Autophony

The snails dehydrate, stew in their upturned shells to be crushed by passers-by. The man-high grass has turned yellow and then brown. The cows and goats are back to eating plastic bags. The frogs, crickets, mosquitoes are heard no longer; the rainclouds have gone away. The time to die has come.

Here is a transcreation based on Faiz A Faiz's revolutionary Urdu nazm 'Hum dekhenge', and written to the metre of another revolutionary song, the Marseillaise. "Destiny" Fear no more my fellow countrymen The day we dreamed of has now come! Oh! See the vile ziggurats crumble Reduced to ignominous dust! Reduced to ignominous dust! Can you hear the revolution Rumble in the angry streets It thunders fire and lightning To strike the oppressors' nemesis! Our destiny is come The day given to us Arise! Arise! For the cast-iron pledge Must now be redeemed! Fear no more my fellow countrymen The day we dreamed of has now come! Look! From the temple of our faith The evil is now exorcised! The evil is now exorcised! The good are now restored to their High exaltations again! See the generals' stars stripped away And their thrones, their baubles destroyed! Our destiny is come The day given to us Arise! Arise! For the cast-iron pledge Must now be redeemed! Fear no more m...

If I were to give something to you, What would you like to have? Shall I give you gold? You can make – bangles, rings, anklets. You may then win over your beloved And make her yours. You shall enjoy bliss, perhaps. But gold is robbed. Shall I give you iron? You can forge – hammers, axes, chains. You may then resist the conquistadores And interrupt their designs. You shall be free, perhaps. But iron rusts. Shall I give you stones? You can build – temples, forts, palaces. You may fear not rain or summer heat. And be secure in their shelter. You shall have peace, perhaps. But edifices ruin. Shall I give you friends? We can form – alliances, parties, relations. We shall have wine and dance and songs And be mirthful. You shall have joy, perhaps. But friends die. I shall not give you any of these. I shall give you the one gift I have. I shall give you words. You can tell - stories, poems, truths. You can tell me what you think About love and peace and freedom and joy. Your songs will be sung...

I "Darling" , said my truest love, "Tell me that you love me." So I told my truest love That she was loved by me. "Don't give me words, you cheeky man, You're good at them I say. Show by action how you can Your love for me display." "I knew it coming, dearest dear, So do not twist to rhyme. Tell me what you want to hear. What do you want this time?" "I don't want any diamonds. No, I already have many. Nor to any foreign country go; You haven't that much money." "I'll take you once to Pretoria , To China and The Rhine And at the Waldorf-Astoria In splendour we shall dine." "You can take me to Washington All in the course of time. But lets get to the Sheraton And have French food and wine." "I love you dear, I really do. I swear it love of mine! But one month's pay, and next month's too For fancy cheese and wine!" "I knew you'd say this all this while; My wishes you never...

Amidst the jungle’s myriad cries Beyond the brightness of the skies, Marked with bones and drying gore And a fearful dreadful roar I am the mighty tiger’s den! Now when men have come to stay And sow and reap and cry and play, The roars still echo in the night And the weak avoid my sight: I am the awful tiger’s den! Now the flowers and thorns are gone There stand fields of golden corn In a wood that yet exists The old wild way still persists I am the dying tiger’s den! The drummers beat, the torches flare, The hunters close in on the lair “See the stripes – yellow and black” The sahib’s rifle sounds its crack I am the silent tiger’s den! Now stands a suburb – homely, tame All that’s left is just the name And Buses, cars and lorries hoot Lush turf replaced by smog and soot I am the ghostly tiger’s den! (I live in Thane in an area called Waghbil - which in Marathi means tiger's den. There is nothing tigrine or even sylvan about the place.)

My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair! I am not Oz, that kingdom fair, That wizard's land, That's terra australis. I am not Ozzy, the Osbourne man with family on TV nor a Stryne mayte. I am not Ozman, Agnes, pentecostal The Chinese-speaker, Nor a Turkish dynast. I am not Sir Oz, nor any knight I bear no armour-suit Nor am blest by Queens. My name is Ozymandias, writer of things: Please read my works, make me not despair!

O well! O well! Why you are not having water? I am failed in exam. I want to suiciding. Why you to be cleaned now? O rope! O rope! Why you are so weak? She is not loving me. I am having depression. Why you are breaking now? O poison! O poison! Why you are not working? My crops are not growing. I am want to die. But adulteration in everything. O gun! O gun! Why you are rusting? Police are chasing behind me. I not wanting caught alive. Why I bought Chinese goods? O ink! O ink! You are running full. You are saving me. I am drowning in you. What a relief!