Mourid Barghouti | Midnight

Life is hidden somewhere,
I know,
somewhere not far from here,
I know.

Should I search for it
as one would a pin,
as one would a broken button,
as one would a ring dropped in the dust?

Should I go back to sleep for one more hour
so that I might see it in my dream?

Should I consult mountebanks
and fortune tellers,
describing its appearance,
hoping that a charm of their making,
hung round my neck,
might take me back to it
or bring it back to me?

Should I post its picture in the police stations,
clinics, emergency rooms
and newspapers,
with the sentimental caption:
life, we have forgiven you, we shall not punish you for running away.

Life, we are all waiting;
please, life, come back to us!

Mourid Barghouti, extract from the poem ‘Midnight’ translated by Radwa Ashour.

Ayesha Kidwai’s Hindi translation:

यहीं कहीं छुपी होगी ज़िन्दगी,
मुझे मालुम है, कहीं पास ही होगी,
मुझे पता है.

ढूँढ़ूँ क्या मैं उसे?
जैसे कोई खोजे एक पिन
जैसे कोई खोजे एक टुटा बटन
जैसे कोई खोजे धूल में गिरके खोई हुई एक अंगूठी
क्या मैं एक घंटे के लिए फिर से सो जाऊं,
ताकि उसे मैं अपने ख़्वाबों में देख सकूँ?

क्या मैं नीमहकीमों और ज्योतिषियों से सलाह करूँ,
उसका हुलिया उन्हें बताऊँ,
यह आस लिए कि उनके बनाये हुए गंडे-तावीज़,
गले में लटकाये,
मुझे उस तक वापस ले जा पाए,
या उसको मेरे पास लौट के ले आये?

क्या मैं उसकी तस्वीर पुलीस स्टेशनों, क्लिनिकों, हस्पतालों और अख़बारों
में छाप दूँ,
इस जज़्बाती संदेस के साथ:

ऐ ज़िन्दगी, हमने तुम्हें माफ़ किया,
तुम्हारे भाग जाने की तुम्हें कोई सज़ा नहीं देंगे.
ज़िन्दगी,हम सब को तुम्हारा इंतज़ार है
लौट के हमारे पास आ जाओ, ऐ ज़िन्दगी!

Akhil Katyal | Love As A Retirement Policy

“But who will take care of you
in your old age?”
is the only question my parents ask that actually stumps me.
It’s the only one I have stopped finding reasonable-sounding answers to.
I lay down my arms with “I do not know.”
Under my breath, I still refuse to treat love as a retirement policy.
But maybe it is just that. Why should I stud it with moons and stars. Why should I bejewel a simple need.
Maybe all of life does come to “but who will take you to the hospital when you will fall down.”
I foreclose the thought under a violet moon.

September 16, 2018
Poetic Licence, TOI