Hasan Kuza-Gar (1)

jahan-zad niche gali men tire dar ke aage

ye main sokhta-sar hasan-kuza-gar huun!

tujhe subh bazar men budhe attar yusuf

ki dukkan par main ne dekha

to teri nigahon men vo tabnaki

thi main jis ki hasrat men nau saal divana phirta raha huun

jahan-zad nau saal divana phirta raha huun!

ye vo daur tha jis men main ne

kabhi apne ranjur kuzon ki janib

palat kar na dekha

vo kuuze mere dast-e-chabuk ke putle

gil-o-rang-o-roghan ki makhluq-e-be-jan

vo sar-goshiyn men ye kahte

hasan kuza-gar ab kahan hai?

vo ham se khud apne amal se

khuda-vand ban kar khudaon ke manind hai ru-e-gardan!

jahan-zad nau saal ka daur yuun mujh pe guzra

ki jaise kisi shahr-e-madfun par vaqt guzre

tagharon men mitti

kabhi jis ki khushbu se varafta hota tha main

sang-basta padi thi

surahi-o-mina-o-jam-o-subu aur fanus o gul-dan

miri hech-maya maishat ke izhar-e-fan ke sahare

shikasta pade the

main khud main hasan kuza-gar pa-ba-gil khak-bar-sar barhana

sar-e-chak zholida-mu sar-ba-zanu

kisi gham-zada devta ki tarah vahima ke

gil-o-la se khvabon ke sayyal kuuze banata raha tha

jahan-zad nau saal pahle

tu nadan thi lekin tujhe ye khabar thi

ki main ne hasan kuza-gar ne

tiri qaaf ki si ufuq-tab ankhon

men dekhi hai vo tabnaki

ki jis se mere jism o jaan abr o mahtab ka

rah-guzar ban gae the

jahan-zad baghdad ki khvab-gun raat

vo rud-e-dajla ka sahil

vo kashti vo mallah ki band ankhen

kisi khasta-jan ranj-bar kuza-gar ke liye

ek hi raat vo kohrba thi

ki jis se abhi tak hai paivast us ka vajud

us ki jaan us ka paikar

magar ek hi raat ka zauq dariya ki vo lahr nikla

hasan kuza-gar jis men Duuba to ubhra nahin hai!

Hasan the Potter

jahan-zad us daur men roz har roz

vo sakhta-bakht aa kar

mujhe dekhti chaak par pa-ba-gil sar-ba-zanu

to shanon se mujh ko hilati

(vahi chaak jo sal-ha-sal jiine ka tanha sahara raha thaa)

vo shanon se mujh ko hilati

hasan kuza-gar hosh men aa

hasan apne viran ghar par nazar kar

ye bachchon ke tannur kyunkar bharenge

hasan ai mohabbat ke maare

mohabbat amiron ki baazi

hasan apne divar-o-dar par nazar kar

mere kaan men ye nava-e-hazin yuun thi jaise

kisi Dubte shakhs ko zer-e-girdab koi pukare!

vo ashkon ke ambar phulon ke ambar the haan

magar main hasan kuza-gar shahr-e-auham ke un

kharabon ka majzub tha jin

men koi sada koi jumbish

kisi murgh-e-parran ka saaya

kisi zindagi ka nishan tak nahin thaa!

jahanzad, below in the street, before your door

Here I stand, heart aflame, Hasan the potter!

this morning in the bazaar, at old man

Yousuf the perfumist’s shop, I saw you

And in your eyes was that fire

In whose longing I have wandered mad for nine years

Jahanzad, for nine years I have wandered mad!

Lost in that desire

I never turned toward my sad pots

those images of my restless hands

Lifeless creations of dust and colour and oil

Now they whisper:

‘Where is Hasan the potter?

Creating us, he’s become a god!’

Jahanzad, nine years passed over me

As time treads over some buried city

Dust in flower-pots

Whose aroma I’d fondly breathe

Was now laden with stones

Goblet, enamel, cup, pitcher, lantern, flower-vase

All hope of an art to express

My worthless existence

Lay dead,

And I, Hasan the potter, dust on my head

Dishevelled hair, prostrate on the potter’s wheel

Like some downcast god

Creating pots in a dream world of being and nothing

Saw in your bright eyes of Caucasus

that fire

through which my body and soul became wayfarers

Of cloud and moonlight

Jahanzad, that dreamy night in Baghdad

the bank of the river tigris

the ship, the closed eyes of that sailor

For some weary, disheartened potter

One night alone was alive

Which even now claims his

Spirit, his body

Only one night’s joy the river’s wave has granted

In which Hasan the potter sunk never to emerge

And now, Jahanzad, each day

that unlucky one comes to haunt me

Prostrated on the potter’s wheel

It shakes me by the shoulders

(that wheel which year to year was my only hope of livelihood)

‘Hasan the potter, come to your senses

Cast an eye on your ruined home

How shall the bellies of these children be filled?

Hasan, Love’s fool!

Leave that sport of the rich

And look to your own house.’

In my ear that sorry voice fell

Like one calling down a whirlpool to a drowning man

Yes, that lake of tears fed life to flowers

But I, Hasan the potter, was enchanted

By ruins of the city of illusions

With no sound, no motion

No shadow of a bird in flight

No trace of life

Jahanzad, in your street today

Against night’s chilling darkness

I stand restless before your door

through the window, those enchanting eyes

Peer at me again

the age, Jahanzad, is that potter’s wheel on which

Like enamel, cup, pitcher

Lantern and flower-vase

Humans are created and destroyed

I am human, yet

these nine years have passed in the shape of grief

Hasan the potter is today a heap of dust

Without sign of moisture.

Jahanzad, this morning in the bazaar at

Yousuf the perfumist’s shop, your eyes

Have spoken once again

Breathing moisture into dust

Perhaps dust will waken into clay.

jahan-zad men aaj teri gali men

yahan raat ki sard-gun tirgi men

tire dar ke aage khada huun

sar-o-mu pareshan

dariche se vo qaaf ki si tilismi nigahen

mujhe aaj phir jhankti hain

zamana, jahan-zad vo chaak hai jis pe mina-o-jam-o-subu

aur fanus-o-gul-dan

ke manind bante bigadte hain insan

main insan huun lekin

ye nau saal jo gham ke qalib men guzre!

hasan kuza-gar aaj ik toda-e-khak hai jism

men nam ka asar tak nahin hai

jahan-zad bazar men subh attar-yusuf

ki dukkan par teri ankhen

phir ik baar kuchh kah gai hain

un ankhon ki tabinda shokhi

se utthi hai phir toda-e-khak men nam ki halki si larzish

yahi shayad us khaak ko gil bana de!

Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but

If you wish, I’ll become once more

the same potter whose pots

Were the pride of every palace and quarter, every city

and village

Adorning the dwellings of rich and poor

Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but

If you wish, I’ll turn once more towards my sad pots

those dried pans of being and nothing

towards hope of an art to mirror my livelihood

From that being and nothing, from that colour and oil

to strike again the sparks by which

the ruins of hearts are illumined.

tamanna ki vusat ki kis ko khabar hai jahan-zad lekin

tu chahe to ban jaun main phir

vahi kuza-gar jis ke kuuze

the har kakh-o-ku aur har shahr-o-qariya ki nazish

the jin se amiir o gada ke masakin darakhshan

tamanna ki vusat ki kis ko khabar hai jahan-zad lekin

tu chahe to main phir palat jaun un apne mahjur kuzon ki janib

ghil-o-vala ke sukhe tagharon ki janib

maishat ke izhar-e-fan ke saharon ki janib

ki main is gil-o-la se is rang o roghan

se phir vo sharare nikalun ki jin se

dilon ke kharabe hon raushan!

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