Na kisi ki aankh ka noor hoon, na kisi ke dil ka karaar hoon
Jo kisi ke
kaam na aa sake, main woh muste gubaar hoon...
-
Bahadur Shah Zafar
With a
conspiracy of putting fire to the sky
with no fear of consequence,
the Gulmohar
trees are blooming at the every square.
And (as the
price of gold is falling), Amaltas’s everywhere-
Having an
auction of golden beads, brightening the sky’s extreme range.
Like the
smart girls going for tuition, who speak English very frequent,
dazzling the
Bougainvillea. The fragrant prayer
of the evening,
from the Madhumalati I do hear.
One or two
of the Karabi flowers drop in void. A silent condolence.
Up to the
limit of my sights the spring has established its free-of-cost bazaar.
It’s a
blooming Delhi. Even lying on its anesthesia-bed Yamuna seeks no pardon.
Roaming
across the city Kankhowa comes to his Balcony, when work is over.
Not a single
flower is there; nor a tender leaf. All hopes are lying prone.
Just a fist -full
of dried soil out there in the tubs. ‘Muste Gubaar’.
You didn’t
take care when there was time, now no help in crying alone.
You didn’t
take care on time, Kankhowa, now no help
in crying alone.
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