives him no sex, she is lazy.

Homage to D.H. Lawrence

Today I read Lawrence’s poem
On breasts like Gloire de Dijon.
I saw the golden shadows
Of swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
On the panes of showers.
Now as I sit down to write
My daily poem, I cannot concentrate.
My lines pale against the yellow roses,
Against the glistening silver shoulders,
Against the sluicing sounds
Of rain disheveled petals.
I desire now my day white lilies
And my evening jasmine.
Someday I'll celebrate them in a poem,
But now I pay homage to Lawrence,
Wanting swung breasts swaying
Like full-blown yellow roses
Like Gloire de Dijon.

My words are meditating today

I set to write a poem a day,
but words don't obey me today.
They are helter skelter,
feel no loving attraction
to bind to one another today.

It's like being amidst the most beautiful
women of the world and
yet finding none beautiful
to hold one's attention,
desiring solitude without distraction.

My words are meditating today,
they want to find themselves first.
They don't care for others.
They are too tired
to be sharing love with others.

They will be back soon
in their theater
to play music to some tune.
They need a pause to be youthful,
flowing with juices once again.

His goblets were breasts

Yesterday I read Robert Bly saying
Bill Stafford wrote a new poem everyday.
When someone asked Bill, what if

his poem turned out be bad someday!
He will lower his standards, answered he,
no poem could be a bad poem that way.

So here is my poem for today
And I new poem will come from me everyday,
I've no high standards to hold on to anyway.

Life gets too hectic sometime,
and the day passes like the blinking of an eye.
I was caught in a day like this today till

early in the evening a friend called,
too bored with her drunk husband,
in a pig's-arse house she was.

I made her some cinnamon tea,
she sighed and sipped it slowly
telling how boring her life was lately.

I read Pablo Neruda to her.
It seemed to go over her head. I explained
he loved white hills and thighs in women

his peasant body dug into her woman
from whence for him leapt a son
from the roots of the dark earth.

His goblets were breasts.
His roses were pubis.
His rivers with black beds.

He persisted in her grace.
His thirsts and desires boundless,
never deploring love's weariness.

Night – Chapter 92 of Koran

In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful.

I swear by the night
When it draws its veil,
And by the day shining brightly

And by the creator
Of the male and the female
Who strived in many ways.

He who guards against the evil,
Accepting the best,
Will pass away peacefully.

But he who is niggardly,
Rejects Allah and the best,
His end will not come easily

His riches useless when he dies.
Ours is the right way,
Ours is the way for here and hereafter.

Be warned of the fires and flames,
Only the most unhappy enter the flames,
And the liars telling the lies.

Those not evil from fires will be saved
They purify themselves giving wealth away.
None else shall have the boon to be rewarded

Only the Highest Lord's pleasure seekers
Shall soon be well pleased on passing away.

*****

Rendered from the following literal translation:
The Night
In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful.
[92.1] I swear by the night when it draws a veil,[92.2] And the day when it shines in brightness,[92.3] And the creating of the male and the female,[92.4] Your striving is most surely (directed to) various (ends).[92.5] Then as for him who gives away and guards (against evil),[92.6] And accepts the best,[92.7] We will facilitate for him the easy end.[92.8] And as for him who is niggardly and considers himself free from need (of Allah),[92.9] And rejects the best,[92.10] We will facilitate for him the difficult end.[92.11] And his wealth will not avail him when he perishes.[92.12] Surely Ours is it to show the way,[92.13] And most surely Ours is the hereafter and the former.[92.14] Therefore I warn you of the fire that flames:[92.15] None shall enter it but the most unhappy,[92.16] Who gives the lie (to the truth) and turns (his) back.[92.17] And away from it shall be kept the one who guards most (against evil),[92.18] Who gives away his wealth, purifying himself[92.19] And no one has with him any boon for which he should be rewarded,[92.20] Except the seeking of the pleasure of his Lord, the Most High.[92.21] And he shall soon be well-pleased.

http://www.hti.umich.edu/cgi/k/koran/koran-idx?type=DIV0&byte=956492
PS: Apologies for any errors. Please bring to my attention any errors for corrections.

I want to breathe you

I want to breathe
you in I'm not talking about

perfume or even the sweet odour
of your skin but of the

air itself I want to share
your air inhaling what you

exhale I'd like to be that
close two of us breathing

each other as one as that.

~James Laughlin

*****

In Hindi:

Mein tum mein saans lena chahta hun
mein tumhari khushbu

ya tumhare badan ki sugandh
ki baat nahi kar raha

Mein tumhari saans ka hissa lena chahta hun
jo saans tumare under say aati hai

main us saans main saans lena chahta hoon
ki hum donon itne paas hon

ki eik doosray ki saans latay
hum dono eik ho jayaen

PS: Thanks to Rahul Pandita for help
in the translation.

What if

What if
there were cartoons
mother Mary mating a Roman
before immaculate conception
or Jesus, our saviour
sinning against sinning
mating Mary Magdalene in Jerusalem

What if
there were cartoons
lord Shiva wearing a garland
of holy cow skulls
(not human skulls that he does)
and Lord Krishna fondling milk maids
but not loving one of them

What if
there were cartoons
Buddha beating barking dogs
with sticks to pulp in woods
and running after naked women
covering his head in a hood
( lest he be mistaken for Buddhahood)

What would Christian do?
What would Hindus do?
What would Buddhists do?
Would they not react to this falsehood?

So why make cartoons of Mohammad (PBUM)
carrying a bomb in his turban
walking with fair ladies in burka
protecting their womanhood?

Why should Moslems not react to this falsehood?

If the man you live with doesn’t love you

If the man you live with doesn’t love you
Why don’t you leave him and find the one that loves you

If the woman you live with doesn’t love you
Why don’t you leave her and find the one that loves

Who is stopping you?

Is marriage a ring around your finger?
A promise that held but now does not do?
To live life for others and not know
What you’ve first with your life to do?

You marry for love, you marry for happiness
Leave him, leave her and marry the one
Who gives you happiness and love.

Waiting for the day when hate
Would suddenly change into love?
Wait till the day when “death do us part”
To finally part from your love’s farce.

I wanted to die

I woke up this morning,
Found a note on my bed.
It read:

“I am leaving.
You are not the best.
I love you no more.”

What was left for me?
I tore my gown.
I pulled my hair.

I began to cry.
My head in my hands.
I lay back in my bed.

I wanted to die.

~Sarah Frost

Don't go

If you have to go,
I won't tell you no.
But my heart will be breaking
and if you see a tear,
don’t mind it dear.

It's my way of loving you –
There're things you don't know,
Things I could never show.

But you're quite the man.
You are in my heart,
You are in my soul,
Without your love
I can't be whole.

So when you go,
I will you know:
I will always be loving you.

~Sarah Frost

Just go

You say you love me
you say you care,
but you cheat and lie
to my despair.

There're men who would give
all they own
for just one night of love
we've known.

You can search the world over
to all the places you've roamed,
if you find someone
who loves you as I do,
just go.

I love watching you in the morning sun,
I love when we’re together as one,
for all the love I have for you
if you cannot see,
just go.

~Sarah Frost

But some men do

While I lay sleeping in my bed
Millions of thoughts swirled in my head

Some were good
Some were bad
Some I wish I never had

Some were of you
Some were of her
Some of you and her
But none of you and me

I looked at the clock
It was half past three
Oh my god, what was wrong with me!

And then I realized:
You may not love a woman
Like me
But some men do

~Sarah Frost

Today

Today you loved me
Till there were shivers
Running down my spine

Today you loved me
Till I lost my mind.

Today you held and caressed me
Like there was no other time

Today you told me
You would have to leave tomorrow
So for me there will be no tomorrow

~Sarah Frost

While Vacating the Old Home

Several times I looked and found many things:
An old broom, a toothbrush, a piece of unused soap,
A cap-less bottle, an old tin waste-bin, a leaking-bucket,
A pair of broken glasses, clips, buttons, pins, a needle and thread.
I took the name-plate off my door and put it in the waiting truck.

I stood there to see fully the grounds
Where we spent the first ten years of happily married life.
My son, now like a king of gods, came here to our life.
Here too we sadly gave to the holy fires our other son.
He is calling now from a corner and saying:
“ Mommy, daddy, you forgot nothing to take with you,
Have you forgotten me?”

While taking my final steps, a sharp piece of broken glass
Pierces my bare foot and I see pearls
Of blood on the footprints l leave behind.

~Balmukund Dave
The original is in Gujrati. The literal translation
into English was kindly sent to me by Maansi Mehta.

Selected Ghazals

1
I Still Remember

Shedding tears in silence I still remember
Those days of falling in love I still remember

Seeing you how speechless I would become
Your finger in your teeth I still remember

When you had no lover besides me
Tell me those flirtations if you still remember

In hiding you'd come to see me at that place
It has been ages but that palce I still remember

Telling this tale of my heart's sorrows listlessly
Turning the bracelets on your wrists I still remember

~Hasrat Mohani
Original in Urdu

*********

2
Without You

So many seasons' caravans passed by without you
But I feel no happiness without you

Every moment the beetles desire your coming
Every petal is blooming in red without you

Even the signs of memories were washed away in tears
Alas! The whole earth is now a desert without you

Till yesterday the ship rolled joyously on the sea
That ship has now fallen into ruins without you

I thought of you while dreaming at nights
The evenings of my life passed by without you

Perhaps 'Zafer' could not bear being away from you
He took his last breath weeping continuously without you

~ Gautam Dhar 'Zafar'
Original in Hindi at:
http://msu.edu/~dhargaut/Ghazals/tere.htm

******

3
Khayyam's House Tonight

You’ll see how love’s force prevails tonight
You’ll see the damsel leaning on my shoulders tonight

I see all aura wherever I gaze tonight
There is beauty as far as I can see tonight

Not to say of revelry in verses and fierce spirit
My house has turned into Khayyam's house tonight

***

Original in Urdu by ?

Dekhna jazb-e-mohabbat ka asar aaj ki raat
Mere shaane pe us shaukh ka ser aaj ki raat

Noor hi noor hai kis simt uthaun aankhen
husn hi husn hai tahad ki nazar aaj ki raat

Nagma-0-mey ka ye toofan-e-talab kya kehna
mera ghar ban gaya Khayyam ka ghar aaj ki raat

~?

Note: Thanks to Rahul Pandita for sending me
original ghazals in Urdu under Khayyam's House Tonight

*****

4
As It Was

Only mad Qais could see his beloved’s face, as it was
The wildrness of love, a far cry to others, as it was

Lunacy healed the scars of my burnt heart
Revealing its essence in smoke-whorls, as it was

I talked to you in my dreams all love-things
When I opened my eyes, no gain or loss it was

A beginner learning the ways of broken hearts
I haven’t what I had, what I lost, all lost it was

Only a shroud will cover my nakedness in death
In other attires, existing in disgrace it was

Farhad could not kill himself without the axe, Asad
A prisoner of traditions and taboos all it was

Original Ghazal by Ghalib in Persian

*****

5
What Pleasures He Found?


You say you’ll keep my heart, “if lying around I found.”
What heart now to lose? Our destiny, haven’t already I found?

The essence of life through love I found
Curing some pains, unending suffering I found

Enemy of my heart is my own beloved
Shrugs off my sighs, hears not the complaints I found

In her playful innocence and games
Her cunning challenges I found

The buds blossomed today, I looked into my heart
Past sufferings of wounds and bleedings I found

I don’t know the where-abouts of my heart
But whenever I lost it, by you it was found

The preachers admonitions threw salt on my wounds
Would some body ask him what pleasures he found?

Original in Persian by Ghalib

*****

6
Your Caring Beloved

A gift of a diamond and your burnt heart’s wound has arrived
Congratulations, Asad! your caring beloved has arrived

jirdhat tohfih, almas armughan, dagh-e-jiggar hadiyah
mub arkabad Asad, ghmamkahr-e jan-e dardmand aya

~Original in Persian by Ghalib

*****
7
May It Never Happen

What a heart not praying for a meeting may ever happen
I forget you and be still alive, may it never happen

Your love will remain as my life with me
This thing of deception, in my life may it never happen

It’s true no one dies in separation
Separation from each another, may it never happen

It is said love gives blessing to those
Who suffer in heart but their complaints never happen

The world has seen him and has tested him
Katil sacrifices himself but his complaints never happen

~Katil Shifai

Original in Hindi at http://msu.edu/~dhargaut/Links/ashaar5.htm
posted by Gautam Dhar 'Zafar'

*****
TO BE CONTINUED

All things pass

Sun rises in the morning,
The morning does not last.
It sets down in the evening,
The evening does not last.
All things pass.

A thunder comes and passes,
A tornado rips everything
Off in its path.
A tsunami comes and sweeps
Everything in its path.
They do not last.
All things pass.

Everything changes:
Earth, clouds thunders, skies
Rivers, oceans, fire, winds.
They do not last.
All things pass.

Why should then not
Man’s visions, dreams
Illusions, delusions
Stay and not pass?
What makes man
So special not to last?

Live in the moment.
Don’t lose the moment.
Take it as it comes,
It doesn't last.
All things pass.

A variation on Timothy Leary’s
translation of the original poem
in Chinese by Lao-Tzu (6th centeury BC)

A game player in love

She wants my love
But loves to play games of love
To see if I love her
She says goodbye to me
I say goodbye to her
Next moment she turns back
Saying her heart won't
Let her to leave me
She loves me.

I'm on the internet chat with her
Here it’s all she says to me:
"You are stronger and wiser than me
You can say goodbye
And mean it
I can say goodbye
And not mean it
As I am a woman
I am weaker in will
You are a man
Your will is strong
I was a fool in love
And will always be
I thought I succeeded
I played my part
I tried hard to win your heart
But you are stronger and wiser than me
You broke my heart
I was a fool to give my heart
And soul to a net man
I thought I would net you
But you broke my heart
Your priority was never me
Nor was your professed love
I think I've said enough
I need to go now.”

She logs off the net
I thank God she is off my back
Playing games of love
Torturing my heart
Making stories of love
Lying to me
Lying to herself
I am ready to go off the net.

Suddenly she logs back and says:
"My heart won't allow me to go
You don't talk to me
You have much ego
I love you
Please tell me you love you.
Kisses, my love
I send kisses to you
Please tell what I want to hear
Please tell me you love me
I will stay here till midnight
Unless you tell me you love me."

I say nothing
I want no more love games
I don't want to be snared
I do not want selfish love.
She continues her game:
"Hun, I'm sorry
Really sorryI love you so much
You make me a psycho
I am annoyed with you
You said love forgives
Love is always nice
So do you love me?"

She types
"Do you love me?"
Thirteen times
Then she types
"But you are stubborn."
Three times.
And continues:
"I know you love me
Because I love you."
Seven times.
Then,
"I love you."
Five times.

She is not tired of playing games
She has stamina, she has guts
She continues with
" I wish I did not love you."
Seven times.
And finally
"I hate you."
Seven times.

Then she wants to see me
On my webcam
And says she is sorry
And asks to be forgiven
Calling me her love
Her honey, her hun
She types a line or two
Of a love song
Asking me again to tell her
I want her, I love her
Before she goes home.

She goes home not before
Deleting me from her life
Moments later she e-mails me
Subject: Deleted you from my life!
Contents: “I have deleted you from my messenger
I am blocking your e-mails
I wanted you to love me
I tried hard to get you
Well, I did not succeed
You are wiser and stronger than me
I can't have your love
I never loved you
I hate you
Bye, for ever.”

I hope and pray
It is forever
I want no play
With my emotions
No play with my heart
I want love
True, sincere love
And I will give my
True sincere love
I don't want
A game player in love.

Under the full moon

Au naturel you straddled--
your legs around my back,
breasts against my chest,
lips devouring my lips,
arms around my neck,
sitting on my hands,
you giggled as I rocked you
walking in the backyard
under the full moon...

I lay you down
on the lounge chair,
near the pool,
and went in you hurriedly,
making love fiercely –
Bang, bang, bang
I burst out with a big bang –
howling like a wolf
at the climax.

Our Chihuahua looked
up at the moon and howled—
serenading to love making
under the full moon...

I'm tired of these flirting games

I like your slanting oriental eyes,
I like your innocent looking face,
I like your gait with majestic grace.
But I don’t like your canniness,
Your slyness, your madess.

You do not budge,
You don’t give an inch,
You want everything your way.

Now you lure me to come to you tonight,
Casting glances with your eyes bright.
And when I give to your desires,
Loving you in a tight hold,
You suddenly turn hateful and cold,

You tell me your lies of migraines
And those of unending pelvic pains.
You love watching a fish,
Gasping for air on your hook.
You don’t know what love is
Nor you seem to care.

I'm tired of these flirting games,
To me it is all childishness.
Grow and be a woman first,
Only then perhaps,
I might go out with you someday.

Stefan, My Russian Tomcat

When I get up in the morning
I see him waiting, purring
At my bed room door,
He shows me
His tiny teeth and tongue,
Runs to me
And puts his face
Against my knee
For a little pat and a rub.

When I get home in the evening
He greets me at the door
In his guttural sounds,
First softly
Then with a little roar.

While I am writing this poem,
He’s sitting at my feet
Singing his song
In his throaty tones.

He wants my touch
He wants my love,
He wants reassurance of my love.
He is Stefan, my Russian tomcat,
He follows me around at home.

Love Lyrics - I

You sit there alone
You stare at me
You are drinking too much, boy
Come, come, ask me for a dance
Dance with me

What happened to your woman
What happened to your girlfriend
Where are your buddies, lonely boy
You are drinking too much tonight
You are looking at me
Come, come, ask me for a dance
Dance with me

Did your woman left you for another man
Did you friend stole your girlfriend
What’s wrong with you tonight, boy
You are drinking too much tonight, boy
Come, come, ask me for a dance
Dance with me

You are sitting there alone tonight
I am sitting here alone tonight
Let’s strike a conversation tonight
Let me tell you my heartbreaks, boy
You tell me your heartbreaks, boy
We can be friends, who knows
You can be my boyfriend, who knows
You can steal my heart, who knows

Stop now staring at me
Be a man and come to me
Ask me for a dance, boy
And dance with me….

Did you lose your mind?

Did you lose your mind?
Are you in love blind?
Mountains look green from afar -

But they’re all jumbled as we are -
Till we climb them we don’t know
What they are and what we are

You say you find yourself in me
You are falling in love with me
I tell you my dear sweet friend

World of love is a confused world
What to you is love, to others it may not be
So love beside, let’s talk of this:

If you and I jive -
If your neurons
Resonate with me –

We will not complement any dissimilarity
Not living to what’s love and what’s not love
We will be happy ever after living in unity.

I Miss You My Love On Valentine Day

It is a rainy and cold day here
Flakes of snow are falling now
I have lighted the fire

I'm lying down on the floor
Burning in my desires
Thinking of you

A dozen red roses
That you sent to me
Are in a yellow vase

On the coffee table
I look at them
They stare back at me

Wondering tonight
Why I am all alone
Feeling so lonely

The way you touch me
Play and fondle me
For hours at end

Before making love
To arouse my desires
I am wishing that now

I’m sipping some red wine
Listening to Vivaldi
Glancing the pages of magazines

I cannot concentrate
I cannot read
My mind wanders to you

I wish you were here
Curling up with me
Beside the fire

Making love to me

I am all aroused now
All wetting now
I wish you were here

Whetting my desires
I miss you my love
I miss you a lot

A Baby Love Song

My sweet little baby
My sweet little heart
In my arms I hold you
I caress you, I keep you
Close to my heart

My sweet little angel
My sweet little heart

You hold my finger tight
With your little fingers so soft
I love you, I hug you
I keep you close to my heart

My sweet little baby
My sweet little heart

I look into your eyes
I see oceans of love
My sweet little baby
You are my angel
My sweet little heart

Lustful Ladies in the Ritu Samhaaram of Kalidasa

5-8
Tight fitting bras
hold up the women’s breasts.
Their colorful silken scarves,
wrapped around shoulders
cover the cleavage of breasts.
With flowers tucked in their hair,
they are delightful to see –
they are the flowers of winter.

5-9
Young ladies indulge in rubbing
vermilion creams on their breasts,
and lust for young men sleeping with them,
pressing their breasts against their chests.
Thus they warding off the winter cold,
they leave ochre-marks on their chests.

5-10
These happy women past adolescence
Desire love making to men,
Sharing with their lovers
exotic liquors in the evenings,
with petals of lotus
for fragrance stirred in them.
Anticipating love making later,
They sigh in pleasure.

~Kalidasa
Original in Sanskrit.

Foxy Lady - Philip Solomon

Foxy lady walkin' down the street
shaking her thumb in time with the beat,
Me's eyes poppin' out,
while little boys shout.
Hypnotizing half a street block,
half a flock of men come running,
stunning every one of them.
A path in the ground opens up
to a beautiful shell
going through the ground,
next stop "hell".

~Philip Solomon

*****
In Hindi:

eik nakhray wali aurat
challi jaa rahi hai gali main,
apna ungootha gumaatay hooey
sangeet ki har lehar main.
aadmion ki ankhen us par laggi hain
aur bachhay halla-gulla macha rehay hain.
aadhi gali par usnay jaddoo daala hooa hai
aadhi gali say log bhagtay aa rehay hain,
har ek hairan hooa betha hai.
zameen main ek rassta nikla hooa hai
jo ek sundar say khanay ko jaata hai,
uska ka agla adda, "narak".

Dream Variation - Langston Hughes

To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at coll evening
Beneath a tall tree
While night comes on gently,
Dark like me-
This is my dream!

To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance! Whirl! Whirl!
Till the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening...
A tall slim tree...
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.

~Langston Hughes

*****

In Hindi:

kisi dhoop ki jagah main
apnay baazzoo khullay khol kar
main ghoomoon aur nachoon
ja tak safed din na dhalay.
fir ek oonchay per kay neechay
dhandi shaam main aaram karron
jab tak ek raat,
kali si meri tarah,
dhiray say aayay.
Yeh hai mera sapna!

suraj kay chehray main
apny khulay baazzoo khol doon,
Nachoon! Ghumoon! Ghumoon!
Jab tak din nahin dhal jaata.
peelee shaam main araam karoon...
Ek unchay, patley per...
Raat aayay sehji hooee
kali meree tarah.
(Yeh hai mera sapna)

Hey hoo! hoo-hoo!

On Lohri day
In Punjab, Panipat,
Sonya and Lagpat,
Sat with their friends
Surrounding the flaming fires.

They ate popocorn with gur.
They relished sesame-candy.
They exchanged hugs and handshakes
With friends, and sang songs of love.
They danced bhangra and gidhha
Till early hours of dawn:
“Hey, hey, you handsome one,
Hey, hey, you chieftain's son.
Hey hey, you beautiful one,
You're fair as the shining sun.
Hey hoo! hoo-hoo!
Hoo-hoo! hey–hoo!”

How marvelous to lie in bed

How marvelous to lie in bed
for long hours on weekend mornings,
have breakfast in bed together
and make love till the mid-day sun.

How marvelous to listen to the hissing
of rain falling on the rooftop,
lying in bed on weekend mornings
and cuddling and kissing for long hours.

How marvelous to go for long walks
in the woods or on the mountain paths
or lying on the beach on weekends
basking in the sun for long hours.

How marvelous that she be herself,
and I be myself, and still we be
as one all life,
living in love together.

I am happy to see you

When I see you at a distance,
I smile, my heart heart races
and I pace faster to come to you.

I want to know how was your day,
I want to tell you how was my day
and I want to tell you

I am happy to see you.

Last night you left me and slept - Rumi

Last night you left me and slept
your own deep sleep. Tonight you turn
and turn. I say,
"You and I will be together
till the universe dissolves."
You mumble back things you thought of
when you were drunk.

~Rumi
translated by Coleman Barks

*****

In Urdu:

kal raat tum mujhay chor kar so gayay
apni gehri si neend main. Aaj raat
tum khoob mudtay rehtay ho. Main kehti hoon,
"Tu aur main saath rahengay
jab tak jahan tabah nahin ho jaata."
Tum gud-badatay kuch nashay main
sochhe batain kehtay ho.

Relationship - Janos Pilinszky

What a silence, when you are here. What
a hellish silence.
You sit and I sit.
You lose and I lose.

- translated from the Hungarian by Peter Jay

*****
In Urdu

Kitni khamoshi, jab tum yahan hotay ho. Kitini
narak bhari khamoshi.
Tum baith jatay ho, aur main bath jaati hoon.
Tum khoay say lagtay ho, aur main khoee si lagti hoon.

Sex - Kate Bingham

When I came home from school and told my mother
I was surprised she had even heard
of anything so disgusting.

She sat me in the kitchen and explained that fucking
was the closet a man and a woman could get
to wanting the same thing at the same time
and one day, when I was older, I would understand
that this was love.

~Kate Bingham

*******

In Urdu

jab main school say ghar aaya, main apni maan ko bola
mujahy hairan-gi hoti hai
kay usnay aisi nafrat ki baat kabhi suni ho.

Usnay majhay rasoee main bithaya aur vachhan diya
kay jab chudaee hoti hai to admi aur aurat usi pal main
usi cheez ko chanay main khoob pass ho hotay hain
aur eik din jab main bada ho jaoonga, to maujhay patta lggay ga
kay is ko mohabbat kaytay hain.

When Susanna Jones wears red - Langston Hughes

When Susanna Jones wears red
Her face is like an ancient cameo
Turned brown by the age.

Come with a blast of trumpets,
Jesus!

When Susanna Jones wears red
A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night
Walks once again.

Blow trumpets, Jesus!

And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red
Burns in my hear a love-fire sharp like pain.

Sweet silver trumpets,
Jesus!

~Langston Hughes

*****
In Hindi

Jab Susanna Jones laal
rang kay kapday paenhati hai,
us ka chera ek purini moorti sa lagata hai
jisay samay nay bhoora kar diya ho.

Aao, khoob zor se bugle bajao,
Jesus!

Jab Susana Jones laal
rang kay kapday paenhati hai,
wo Egypt ki guzri hooee raat main
ek raani jaesi chalti hooee lagti hai.

Bugle bajao, Jesus!

Aur Susanna Jones ki khoobsoorti
Jab wo laal kapday paenhiti hai,
Meray dil main mohabat ki aag laga deti hai
Jo tezi say daard deney lagti hai

Chaandi jaisay meethay bugle bajao,Jesus!

Partial Differential Equations

The other day I met a professor
of partial differential equations
in the offices of an Indian Consulate.

He looked depressed, very sad.
Perhaps the equations governed his life
and made him partial to the pleasures of life.

No pleasure he felt in drinks or women,
the lust for life had left his heart,
no interest he had in music or art.

No wander lust to go to places for fun,
no desire to lie down on a beach in sun,
no time for laughs or any pun,

partial differential equations were only his fun.
I began to wonder if the differential operators
of equations operated on neural nets in his head

and sucked fully the sap of his life,
making him a robot of some kind,
on partial differential equations to thrive.

I was all things, all is worthless

The more I contemplate
On the spectacle of the world,
On the ebb and flow of its things,
The more am I convinced
Of the innate prestige of falsity
Given to all pomp of reality.

All these parades of costumes and fashions,
Complex paths of progress of civilizations,
Splendid tangles of empires and cultures,
Seem to me like myths and fictions
Dreamed against shadows and oblivions.

But I do not know if all these aims,
When achieved, though very vain,
Lie in Buddha's realization -
Waking up in ecstasy and saying:
“Now I know everything.”

Or the Emperor Severus saying:
“Omnia fui, nihil expedit.”
I was all things, all is worthless.

Note: Rendering a page from the diary
of Fernando Pessoa in The Book of Disquiet.
251(493)

Breakfast - Jacques Prévert

Breakfast

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He poured the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He churned it
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without speaking to me
He lighted a cigarette
He made the circles
With the smoke
He put the ash
Into the ashtray
Without a word
Without looking at me
He got up
He put a hat on his head
He put on his raincoat
As it was raining
And he left
Into the rain
Without speaking to me
Without looking me
And I put
My head into my hands
And I cried.

Note: Translated from French:

Déjeuner du matin
Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.

~ Jacques Prévert

Alicante - Jacques Prévert

An orange on the table
Your robe on the rug
And you in my bed
Soft present of the present
The freshness of the night
The heat of my life.

Translated from the original poem
of Jacques Prévert in French:

Une orange sur la table
Ta robe sur le tapis
Et toi dans mon lit
Doux présent du présent
Fraîcheur de la nuit
Chaleur de ma vie.

You all die, I don't want to die

I saw her after thirty years,
Old and blind she lay in the bed.
No sense of space or time she had,
But one thing was clear in her head:
She wanted to live and never die.

She could do nothing by herself.
She needed feeding and bathing.
She needed bed-pans brought to her bed.
She wailed and constantly cried:
"You all die, I don't want to die."

When told I was her son.
I don’t know if she really realized,
But she held my hand in her hand,
Kissed and went on beating her chest,
Wailing: “you all die, I don't want to die."

Her picture I took while she lay half-dead,
Looking as if she were a devil in bed,
Crying fearing hell after death.
She would rather make life a living hell
Than thank her maker for a long life.

I had heard stories of people welcoming death
And going peacefully to heaven or hell.
The more she resisted, the more she suffered
At ninety-five still wanting to hold on to life.
Why? Why? I wondered what was in her head.

Perhaps she never lived her life.
Her parents died when she was a child.
Raised by her uncle till thirteen
And then married off to an ignorant man,
A selfish, hateful, heartless, uncivil man.

Bearing eleven babies till in her fifties,
Three dead, eight survived, all raised
In loveless self-made false poverty.
Only loving her husband till widow at eighty five.
Kids got no love, they'd no love now to give.

Having lived a long miserable life,
Why would she go on clinging to life?
Perhaps she lived on hope in life.
Perhaps she didn't know what was life.
Perhaps she thought she had eternal life.

Perhaps...

She never realized love matters in life.
At least for those you give birth to.
At least for those you live and die.
What a wretched way to live a life!
What a wretched way to die a life!

"You all die, I don't want to die."

My cheeks are here - Rumi

I went for a walk
To a rose garden
With my darling.

She caught me casting
A casual glance on flowers,
And suddenly turned to me:

“My cheeks are here,
And you are looking
At the roses there.”

Note: This is my rendering from an English translation.


Original in Persian:

bâ yâr ba-gol-zâr shod-am rah-goZarî
bar gol naZarê fakand-am az bê-khabarî
del-dâr ba-man goft ke sharm-at bâdâ
rokhsâr-é man în-jâ-wo tô dar gol negar-î

Another translation at
http://www.dar-al-masnavi.org/rub-1776.html

He can lift mountains

Tying tiny silver bells to my ankles
I went into a dancing frenzy

the town-folks thought
I was going crazy

my mother-in-law complained
I would ruin the clan

and the prince delivered
a cupful of poison

for me to drink and die.
I laughed as I drank the poison

but no harm came to me!
Why can’t they see

my body and soul belongs
to the Dark-One.

He can lift mountains
and protect me.

A translation of an original poem of Mirabai in Hindi.

When will you come to me?

I write him letters
but my beloved Krishna
sends no letters to me.

He keeps his silence purposefully.
I sweep the path
ready for him to come

and I wait and gaze
every single day and night
till my eyes turn blood-shot.

I am now getting restless.
My heart is going to break.
O my Dark One!

you were with me
in all my former lives.
When will you come to me?

***
A translation of Mirabai's original poem in Hindi.

Come to my bedroom

Come to my bedroom,
I’ve scattered there
petals of fresh flowers.

My body smells sweet with fragrance.
In the cycles of death and life
only one thing I want:

To sleep with you.

Mira’s Lord lives forever,
a glimpse of the Dark One
is all she wants.


A rendering of an original poem of Mirabai in Hindi.

An ideal Indian wife

Karyeshu daasi -- she should serve you like a slave
Karaneshu mantri -- she should counsel you like a minister
Bhojyeshu maatu -- she should feed you like a mother
Sayaneshu Ramba -- she should give you sexual pleasures like Ramba – a celestial nymph

~An ideal Indian wife according to Manu in his book of rules, Manushastra.

*****

An ideal Indian wife is
like a slave to her husband

waiting on him hand and foot
every single day and night

she is a councilor to him
whenever he’s in troubled times

she is a mother to him
feeding him food all the times

she is a lady who gives him
sexual pleasures all the times

like the nymph Ramba in heaven
the most beautiful, the most desirable

of all the nymphs in the heaven
giving pleasures to gods all the times

Love Letters - Fernando Pessoa

All letters of love are ridiculous,
they would not be love letters
if they were not
ridiculous.

During my days
I too wrote love letters,
like others,
ridiculous.

Love letters,
if there is love,
have to be
ridiculous.

But at the end
only those creatures
who never wrote love letters are really
ridiculous.

I wish I were in the times
of writing those letter of love,
not knowing they were
ridiculous.

But truly today
my memories of those letters
are the ones that are really
ridiculous.

(All the strange words,
all the strange thoughts are naturally
ridiculous)


A rendering of Fernando Pessoa's Portuguese poem.

Lord Shiva

He lives with his consort, Parvati
Chops off the head of his son in anger
And replaces it with the head of an elephant

Creates and destroys the world as he pleases
Carries drums and tri-spears in his hands
Snakes and skulls hang around his neck

His body smeared with ashes of dead bodies
Riding bulls like cowboys on mountains
Smoking fresh grown mountain marijuana

He is a symbol of virility for women
They go to Shiv Shankar temples in all towns
To worship his phallus year around.

She asks me what I love

My darling,

I love soft music, poetry, paintings,
Flowers whispering in the backyard,
Driving to nowhere on weekends,

Staying in cozy cottages,
In mountains and forests.
Sailing on lakes in the spring,

Traveling to the distant lands,
Watching sunsets and waterfalls,
Cattle grazing in the fields,

Listening to rain falling on tree-leaves,
Murmur of brooks while hugging
Stones, rocks and boulders.

Long walks in the woods,
Basking in sun on the beach.
Sitting beside you, cuddling you,

Feeling your warmth on rainy days,
Reading a poem or two to you,
Sipping red wine and loving you.

I wish I could give him the moon

The Zen master lived
a humble life in a hut

far away at the foot of mountains.
When he was away one evening

a thief sneaked into his hut
and found there nothing to steal.

The master surprised the thief:
"Empty handed you shall not return

To see me you've come a long way."
He undressed himself

his clothes he gave him as a gift.
The thief, bewildered, ran away.

The Zen master sat there naked
watching the beautiful moon

and mused : "Poor lad, I wish
I could give him the moon."

Note: Rendered from a Zen story.

Dil Hi To Hai Na Sang-O-Khist - Poetry of Mirza Ghalib

1
It is my heart,
Not a piece of brick or a stone,
Why should it not be full of pain?
I will cry a thousand times.
Why do they keep on troubling me?

2
Not at a temple, not at a mosque,
Not at someone’s door or porch,
I am resting by the way of walk
Why do they tell me to buzz off?

3
With shining grace in her heart,
With her face like a midday sun,
Her beauty is worth to behold.
Why should she be hiding
Her face behind her veil?

4
Her glances of love are like daggers.
Her arrows of love are fatal.
She is pointing them at you,
Why should she be facing you?

5
The ways of life
And the buried heartbreaks
Are one and the same thing.
How can a man free himself
Of grief before his death?

6
Love is full of beautiful things,
But what shameful is, is lust for it.
When one is firm in his standing,
Why should he test the strangers for it?

7
There she is displaying dignity with beauty
Here I am showing regards and modesty.
Can we meet somewhere mid-way?
Why should she invite me to her place?

8
She does not believe in God,
She is a truly unfaithful.
If he has faith in his heart,
Why should he be going to her place?

9
Ghalib, is there someone somewhere
Who has never been broken in heart?
Why should he not cry bitterly?
Why should he not let out his sighs?


Note: These are my translations of the original
verses in Urdu.

*****

Dil Hi To Hai Na Sang-O-Khist – Mirza Ghalib

1.
dil hee to hai na sang-o-KHisht dard se bhar na aaye kyoN ?
royeNge ham hazaar baar, koee hameiN sataaye kyoN ?

[ sang = stone, KHisht = brick ]

2.
dair naheeN, haram naheeN, dar naheeN, aastaaN naheeN
baiTHe haiN rehguzar pe ham, GHair hameiN uTHaaye kyoN ?

[ dair = temple, haram = mosque, dar = gate, aastaaN = abode, rehguzar = path/way ]

3.
jab woh jamaal-e-dil_faroz, soorat-e-meher-e-neem_roz
aap hee ho nazzaara_soz, parde meiN muNh chupaaye kyoN ?

[ jamaal = beauty, faroz = shining/luminous, meher = sun, neem_roz = mid day, nazzaara_soz = beautiful/worth seeing ]

4.
dashna-e-GHamza jaaN_sitaaN, naawak-e-naaz be_panaah
tera hee aks-e-ruKH sahee, saamne tere aaye kyoN ?

[ dashna = dagger, GHamza = amorous glance, jaaN_sitaaN = distroying life, naawak = a kind of arrow, aks = image ]

5.
qaid-e-hayaat-o-band-e-GHam asl meiN dono ek haiN
maut se pehle aadmee GHam se nijaat paaye kyoN ?

[ hayaat = life, band-e-Gham = conceled sorrows, nijaat = release/liberation ]

6.
husn aur uspe husn_zan rah gayee bulhawas ki sharm
apne pe 'eitmaad hai, GHair ko aazmaaye kyoN ?

[ husn_zan = favourable view, bulhawas = slave of passions/very greedy, 'eitmaad = reliance/dependance ]

7.
waaN wo GHuroor-e-iz'z-o-naaz yaaN yeh hijaab-e-paas-e-waz'a
raah meiN ham mile kahaaN, bazm meiN wo bulaaye kyoN ?

[ GHuroor = pride, iz'z-o-naaz = respect and beauty, hijaab = veil/modesty, paas = regard, waz'a = behaviour ]

8.
haaN wo naheeN KHuda_parast, jaao wo be_wafa sahee
jisko ho deen-o-dil 'azeez, uskee galee meiN jaaye kyoN ?

[ parast = worshipper, deen = religion/faith ]

9.
'GHalib'-e-KHasta ke baGHair kaun se kaam band haiN ?
roiye zaar-zaar kya, keejiye haay-haay kyoN ?

[ KHasta = sick/injured, zaar-zaar = bitterly ]

Marriage of the Bourgeois

He plays the part of a bridegroom
She plays the part of casting a trance
They’ll live under the same roof
Until their house falls
Until their house falls

He is a discreet employee
She puts the starch on his collars
They’ll live under the same roof
Until they blow up the nest
Until they blow up the nest

He plays the part of a fretful virile man
She makes the children in heaps
They’ll live under the same roof
Until the fountain goes dry
Until the fountain goes dry

He is a full time employee
She learns how to make candles
They’ll live under the same roof
Until they burn down each other
Until they burn down each other

He has a secret affair
She says she won’t go astray
They’ll live under the same roof
Until they marry their off their off-spring
Until they marry their off their off-spring

He talks of potassium cyanide
She dreams of poisons
They’ll live under the same roof
Until one of them makes up mind
Until one of them makes up mind

He has an old project
She has a mountain of outlets
They’ll live under the same roof
Until the days come to an end
Until the days come to an end

He sometimes shows some affection
She undresses herself in the dark
They’ll live under the same roof
Until for a short time into the future
Until for a short time into the future

She warms up the grandson’s porridge
He has amassed a fortune
They’ll live under the same roof
Until they are united in death
Until they are united in death

****
This is my translation of the original song in Brazilian Portuguese.

One day you will fully take my heart - Rumi

One day you will
Fully take my heart,
And make it more fierce
Than a dragon’s heart

Writing with your eye
Lashes a poem on it -
A writ a poet’s pen
Could never part

Note - This is my rendering of an English
translation of a poem of Rumi, original
in Persian, at http://www.khamush.com/

Most women want a man, not sex - D.H. Lawrence

Most women want a man
Not sex
They bargain sex for men

The old-fashioned
Just lies there. Sex is
No pleasure to her

The sly one pretends
Passions and pleasures -
All cockaloopy, all made up

Some love everything -
Feelings and cuddlings
But they turn you away
When you want to mount them

Then the hard sort, the devil
Like my wife, brings off all
They’re the bossy type

Then the cold sort, dead
All dead inside
And she very well knows it

Finally the Lesbian
Puts you out before you come
And writhes her loins against your thighs

Some men may like
One of these types
But I hate all these

*****
This is my rendering of a prose passage
in Lady Chatterley’s Lover of D.H. Lawrence

Ah! man’s coition

Ah! man’s coition
How ironic, mocking, comic—
Man lying on top of woman

Man, the master of the world
Man, the great fighting cock
Subjugating her, dominating her

He triumphs cruelly
Entering her, making her obey
But the triumph is short

For a moment or two
Just enough for nature’s role
To wreck its havoc

The woman submits
Submits willingly
To make man suspicious of her

Submits easily
To him and to many others
The great whore she is

To fulfill her destiny.
But the moment
The child is born

She is through with him
He is finished
He can croak

*****

This is my rendering from a prose passage
in The World of Lawrence by Henry Miller

If You Love, Love Openly - A Zen Story in Verse

Twenty monks and Eshun, the only nun,
Practiced meditation with a master of Zen.
She looked very pretty
Her head though was shaved

And her dress very plain.
Many monks loved her secretly,
Everyone’s heart was slain.
A certain monk could resist no more

A love letter to her he wrote
For a rendezvous very remote.
But no reply he got from nun Eshun.
Next day after the master’s sermon

She stood up and said to him:
“If you love me as you tell me,
I’ll see you in a place remote,
But now, come, embrace me now.”

Rendered from the following Zen story:

If You Love, Love Openly

Twenty monks and one nun, who was named Eshun, were practicing meditation with a certain Zen master. Eshun was very pretty even though her head was shaved and her dress plain. Several monks secretly fell in love with her. One of them wrote her a love letter, insisting upon a private meeting. Eshun did not reply. The following day the master gave a lecture to the group, and when it was over, Eshun arose. Addressing the one who had written to her, she said: "If you really love me so much, come and embrace me now."

http://www.maths.utas.edu.au/People/Allison/zen/zen005.html

Reason is powerless in the expression of love - Rumi

Reason is powerless
To tell what's love

Only love can tell
What’s the truth of love

Only love can tell
How to fall in love

The way of our prophet
Is the way of truth

If you want to live
Die in love

Die in love
If you want to be alive

~Rumi

Note: This is my rendering from an English
translation of the original in Persian.

He died with sex in his head

There he is
following her

His hot blood
is lusting for her

He is too impatient,
he wants her now, now

She is leaving
he's now running after her

He’s old, he’s panting
she’s young, enchanting

Soon he’ll collapse
desiring her

Her beauty made him horny
now he’s dying wanting her

Poor old man, he’s now dead
he died with sex in his head

Letter from Naomi Shihab Nye, Arab-American Poet To Any Would-Be Terrorists

Letter from Naomi Shihab Nye, Arab-American Poet
To Any Would-Be Terrorists

I am sorry I have to call you that, but I don't know how else to get your attention. I hate that word. Do you know how hard some of us have worked to get rid of that word, to deny its instant connection to the Middle East? And now look. Look what extra work we have. Not only did your colleagues kill thousands of innocent, international people in those buildings and scar their families forever, they wounded a huge community of people in the Middle East, in the United States and all over the world. If that's what they wanted to do, please know the mission was a terrible success, and you can stop now.

Because I feel a little closer to you than many Americans could possibly feel, or ever want to feel, I insist that you listen to me. Sit down and listen. I know what kinds of foods you like. I would feed them to you if you were right here, because it is very very important that you listen. I am humble in my country's pain and I am furious.

My Palestinian father became a refugee in 1948. He came to the United States as a college student. He is 74 years old now and still homesick. He has planted fig trees. He has invited all the Ethiopians in his neighborhood to fill their little paper sacks with his figs. He has written columns and stories saying the Arabs are not terrorists, he has worked all his life to defy that word. Arabs are businessmen and students and kind neighbors. There is no one like him and there are thousands like him - gentle Arab daddies who make everyone laugh around the dinner table, who have a hard time with headlines, who stand outside in the evenings with their hands in their pockets staring toward the far horizon. I am sorry if you did not have a father like that. I wish everyone could have a father like that.

My hard-working American mother has spent 50 years trying to convince her fellow teachers and choir mates not to believe stereotypes about the Middle East. She always told them, there is a much larger story. If you knew the story, you would not jump to conclusions from what you see in the news. But now look at the news. What a mess has been made. Sometimes I wish everyone could have parents from different countries or ethnic groups so they would be forced to cross boundaries, to believe in mixtures, every day of their lives. Because this is what the world calls us to do. WAKE UP!

The Palestinian grocer in my Mexican-American neighborhood paints pictures of the Palestinian flag on his empty cartons. He paints trees and rivers. He gives his paintings away. He says, "Don't insult me" when I try to pay him for a lemonade. Arabs have always been famous for their generosity. Remember? My half-Arab brother with an Arabic name looks more like an Arab than many full-blooded Arabs do and he has to fly every week.

My Palestinian cousins in Texas have beautiful brown little boys. Many of them haven't gone to school yet. And now they have this heavy word to carry in their backpacks along with the weight of their papers and books. I repeat, the mission was a terrible success. But it was also a complete, total tragedy and I want you to think about a few things.

1. Many people, thousands of people, perhaps even millions of people, in the United States are very aware of the long unfairness of our country's policies regarding Israel and Palestine. We talk about this all the time. It exhausts us and we keep talking. We write letters to newspapers, to politicians, to each other. We speak out in public even when it is uncomfortable to do so, because that is our responsibility. Many of these people aren't even Arabs. Many happen to be Jews who are equally troubled by the inequity. I promise you this is true. Because I am Arab-American, people always express these views to me and I am amazed how many understand the intricate situation and have strong, caring feelings for Arabs and Palestinians even when they don't have to. Think of them, please: All those people who have been standing up for Arabs when they didn't have to. But as ordinary citizens we don't run the government and don't get to make all our government's policies, which makes us sad sometimes. We believe in the power of the word and we keep using it, even when it seems no one large enough is listening. That is one of the best things about this country: the free power of free words. Maybe we take it for granted too much. Many of the people killed in the World Trade Center probably believed in a free Palestine and were probably talking about it all the time.

But this tragedy could never help the Palestinians. Somehow, miraculously, if other people won't help them more, they are going to have to help themselves. And it will be peace, not violence, that fixes things. You could ask any one of the kids in the Seeds of Peace organization and they would tell you that. Do you ever talk to kids? Please, please, talk to more kids.

2. Have you noticed how many roads there are? Sure you have. You must check out maps and highways and small alternate routes just like anyone else. There is no way everyone on earth could travel on the same road, or believe in exactly the same religion. It would be too crowded, it would be dumb. I don't believe you want us all to be Muslims. My Palestinian grandmother lived to be 106 years old, and did not read or write, but even she was much smarter than that. The only place she ever went beyond Palestine and Jordan was to Mecca, by bus, and she was very proud to be called a Hajji and to wear white clothes afterwards. She worked very hard to get stains out of everyone's dresses -- scrubbing them with a stone. I think she would consider the recent tragedies a terrible stain on her religion and her whole part of the world. She would weep. She was scared of airplanes anyway. She wanted people to worship God in whatever ways they felt comfortable. Just worship. Just remember God in every single day and doing. It didn't matter what they called it. When people asked her how she felt about the peace talks that were happening right before she died, she puffed up like a proud little bird and said, in Arabic, "I never lost my peace inside." To her, Islam was a welcoming religion. After her home in Jerusalem was stolen from her, she lived in a small village that contained a Christian shrine. She felt very tender toward the people who would visit it. A Jewish professor tracked me down a few years ago in Jerusalem to tell me she changed his life after he went to her village to do an oral history project on Arabs. "Don't think she only mattered to you!" he said. "She gave me a whole different reality to imagine - yet it was amazing how close we became. Arabs could never be just a "project" after that."

Did you have a grandmother or two? Mine never wanted people to be pushed around. What did yours want? Reading about Islam since my grandmother died, I note the "tolerance" that was "typical of Islam" even in the old days. The Muslim leader Khalid ibn al-Walid signed a Jerusalem treaty which declared, "in the name of God, you have complete security for your churches which shall not be occupied by the Muslims or destroyed." It is the new millenium in which we should be even smarter than we used to be, right? But I think we have fallen behind.

3. Many Americans do not want to kill any more innocent people anywhere in the world. We are extremely worried about military actions killing innocent people. We didn't like this in Iraq, we never liked it anywhere. We would like no more violence, from us as well as from you. HEAR US! We would like to stop the terrifying wheel of violence, just stop it, right on the road, and find something more creative to do to fix these huge problems we have. Violence is not creative, it is stupid and scary and many of us hate all those terrible movies and TV shows made in our own country that try to pretend otherwise. Don't watch them. Everyone should stop watching them. An appetite for explosive sounds and toppling buildings is not a healthy thing for anyone in any country. The USA should apologize to the whole world for sending this trash out into the air and for paying people to make it.

But here's something good you may not know - one of the best-selling books of poetry in the United States in recent years is the Coleman Barks translation of Rumi, a mystical Sufi poet of the 13th century, and Sufism is Islam and doesn't that make you glad?
Everyone is talking about the suffering that ethnic Americans are going through. Many will no doubt go through more of it, but I would like to thank everyone who has sent me a consolation card. Americans are usually very kind people. Didn't your colleagues find that out during their time living here? It is hard to imagine they missed it. How could they do what they did, knowing that?

4. We will all die soon enough. Why not take the short time we have on this delicate planet and figure out some really interesting things we might do together? I promise you, God would be happier. So many people are always trying to speak for God - I know it is a very dangerous thing to do. I tried my whole life not to do it. But this one time is an exception. Because there are so many people crying and scarred and confused and complicated and exhausted right now - it is as if we have all had a giant simultaneous break-down. I beg you, as your distant Arab cousin, as your American neighbor, listen to me. Our hearts are broken, as yours may also feel broken in some ways we can't understand, unless you tell us in words. Killing people won't tell us. We can't read that message. Find another way to live. Don't expect others to be like you. Read Rumi. Read Arabic poetry. Poetry humanizes us in a way that news, or even religion, has a harder time doing. A great Arab scholar, Dr. Salma Jayyusi, said, "If we read one another, we won't kill one another." Read American poetry. Plant mint. Find a friend who is so different from you, you can't believe how much you have in common. Love them. Let them love you. Surprise people in gentle ways, as friends do. The rest of us will try harder too. Make our family proud.

naomi shihab nye

What a loss, loss, loss, loss it is - Rumi

Original in Persian:

Ey ziyân u ey ziyân eu ey ziyân u ey ziyân
Hûshyârî dar miyân-e bî-khudâhushân

~Rumi
****
What a loss, loss,
loss, loss it is

to remain sober
among the drunk

and those who have
lost consciousness

~Rumi

Note: this is my rendering from an English
translation at http://www.khamush.com/

Presentiment - A Spanish Poem of Patricia Boneo

Presentiment

I am afraid I have
this foreboding:
you will come back
destroy me
and then go away.

I see your betrayal
when you are near me.
You disquiet my soul
and I ask God for protection!

You do not know me.
My soul is full of pain
and that’s why I cry.

Would you please go away
and not hurt me anymore.

~Patricia Boneo
Argentina

Note: This is my translation of the original poem in Spanish.

*****

Presentimiento

Tengo miedo presentimiento
que vengas a miç
Tu me invades,
me destrozas y
luego de vas.

Mira que sos traicionero.
Cuando te acercas a mi,
me inquietas el alma.
Le pido a Dios protección!

Tu no me conoces
tengo llena el alma de pena
por tanto llorar.

Vete si puedes
y no te me acerqués más.

~ Patricia Boneo

Kiss Me and Hug Me - An Old Spanish Poem

Kiss me and hug me,
my husband.
I will give you
a clean shirt in the morning.
I never saw a man
so dead while alive,
or so sleepy while awake.
Wake up, my husband, walk
and have some vigor.
I will give you
a clean shirt in the morning.

~Anonymous Author
16th century Spanish romantic poetry.

Note: this is my translation of the original given below:

Bésame y Abrázame

Bésame y abrázame,
marido mío,
y daros he en la mañana
camisón limpio.
Yo nunca vi hombre
vivo estar tan muerto
ni hacer el dormido
estando despierto:
andad, marido, alerta
y tened brío
y daros he en la mañana
camisón limpio.

~Autor Anonimo
De Ramancero Espanol Sieglo XVI

Oh Brother, where art thou? An overheard internet chat

Maunaf:
I will never forget you.
your first kiss
still feels warm
on my face

Ambati:
I remember
when we walked
to school together
and you told me
your love-affair,
I never believe d you

Avishakr:
you old fool!
you played rotten jokes
and was the first one
to smoke in the school

Shib:
where is your bib?
do you still drool?

Gagandeep:
what a beautiful name!
so deep in the skies,
do you still fly
with your fancies
to the dark Delhi skies?
and Joginder, where are you?
did you finally marry Satwinder?

Amit:
your trip to Almora was wonderful
how are you folks there?
and finally my dear friend Dheeraj
you were the most patient and wise

when Maunaf kissed me the first time,
you were the first one to know.
tell me how are you
and how is your wife.
how many kids you have
and what you're doing
with your life...

I finally got enlightened today

I finally got enlightened today.
All my life I’ve wondered why are we here
Why are we born, what purpose do we serve
To be born and finally one day to die!

Surfing the internet I came across
This post from dante raphael allegro ramdeva:
He said: “ the reason we are here is
To bring revival of consciousness,
To plant seed of alien civilizations,
To keep on trekking in the challenging
Cosmic Salad of this universe.”

“We are not alone,” he further went on to say:
“our rational is our turmoil as mankind is not
allowed to progress as the elites missed the boat
and are due for huge karma now. Not to forget
that in oppression and uncivil ways we have treated
our planet for which repercussions are now to be answered,
and, oh well, get ready for your karma that’s around the corner.”

Dear dante raphael allegro ramdeva then greeted
All brothers and sisters of this planet of Shan, saying:
“I love you brothers and sisters, be well, brothers and sisters.”
As if his message posted once was not enough for all of us
To bring home the point of consciousness and Karma,
He posted the message five times on the internet.
And still brother keats michaelangelo cantata lakshmanacharya
Failed fully to get it in his spiritual head and went requesting
Brother dante raphael allegro ramdeva to post it once more on the internet!

No More Free Cows to Milk

Men for years have said:
Why buy a cow,
When you can milk one for free.

Now woman have come to say:
Buzz off you all men,
You are like:

Laxatives, you irritate the crap out of us
Bananas, the older you get the less firm you get
Weather, nothing can we do to change you
Blenders, we need some but what for
Chocolate bars, sweet and smooth heading straight to hip-booths
Commercials, we don’t believe a word you say
Department stores, half price for clothes you always pay
Government bonds, long wait to mature to pay
Mascara, you run fast when emotions come your way
Popcorn, you satisfy in a temporary way
Snowstorms, we never know when you come
How long you come
For how many inches you come
Lava lamps, worth looking but not interesting
Parking lots, all good ones gone, only handicaps now to rely on.

PS: Put together from an unsolicited e-mail.

The Knife Sharpener - Juana de Ibarbourou

This heroic pain builds up every night
For a new pair of wings…
Where will be those who yesterday
Put on my shoulders the insomnia
Of the first hour of dawn!

Day, the knife sharpener of gold-scissors,
Of steel-daggers and iron-backs;
Last night I had the wings
And I reached for the sky.
But this morning,
You arrived with your flute and stone,
And your twelve silver-knives.

Then, slowly began cutting the wings.


Note: This is my translation of the original in Spanish.

*****

El afilador

Este dolor heroico de hacerse para cada noche
Un nuevo par de alas...
Dónde estarán las que ayer puso sobre mis hombros
El insomnio de la primera hora del alba!

Día, afilador de tijeras de oro,
Y puñales de acero, y espaldas de hierro;
Anoche yo tenía alas
Y estuve cerca del cielo.
Pero esta mañana
Llegaste tú con tu flauta, tu piedra.
Tus doce cuchillos de plata.

Y lentamente me fuiste cortando las alas.

~Juana de Ibarbourou
Uruguay

You came as if the spring came - Manpreet Kaur Preet

You came
As if the spring came
And a flower blossomed
At the turn of my life.
Now every evening,
Life brings me a new dream.
When you are away from me
The evenings call me over to you.
A gentle breeze brings
Your scent
And spreads it into my hair
And says: “I am with you,
I am your breath,
The one you’ve in your heart,
I am your that love.”

~Manpreet Kaur Preet
Original poem in Punjabi at
http://www.punjabilok.com/poetry/manpreet.htm

Note: The translation above is mine.

I cannot hold back love for another hundred years - Antonio Ramos Rosa

I cannot hold back love
For another hundred years
No, I cannot
Even though the scream chokes my throat
Even though the hatred erupts, breaks and burns
Under the gray mountains
Over the gray mountains

I cannot hold back a hug
That is a two edged sword
Love and hatred

No, I cannot hold back
Even though the night weighs
Centuries on the coasts
And the dawn is still uncertain
I cannot hold back my life
For another hundred years
Nor my love
Nor my cry for freedom

I cannot hold back my heart


Note: This is my translation of the original poem in Portuguese.

*****

Não posso adiar o amor para outro século

Não posso adiar o amor para outro século
não posso
ainda que o grito sufoque na garganta
ainda que o ódio estale e crepite e arda
sob montanhas cinzentas
e montanhas cinzentas

Não posso adiar este abraço
que é uma arma de dois gumes
amor e ódio

Não posso adiar
ainda que a noite pese séculos sobre as costas
e a aurora indecisa demore
não posso adiar para outro século a minha vida
nem o meu amor
nem o meu grito de libertação

Não posso adiar o coração

~Antonio Ramos Rosa (1928 - )
Portugal

Are you ready for love tonight?

My darling slips into
Her pink flimsy nightie,
Brushes her long hair straight,
Lights a candle by the bedside,
Turns off all lights, turns to me
And says, “Honey, are you
ready for love tonight?”

I see her smiling face,
I see her eyes glistening
In the candle light.
I hold her in my arms
And kissing her lips
I say: yes my darling,
I’m ready for love tonight.

She is so full of grace,
She has an angel’s face,
She feels soft in my embrace.
I look into her eyes and say:
You look so beautiful tonight,
Let’s make love all night.

A little girl of 3 or 4

A little girl of 3 or 4
With her flowered frock
Touching her ankles,
Is playing in the park,
Picking tiny yellow flowers
Showing up in the grass.

A squad of soldiers march,
Left, right, left, right,
Past her a little and then
The commander shouts:
“Stop, stand at ease.”
The bewildered little girl

Cries running to her mom
Wondering what are these
Men dressed all in green,
Beating the ground with feet,
Carrying the guns in arms
And wearing the green helmets.

Too little yet to know
They’re the messengers of death.
Killed or be killed is their motto
When sent to wars fighting
For land, God or pride.
Poor little girl, too little yet to know.

What do we know?
For land, God or pride
Is it all right to pay the price
Of one’s own life or take
Someone’s else life?
Is our life nothing
But to live for
Land, God or pride?

Yet too little for her to know
What death after all is.
And for man to know
Life is for living life
Not dying for land
That one leaves behind,
Not dying for God
That might not exist,
Not dying for pride
When others insist.

Garbage Disposal

......I punched

out Garbage at the library and found four titles
swept the screen, only one, Garbage Feed,

seeming worth going on to: and that was about
feeding swine right: so I punched Garbage Disposal

and the screen came blank - nothing else! all those
titles, row on row, of western goodies, mostly

worse than junk, but not a word on Disposal: I
should have looked, I suppose, under Waste Disposal

but, who cares, I already got the point: I
know garbage is being "disposed off"-- but what

I wanted I had gotten, a clear space and pure
freedom to dump whatever, and this means most

of the catalog must go, so much that what is
left will need no computer to be kept track of:

.......

~A.R. Ammons
from garbage, a poem

the purpose of life

there is no heaven or hell.
there is no life after death.
the spirit is your consciousness,
it dies when you die.

there are no souls,
no angels, no devils,
no god, no fairies,
in the universe.

there are you -
the void, the matter,
the forces of nature
giving you life.

the origin of universe
is out of nothingness.
the purpose of life
is what you make of life.

they idealize idiotic thoughts

they do not like what
he writes and puts on their site.
they delete him.

they like those who stroke their backs
to feel they are the greatest
of gurus of souls and minds

they say love is good, hatred is bad
peace is good, war is bad
but to reason is never good, always bad

they say you can die, see God
and come back to life to tell
that spiritual shining light

they say you can talk to the dead
if you know how to talk to the dead
and see the dead in heaven when you're dead

they preach blind faith in souls
connecting them trough quantum fields
floating in the prakurti of their consciousness

the nerdy thoughts of a nerdy guru
attract people like herds running
from arid zones to morsels of green grass

but illusion, all illusion, they are told.
a mountain's magnificence from a distance
dissolves on finding lurching leopards

hungry wolves, roaring lions
boulders and stones that hide
scorpions, rats and reptiles

big idiots attract little idiots
bigger idiots the big idiots
but the biggest idiot of all attracts all idiots

so in the kingdom of idiots
they idealize idiotic thoughts
idling in their idle hearts.