is tarah hai ke har ek peR ko'ii mandir hai
ko'ii ujRaa huaa, benuur puraanaa mandir
DhuunDtaa hai jo Kharaabii ke bahaane kab se
chaak har baam, har ek dar kaa dam-e-aaKhir hai
aasmaaN ko'ii purohit hai jo har baam tale
jism par raaKh male, maathe pe sinduur male
sar-niguuN baithaa hai chup-chaap na jaane kab se
is tarah hai ke pas-e-pardaa ko'ii saahir hai
jis ne aafaaq pe phailaayaa hai yuN seh'r ka daam
daaman-e-vaqt se paivast hai yuN daamna-e-shaam
ab kabhii shaam bujhegii na andheraa hogaa
ab kabhii raat Dhalegii na saveraa hogaa
aasmaaN aas liye hai ke ye jaaduu TuuTe
chup ki zanjiir kaTe, vaqt kaa daaman chhuTe
de ko'ii shanKh duhayii, ko'ii paayal bole
ko'ii but jaage, ko'ii saaNvlii ghuuNGhat khole
|
The trees are dark ruins of temples,
seeking excuses to tremble
since who knows when-
their roofs are cracked,
their doors lost to ancient winds.
And the sky is a priest,
saffrom marks on his forehead,
ashes smeared on his body.
He sits by the temples, worn to a shadow, not looking up.
Some terrible magician, hideen behind curtains,
has hypnotized Time
so this evening is a net
in which the twilight is caught.
Now darkness will never come-
and there will never be morning.
The sky waits for this spell to be broken,
for history to tear itself from this net,
for Silence to break its chains
so that a symphony of conch shells
may wake up to the statues
and a beautiful, dark goddess,
her anklets echoing, may unveil herself. |
