akhtari begum, renewal, age

(from my posts)
Ananya
this reminded me of two poems both of which i cannot recall...even partially...both from mumbai poets...the first one was by ali sardar jafri...he used the metaphor of maang (the hair divide) on a bride’s head for the border between india and pakistan...

and the other was by (sampooran singh) gulzar...his poems lamented about the garam choolah (still hot oven)...where he dreamt that he had visitors from across the border...

digression:
* borders are drawn to give identity: but instead they breed hatred
* unchecked hatred will do us in
* if we stoke the civil instincts we can still change that downhill course

Zuhair Vazir

you could have played with the title from bed to brothel but this requires a greater existential and mental leap...so how about from bed to bed-room to brothel... slightly less imaginative but may get the job done albeit with more of a incessant pounding suitable for the yellow dummy series?...ishtar goddess of love, war and fertility is a potent symbol...hmmmm...love and war lead to fertility in more senses than we know...or care to admit... i did a take on this some time back...

ghulami
waq’t ki lehrouN ka toh’faa
ghung’roo hO ya mangal sut’r
zanjeeraiN haiN donouN hee
ik azli ghulami ki

slavery
gift from the waves of Time
ghungroo or mangal sut’r
living symbols are they both
of eternal slavery.

kaurasach says A shit is shit, whether it is lying in filth or in a ceramic toilet with gold plated trim.

i disagree!

* not all shit is manufactured equally
* not all shit comes out of the same orifice
* not all shit can be recycled (gobar)
* not all shit have equal rights, or equal pay for equal work
* not all shits dress similarly
* not all shits can be proclaimed holy ( tho’ all holies can sometimes be...)

***

took out the second version...’too contrived’ was one comment on it...have further revised the original... included here as part I and have added a part II

***
akhtari begum
a smile, candy
bullion, stock
ghungroo,* mangal sut’r**
a price there is
on every head
n every body

innocent smile
thundering fatwa
reprieve from law
praise from the pen

sub kay sub hee bikao haiN ji***
said akhtari, unread but wise

* anklet worn by dancing girls made up of rows of tiny tinkling bells
** necklace made of auspicious thread and black beads worn by married hindu women
*** everyone has a price on their head

akhtari begum
shereeni ya muskurahat
zun hO ya zurr o zameeN
ghung’roo hO ya mungal sut’r
muta’aiyyann hay qeemat
her shehh ki, hers shaksh ki

pu’r maani muskurahat
garajta hu’a fatwa
tahaffooz e zul’m e sipah
moo’awenat e qal’m

sub hee bikao haiN ji
hushiar, magar unpaRh
akhtari nay kaha

***
yeh kya kya zaalim nay dost bhee m’ray
dushmanON ki tarah muskuranay lagay
***

renewal
famine--of intellect
abundance--of multitudes
light--on essence
shadow--on love supreme
past--a mirage
present--mirroring indulgences
future--hopeful fog

tajdeed
qay’hutt--qay’hutt ur rejaal
ifra’at--jum’may ghafeer
roshni--mahiyyat per
sa’aye--shauq per
maazi--faraib e naz’r
haal--ak’s e riyakaari
mustaqbil--ghubaar e pu’r ummeed

***

an evening by the sea shore
time, tide, child
forever move forward
remove tide
it comes and goes
delete child too
child grows old
then turns child again
journeying from one womb
to another
is that moving forward?
that leaves time all alone
as the straggler at the fair
wandering alone when
everyone has left the grounds
time - ever in short supply
we have aplenty
seemingly

***
(revised)
Timeless:
Ratnagiri upon Tando Allah Yar
today i feel like painting a picture
that in my mind i’ve drawn already
have yet to set up the easel
draw the outline, open the tubes
yet i know what i’ll call it when finished
that image of Truth, Beauty, Peace
will call it timeless
it’ll be the smile on the face of a child
i came across in ratnagiri
a child who could’ve felt just as at home
in tando allah yar
unkempt, disheveled
playing in the streets
with a wheel-less tonka truck
his smile will spell hope is alive
and unassailable

even his smiling eyes will say so

***
(revised)
age
where is your health card?
asked the nurse
with ever so trembling hands
he felt for his back pocket
in a gesture reminiscent
of slow motion pictures
and pulled out a black wallet
the effort exhausting
he sat down on a chair across from me
and laid his hand clutching the wallet
on his thighs as he took deep breaths
after a minute or two
he recovered to unzip the wallet
from the bottom, to the side, to the top
and from the now open-jaw wallet
out come a stack
held by two crossed rubber bands
with ever so quivering fingers
he removed one rubber band
and hung it on his left thumb
then he removed the other band
and hung it on his left thumb
then he looked for his health card
and smiled ever so subtly
as he pulled it out
and placed it on his thighs under the wallet
pulling one rubber band he
stretched it across the stack
and then the other rubber band
vertically across the stack
and placed it back in the wallet
he zipped it side to side to side
gently, slowly, carefully
and put it back on his thigh
over the health card
time to rest
and take deep breaths
one, two, three…
he had the same look
on his face that pilots have
as they run a mental check-list
before the take off
then with an unexpected thrust
he got himself off the chair
the effort visibly draining
he just stood there for a minute or two
the wallet and the health card in each hand
then in slow motion he replaced the wallet
back in the rear pocket
and took two steps
towards the nurse’s window
and said, here