Wednesday, March 17, 2010

meme: if you see this post a poem in your blog

I vaccillated between Kaifi Azmi's Makaan and this, but this has an Agha Shahid Ali translation.

Mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang
Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Maine samjha tha ke tu hai to darakhshaan hai hayyaat
Tera gham hai to sham-e-dahar ka jhagra kya hai
Teri soorat se hai aalam mein baharon ko sabaat
Teri aankhon ke siwa dunya mein rakha kya hai

To jo mil jaye to taqdeer nigoon ho jaye
Yun na tha maine faqat chaha tha yun ho jaye
Aur bhi dukh hain zamane mein mohabbat ke siwa
Rahatein aur bhi hain wasl ki raahat ke siwa

Angeenat sadiyon ke taariq bahimanaa talism
Resham-o-atlas-o-kamKhwaab mein bunwaye hue
Jaa-ba-jaa biktey hue koochaa-o-bazaar mein jism
Khaak mein litharey hue, khoon mein nehlaaye hue

Jism nikaley hue amraaz ke tannuuron se
Peep behti hui jaltey hue naasuuron se
Laut jaati hai udhar ko bhi nazar kya ki jiye
Ab bhi dilkash hai tera husn mager kya ki jiye

Aur bhi dukh hain mohabbat ke dukh ke siwa
Rahatein aur bhi hain wasl ki raahat ke siwa

Mujhse pehli si mohabbat mere mehboob na maang.

Mujhse pehli si mohabbat / Don't Ask Me For That Love Again
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
translated by Agha Shahid Ali

That which then was ours, my love,
don’t ask me for that love again.
The world then was gold, burnished with light –
and only because of you. That’s what I had believed.
How could one weep for sorrows other than yours?
How could one have any sorrow but the one you gave?
So what were these protests, these rumors of injustice?
A glimpse of your face was evidence of springtime.
The sky, wherever I looked, was nothing but your eyes.
If You’d fall into my arms, Fate would be helpless.

All this I’d thought, all this I’d believed.
But there were other sorrows, comforts other than love.
The rich had cast their spell on history:
dark centuries had been embroidered on brocades and silks.
Bitter threads began to unravel before me
as I went into alleys and in open markets
saw bodies plastered with ash, bathed in blood.
I saw them sold and bought, again and again.
This too deserves attention. I can’t help but look back
when I return from those alleys – what should one do?
And you still are so ravishing – what should I do?
There are other sorrows in this world,
comforts other than love.
Don’t ask me, my love, for that love again.


  1. single 'c' in vacillated

  2. Thanks for pointing that out.