Autophony

Only sorrows I garnish, like a tear drop on the lips of time. Doomed at first light to vanish, I'm a dewdrop on the petal of time. My ghazals shall be sung long after me, they shall nurture many loves, Though my being shall perish, like a dewdrop on the petal of time. My entreaties, my pleadings are to you nothing, words written on sand Which the first waves shall vanquish, like a dewdrop on the petal of time. My love seems ephemeral, cursed to be forgotten, a love that no Generations shall cherish, like a dewdrop on the petal of time. When you've burnt the last verse in my last ghazal, then my love shall die, then This 'Wandering' shall finish, like a dewdrop on the petal of time.

Bay encased in concrete, the orange dying above, and a silver sea turns grey; the waves crash futilely against the Mahim fortress - a little outpost of the past - where I suppose the crash of waves might, on careful listening, recreate the clash of steel versus steel; the boats bobbing by the fallen ramparts, signs of life that probably, lives in another time-warp, of an eternal poverty dependent on the wealth of the sea; Out there the great sea-link, a marvel of modern engineering, its cranes hastening to completion; above thhe clouds thicken, monsoon hangs tense in the air - a forebear of things to come when nature shall triumph over men again; and in the shanties of Bandra, in the towers of Worli, and in the middle-classness of Mahim, the lights come on one by one - A Cezanne waiting to be painted - a dying day, a sleepless city.

This is a bilingual senryu spiced with ajinomoto.

कभी वाह वाह मत करना, लगता है शेर ख़त्म हुआ| कभी इरशाद मत माँगना, लगता है शेर ख़त्म हुआ| इन ख़ाना बदोश अल्फ़ाज़ों को मचलते रहने दो, तुम भी कुछ लफ़्ज़ पिरोना, न लगे शेर ख़त्म हुआ|| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

Indiscrete fool making appointments, risks dividing people instead.

हर मन्ज़र क़ैद करती, मेरी किस्सों की झोली| कुछ भूलने न देती, मेरी किस्सों की झोली| उम्र बढ़ेगी, दोस्तों का साथ छूटेगा जब, तब यही साथ देगी, मेरी किस्सों की झोली|| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

Wives at home, men in a bar guffaw, making do with fresh lime soda.

गीत लिखकर गुमनाम न रह, दो लतीफ़े लिख, शोहरत बरसेगी| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

Herbs and shrubs must necessarily die, if a tree must have its space.

What domestic bliss - one large Scotch for the man, Scotchbrite for the woman!

Silk-cotton pods burst, filling the air with white fluff. Life comes full circle.

To the burger praise be, it keeps me overfed and undernourished.

The young starve for figure, the old for God. Middle age guys grow a paunch.

Living corpses keep equipoise faced with blasts, quakes, cacophony.

If you spin cocoons to shield yourself, fear the silk-weavers out there.

इनसानों की दुनिया है, फिर भी लगती है इनसानियत बेहोश, हर आदमी ग़ाज़ी बन गया है, बिना सोचे मरने को सरफरोश, मैं चिराग़ लिए भटक रहा हूँ, दर उल अमन कहाँ मिलेगा, ख़्वाबों की देहलीज़ कब कहेगी, पनाह में आ जाओ 'ख़ाना बदोश'? यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

The bridegroom squirms: edgy mare, stuffy sherwani. Summer laughs loudest.

Monsoon washes all masks off; some rejoice, some wail, some keep plodding on.

The pigeon couple coo mournfully in their nest. Monsoon is coming.

Fierce feathered displays as Miss Drongo chooses. Monsoon is coming.

The ageing myna cries out in its loneliness. Monsoon is coming.

The koel sings, the other birds sharpen their talons. Monsoon is coming.

Rare ferns from balconies decorate sparrow nests. Monsoon is coming.

Whizzing, whistling, black and white, magpie-robins court. Monsoon is coming.

Critically the crow inspects her beau's love-nest. Monsoon is coming.

The crow-pheasant woos his bride in his languid style. Monsoon is coming.

The bulbuls dash about in vigorous courtship. Monsoon is coming.

Conspiring to fill the world with more bulbul song, they hop, dash and dance.

आसमान में है, हवाओं में है, आज बरसेगी, फ़िज़ाओं में है| 2 सूरज ढका है, रौशनी मन्द है, बूँदों का वायदा, बादलों मे‍ है| 2 परिन्दे चुप हैं, सिर्फ कोयल गा रहे हैं, ऐ काले बादल, कब वायदा निभाओगे? पत्ते नसीम में इस आस से झूम रहे हैं ऐ जान देने वाले पानी कब बरसोगे? आसमान में है, हवाओं में है, आज बरसेगी, फ़िज़ाओं में है| 2 सूरज ढकी है, रौशनी मन्द है, बूँदों का वायदा, बादलों मे‍ है| 2 दिन बढ़ी, बादल बिखरे, सूरज फिर भड़का, "मैं आसमान का मीर, मुझे क्या छुपाओगे?" प्यासे बीज गिड़गिड़ाते हैं, "ऐ धोकेबाज़, सावन आ गया, और कितना सताओगे?" आसमान में है, हवाओं में है, आज बरसेगी, फ़िज़ाओं में है| 2 सूरज ढकी है, रौशनी मन्द है, बूँदों का वायदा, बादलों मे‍ है| 2 आँखों में यह आस बनी रही कि आज तो क़ौस ए क़ज़ा लाए सात रंगों का सरगम | शाम ढलकर रात हुई, तब अब्र घने हुए, आखिर बूँदें गिरीं, मद्धम, मद्धम, मद्धम | यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

For rupees fourteen hundred fifty-one would anyone lose manhood? (BMC offers Rs. 1451 for anyone willing to undergo vasectomy.)

Coolness without shade, beauty sans extravagance. The rain-tree has style.

Rains come, laburnums give way to oleander. Yellow bores no more.

Small pink flowers on dark green, the rain tree is a live watercolour.

Tweeting magpie- robins overrun the garden, the crows, outclassed, sulk.

Machetes rule the street and I - I wear my innocence like a shroud.

I'd rather stay a frog in my well, there are flies outsides, and snakes too.

Night writes cynical senryus, but wait for morning, haikus will blossom.

The seedling stocks bitter alkaloids. innocence is soon depleted.

The city is magic, is voodoo - hopeful lives enter, zombies leave.

I'm not afraid of scratches, each scar is a brush- stroke of time's portrait.

दुश्मन मेरा कोई नहीं, दोस्तों के बग़ैर हूँ; एहसान मेरा सब पर है, प‌र पनाह के बग़ैर हूँ; बद्दुआ है कि मैं फिरता रहूँ 'ख़ाना बदोश'... किसि शहर से ग़ैर नहीं, हर शहर में ग़ैर हूँ | यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

I wander in life. Dead my ashes will float in a running river.

तव नाम्नः जपम् करोमि, त्वमेव त्वमेव वसु असि | तव रूपस्य ध्यानं करोमि, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || निष्ठुरशब्दाः तव मुखे सुगन्धि भवन्ति, किम् खादसि? तव आमोदे सदा मुह्यामि, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || मिथ्याहेतु मन्दस्वरेण अद्भुताख्यानानि कथयसि त्वम् | मधुरवाणीम् नित्यम् शृणोमि, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || निष्फलारण्य तव संनिधौ निःशेषकुसुमिन भवति | सर्वत्र त्वाम् अवलोकयामि, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || संमृशामि नभः मम अनुरागान् अङ्गीकरोषि यदा | मन्मथेन जगते मुच्छामि त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || ददासि हस्तात् यम् आपस्तोक‌म् अस्ति भावित अमृतबिन्दु | तव अनुकम्पायै तृष्यामि, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || या अन्येभ्यः शीर्ण‌वासना, मम चक्ष्वोः अनुजीवति | सर्वदा स्मरामि रामेशः, त्वमेव त्वमेव असु असि || एषः कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक उपकारेण‌ देवनागर्याम् टङ्कित अस्ती| Published in Amaravati Poetic Prism 2017 ed. Padmaja Iyengar, Cultural Centre of Vijayawada & Amaravati

Crows and humans seem more intelligent when their mouths are firmly shut.

If size mattered would not girls thrill at the sight of the rafflesia?

The dogs at Wagah recognize neither India nor Pakistan, but they dare not ruffle the packs in the next village.

Poets tire of laburnum and gulmohar. Nature does not care.

Summer ends, monsoon comes not, no new flowers bloom. Wordless poets fret.

Yellow bells bloom on road divider, trucks speed by. What's beauty, ignored?

Hundred, a milestone we set for ourselves, for no good reason at all.

Hundred, because ninety- nine is not round, it is not satisfying. OR Hundred, because ninety- nine remains hungry, it keeps yearning for more.

மலை உச்சியை அடைந்தேன், உச்சி வெயில் தெரியவில்லை.

I meditate upon your name, you alone are the wealth of life. I meditate upon your form, you alone are the breath of life. Inhumane words become sweet-scented in your mouth, what do you eat? I'm entranced by your fragrant breath, you alone are the breath of life. Deceptively, in hushed tones you narrate the most fabulous tales. I'm always hearing your sweet voice, you alone are the breath of life. The barren forest in your presence becomes endowed with flowers. I can perceive you everywhere, you alone are the breath of life. I reach up to the heavens when you consent to my entreaties. Love liberates me from the world, you alone are the breath of life. The water which you give me out of your hands is ambrosia. I'm thirsting for your compassion, you alone are the breath of life. What is to others a shattered memory, lives on in my eyes. Raamesh remembers forever, you alone are the breath of life. (This is not a ghazal because though there is a radeef, and those who know bette...

Wilting red gulmohar under gold sunset sky. Death's perverse beauty.

Rains come, the Calotes sports copper sulphate blue. None beats nature's style.

The fresh smell of earth dispels foul urban odours. First rains pour down glee.

Galosh galosh: little boots stamp in ecstasy. First rains pour down bliss.

Plop! I hear it as it splashes on my head. First rains unleash joy.

Big fat drops of water play hopscotch on my head. First rains drum out joy.

मैं सिर्फ़ अल्फ़ाज़ का सौदागर हूँ, वह अल्फ़ाज़ जिन्हे ख़रीदनेवाला बाग़ान की पगडन्डियों में अज़ाद करता है; पर जो मुकाम की तलाश में तितलियों की तरह मन्डराती रहती हैं 'ख़ाना बदोश', पनाह की खोज में भटककर फिर मेरे ही पास लौट आती कैं, और मैं उन्हें फिर बेच देता हूँ| यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

A rhyme matched gives more joy to a poet than the birth of his own child.

I call out from the grand mosque's slim minaret, "Allahu Akbar, faithful come to prayer" At Karbala, site of the Imam's slaughter, Where Muslims come to repent their sins, regret. But is our ancient, austere religion yet Ours to practice, free from haunting fear? For I'm afraid, on the streets walks a slayer, He rules the land with machine gun and bullet. From the time when Baghdad was founded by flames, The chants of prayer have merged with those of death, It was not enough that one Hussein had bled. Greeks, Mongols, Americans shall press their claims, Fools shed blood in this land until their last breath, Iraq shall come to peace, when all men are dead.

The Arabs have a word for it — they call it maqtāb — pieces of paper that say you are a CEO, Field Marshal, Minister of Railways. Shelley called them shadows not substantial things... Swift said they were bubbles raised by breath of kings. What immense power, what glory, what awe... buttressed by a signature and a stamp... ...of another who holds a piece of paper for himself. Paper burns, paper crumbles. Paper dissolves in water. Or someone can tear paper ...or sign another paper that says your maqtāb is no more. Then boast no more your mighty deeds... gather your books, your laptop-bag, the trinkets you have accumulated and go home — fallible, fallen.

Ugly or pretty, summer blooms nevertheless. Nature's no poet.

The wanderer's curse is lifted: my feet touch ground in my motherland.

The forest's green is greener as clouds mask the sun. Summer waits for rain.

Pregnant clouds above, still air below, night swelters. Summer waits for rain.

The river waters surge, their time to rule has come. Summer waits for rain.

Queens of the night, white jasmine flowers bring brightness. Mud gives birth to stars.

Monsoon clouds above, still air below, night swelters. Absent winds bring gloom.

It's said when stubborn it is strong, Thus swollen it will pick a fight. Buried in sand it knows no wrong, That's when it is not screwed on right. When it's in love, it's over heels, No sense can be drilled in at all. It will claim none knows what it feels, Till the rest bang theirs on a wall. At times of pride it is held high, Yet it must roll when fault is found. It's the seat of reason but why Do pretty faces turn it round? The sanctum of our existence, Yet bodyless, it makes no sense.

Bodies sweat, sigh, sweat as clouds mask, unmask the sun. Joy and gloom play tag.

Peepul leaves ask the monsoon wind - when will it rain? Too much summer bores.

Purple jarul blooms light up a cloudy morning. Small joys wash off gloom.

The gulmohar, its pods shed, falls into silence. Spring shall come again.

दीपक का मुरझाता नूर कह रहा है, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो; सूरज की मरती किरनें कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | झोंका न जाने कैसे तेरी ज़ुल्फ़ों की महक ले आता है, यह हवाएँ चुपके से कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | सावन के हर धुन्धले परछाई में तेरा ही एहसास मौजूद है, मद्धम बारिश की बूँदें कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | नदी के आब ए सफ़ा में तेरा ही चेहरा दिखता है मुझे, दरिया की यह लहरें कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | चहचहाते परिन्दे तेरी ही अवाज़ की याद दिलाते हैं, जंगल की पगडन्डियाँ कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | मंज़िल की तलाश में निकल चुका हूँ, महक है पर फूल कहाँ, यह मनडराती तितलियाँ कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | यह 'ख़ाना बदोश'अल्फ़ाज़ भटक रहे हैं बहर की तलाश में, सियाही की लकीरें कह रही हैं, यह आह-ए-ग़ज़ल सुन लो | यह कृति उमर बहुभाषीय रूपांन्तरक की मदद से देवनागरी में टाइप की गई है|

Bandra-ite complains about salt in his engine, builds house called Sea Breeze.

Bandra-ite pays top dollar for kimchi though the tamarind bears fruit.

Ripe jackfruit hangs from the tree as Bandra-ites pass below, ignorant.

Black clouds show up at last, parched mouths open in hope, but promises break.

Wilted flowers and gaudy plastic bags both find their way to the dump.

River waters swell, warning their rule is coming. Summer waits for rain.

Robin chants Mohana raagam on bamboo clump. Summertime enchants.

The egret on the surface, the cormorant diving below, some set out in quest of happiness, some know its very depths.

Roses in the park, Calotropis in the dump. Some are more equal.

Petals peek out of Hibiscus buds. Plucked instantly by devout hands.

Flower buds at God's feet: inchoate lives sacrificed by frustrated ones.

Gold bleaches off the mountainsides as day brightens. First thrills soon run out.

Scented flowers play blind man's buff with butterflies. Summer is such fun.

All hearts play follow the leader with the koel. Summer is such fun.

Age interprets shape: what's a heart could be an anaemic sickle cell?

The fledgeling crow takes her first diffident flight. The wind in the face thrills.

Clever though he is, who writes poems for the crow? Not all black is chic.

Thirtieth birthday: the rebel surrenders to the establishment.

The whistling wind plays Chinese whispers with the trees. Summer is such fun. OR The trees play Chinese whispers with the whistling wind. Summer is such fun.

The shadows and the sun play games of hide-and-seek. Summer is such fun.

The creek plays catch-me- if-you-can with the mangroves. Summer is such fun.

Who stood at Kosovo Polje? Who heard the guns at Waterloo? who remembers those days today, to bear the rancour this day too? The time we were meant to forget, the writer's pen traps it in ink. We read much but we do not think, and contrived hatred we beget. None lives who saw the mad work done. But mention an imagined past, None hesitate to pick a gun And swear to defend to the last. The last who remember are dead We rush to take their place instead. Published in  Remember , ed. Paragram; Four Point Press, Shepperton, 2014. ISBN: 978-0-9927123-2-7.

Late morning river stands still like a stark, white shroud. Summer thirsts for rain.

When no tree blossoms, violet Calotropis blooms. Life thrives everywhere.

Ecstasy explodes in the sifter's heart when the sieve, at last, yields gold.

Ecstasy explodes in the listener's heart when the bard, at last, shuts up.

Ecstasy explodes in the monkey's heart when the cats, at last, bicker.

Ecstasy explodes in the Marxist's heart when the Dow, at last, crashes.

For once the river bathes in the moon's eerie light. Irony is fun.

Ecstasy explodes in the biker's heart when the road, at last, clears.

Ecstasy explodes in the writer's heart when the novel, at last, sells.

Ecstasy explodes in the weaver's heart when the worm, at last, pupates.

दो पल का साथ फिर ज़िन्दगी तन्हा, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| दर्द फुग़ान हो जाने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 1 हवाएँ चुपके से कहती हैं कि मिलन की रुत आई तुम कहाँ हो, पर तुमसे बिछडने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 2 तुम आओगी, बोलोगी, हँसोगी, बडबडओगी, चली जाओगी, रुख़सत में तड़पने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 3 मेरे साँसों में अपनी ख़ुशबू छोड जाओगी, वह बहकाता रहेगा, उस याद में सिसकने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 4 घर आओगी तो बातें मत करना, दीवारें सुनकर देर दोहराएँगी, वह गूँज सुनकर रोने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 5 किसी चीज़ को हाथ मत लगाना, मेरा इबादतख़ाना भर गया है, यह इख़लास चूकने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 6 नज़राने मत दिया करो, शुक्रिया कहना मेरे बस की बात नहीं, ज़िन्दगी कम पडने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 7 तुम्हारी याद से पैर ज़मीन पर नहीं टिकते, तुम्हारा दीदार तौबा, ख़्वाब टूटकर गिर जाने का डर इतना, तुमसे मिलने से मुकर जाता हूँ| 8 हलकी बारिश की बूँदें फिर तुम्हारी आँसुओं की याद दिलाती ...

Ecstasy explodes in the child's heart when the circus, at last, begins.

Ecstasy explodes in the farmer's heart when the clouds, at last, burst forth.

Ecstasy explodes in the young man's heart when his love, at last, says yes.

Poetry: fuzzy logic, sharp arithmetic. Metric rules enslave.

A crow's artless nest in a summer-tattered tree. Home is still sweet home.

Hot winds sway the gulmohur, pods crack, seeds scatter. All things have their use.

Little pink flowers brighten a great green forest. Breaks in pattern thrill.

Skink darts in dead leaves, it fears me, and I it. Terror lengthens lives.

Hundred year old tree puts on flowers like a teenage girl, when spring comes.

Ecstasy explodes in the student's heart when the teacher, at last, smiles.

The mynas wait for jarul berries to ripen. Summer brings sweet joy.

Juicy jamuns for parrots, kohl-lined eyes for me. Joy's given to all.

Tattered roses in a balcony flower-pot. Joy cares not for form.

Mosambis on a string. Twenty rupees a cup of joy down the throat.

Thick juice down my neck tells me summer's come at last. Mangoes kill all woes.

Fiery raag Deepak changes to raag Malhar. Clouds block out the sun.

When meaninglessness of life hits me, I feel the joy of vagrancy.

Red-whiskered bulbul holds court on telephone pole. Raag Bihaag is bliss.

Sunset colours the forest in soft shades, I sense raag Madhuvanti.

Pied myna in flight - black, white and a dash of red. Spring's feathers delight.

The lonely tamhan on the street still blooms in spring. Hope can never die.

Clouds block out the sun as winds drive out summer heat. Darkness can bring joy.