mira taaruf
are na puchho
purane zakhmon ko mat kuredo
mira taaruf jo tum samajhte ho vo nahin hai
Introduction
main apni galiyon ki dhuul men khel kar badhi huun
main khvab ki umr men bhi halat se ladi huun
main apne aaba ki qabr par khilne vaali vo khushnuma kali huun
jo apne hone ke jurm men
har saza ko hans hans ke katti hai
Who am I
don’t scratch old wounds
Who am I
Not what you think I am.
I have grown up playing in the dust of my alleyways
I learnt to fight for myself at an age when others
dream dreams
mira taaruf to kuchh nahin hai
mira taaruf to bas vahi hai
jo mujh se pahle aziim ‘ghalib’ ka ‘mir’ ka tha
vo ‘mir’ jis ko khuda-e-sher-o-sukhan ka rutba ata hua tha
magar gada ki tarah mara tha
aziim ‘ghalib’ jo mai ki khairat mangta tha
I am that winsome bud which blooms on my
forefathers’ graves
And must smilingly endure every punishment merely
because it exists
I have no name.
Call me by the name
Of the Great Ghalib* who came before me
By the name of Mir
Mir, who was hailed as the god of Poetics and verse
But who died in poverty
the Great Ghalib
Who had to beg for his wine.
Leave a Reply