At Your Grave

[a translation of Nida fazli's Urdu nazm]



I did not come to read
the fateha at your grave.
I knew you cannot die.

He who spread the word of your death
is a liar.

It was never you
but a dry leaf fallen with the wind.

My eyes
are still trapped in your landscapes.
Whatever I see or perceive is
Only the world of your deeds and misdeeds.

Nothing has changed.

Your hands breathe in my fingers,
as I hold my paper and pen to write.

I find you sitting in my chair.
Your failures and trippings run the blood in my body.

Your mind lies hidden within my voice.
In my illnesses there is you.
In my helplessness there is you.

The one who engraved your name on your grave
is a liar.
In your grave there,
I lie dead.

You are alive in me!
You are alive!

Whenever you have some free time,
walk in to read the fateha on my grave.

****
fateha - quranic verses , read at the grave by relatives and friends for the benefit of the dead.

This nazm by Nida Fasli translated into English by Mohammad Ahsaan / Abha Iyengar, 19th April 2009.

EVERYTHING PLANNED

We had planned everything
Down to the last ‘e’
Or is it ‘t’?
Nothing else was questionable
Or in doubt.
His admission papers
The fees,
Even a new motorbike
Which he so desired
Synonymous with his freedom.

His clothes all packed
He was ready to go
A rider on his steed
Bidding goodbye with a smile
And a shake of his golden locks
Which he grew long
An indulgence of youth.

We were well prepared.
We turned away to stem
The tide waiting
To burst its banks.
I did not wish him to see me cry
Or wipe a tear from my husband’s eye.


Abha Iyengar
(first published in poetsonline)

ON LOVE ( A rondeau)

Come and see how the rivers flow
And down below the voices crow
with delight, on nations might,
admire those that always fight
in the midst of love.

Come and see the skies above
Even as those who push and shove
trample the weak and stand up proud
to proclaim out loud above the crowd
and laugh at the folly of love.

Do not see the blossoms fall
like tears on those they do enthrall
with their beauty, for a moment though
because the world has told them so
there is nothing called love.

Abha Iyengar (first published march 2003)

SOME DAYS I FORGET TO SMILE

Some days I just forget to smile.

I open my eyes to a bedroom wall
Whose plastic paint has long ago ceased to be plastic
As it falls of more like coloured powder
on to the higgledy piggledy pile of shoes below
Like make up unsuitable
A matt finish on surfaces those look good when glossy.

I look at the window
The rain has been hard enough
To enter my room
Through gaps in shut glass and rusted iron
And drip onto the floor
Where precautionary newspaper spreads
Litter themselves to soak up the irreverent water spills.
The floor looks well read, soaking up knowledge through
Wet newsprint.

I stare at myself
And dread putting on my clothes
The bra makes the skin
Under my breast itch
And the underwear
Rubs against my thighs
Friction of a kind I can do without.
A loose sweat shirt is all I care for.
But that won't do.

So I just forget to smile.

Till I hear the woman next door
Hollering at her kids,
And the old man on the other side
Whimpering in his bed.
And I remind myself
Things could be worse.

I have to remember to smile.

(C) ABHA IYENGAR

Fisrt published, M.A.G. 2003

Side by Side, Not to Collide
by Abha Iyengar
(Based on art by Gopal M. S.)

We are lovers and we kiss
But our religions don't mix
So when we stand in line for water
We cannot stand together.
Side by side, yes,
But we will drink from different cups,
From different clay-pots.
Tell me,
Does your water taste different from mine?
If I filled the same in my mouth
And poured it into yours
We would both be defiled.
We are lovers, but the world does not know it
Skin on skin
Sweat on sweat
Breath on breath
Yet
We stand in parallel paths
Which do not cross or touch
When we drink from different cups
So close we are
Together almost,
But see that thin dividing line
Drawn deftly on the clay pots
This is yours; this is mine.
The water that flows freely
Is now captured separately.
In the name of religion
This is how it has to be.
The road we walk is different
But see the irony,
We are lovers
Who drink from each other's lips
Yet,
Drink water separately.
Skin on skinS
weat on sweat
Breath on breath
Yet,
The world will keep us from it.
Fill us in clay pots like this water
That we drink.
Tell us our gods are different,
Our vessels, our thinking,have no link.
I see you raise your arm
And dash it against the clay
Again and again you do it,
There is no stoppingyou today.
Now the earthen potsare broken.
The water gushes and flows,
It has no separate rows.
(C) ABHA IYENGAR
January 2008, first posted in Clockwise Cat

Do Not Wear the Shroud of Fear

I have no words to speak against terror.
They explode within my throat,
Like dynamite unplugged,
Like a grenade
With the pin removed.

What words can I say against terror?
I have already said a lot
Cry a red tear, I have said
Filled with the blood of loss
Loss of loved ones
Loss of freedom and liberty
What use this democracy?
If we stumble on the streets.
Like wounded dogs.
Wearing the shroud of fear
Cowering like hunted animals
For no wrong done?
Being held hostage by fidayeen
At the other end of the gun.
Being probed by media,
Exposed and questioned,
Even as we mourn our loved one?
In parks, temples, hotels, trains
We have not chosen this sudden death
Our bodies scream in pain.
Do I need words against terror then?

The lighting of candles is not enough, we need to be tough.
Shine a strong light on closed, sleeping eyes
Strike out, move and take a stand for broken lives
Together, fight the terror.
It is a time for action, the time for words is over.

I have no words against terror.
My throat is dry, it burns.
My eyes are wet.
My land and people should not be bled.
Throttle terror; ask the world to join us
Far and hatred will not confine us.

I can speak then, once again, with words.
Just now, its simply pain that screams to be heard.
A chain saw grating to sever a limb
Constant, constant.

(c) ABHA IYENGAR, 5th December 2008
Recited at Kamala Nehru College, Delhi University 'Words Agáinst Terror' meet of writers and poets, 12th December 2008.

Colourless

From the green forests we came
Black and lush
In our beauty—
Thick lipped, black eyed,
Muscular and strong.

From the desert sands we came
Olive and flush
In our beauty—
Strong jawed, sharp eyed,
Hawk nosed riders of the storm.

From far flung corners we came,
Different colors, brushed
With our beauty—
And lost it all to the
White colorless norm.

Merged into this vision
Of one color of no color.
Drained of our identity—
Blank faced, dull eyed,
We learnt to conform.