Poetry from Young & Old - Agnishekhar's Poetry in Exile

Translated by Dr K L Chowdhury

Amongst the few blessings of exile, if one Aventures to count them, is the blossoming of talent in our artistes, writers, poets and professionals. The suffering of the last decade has sharpened their perceptions, mellowed their sensibilities and chiselled their intellect. The result is precious works like the poetry in exile of Agnishekhar-"My River Has Been Snatched From Me" (Sharda Publications, New Delhi). I have attempted to translate, from the original Hindi, six small poems from this superb collection of the poet's experiences, recounting the nostalgia of homeland and the trials and tribulations of exile, the fears and hopes, the struggles and rewards and the moral ascent from bondage to freedom of the soul.

The turbulence of the Lider, the quiet purposefulness of the Vitasta and the placidity of Sheshnag are all there.

Agony

Come, kidnap me

take me to your torture chamber

treat my body the way you choose

I will not demur

burn it alive, cut it to pieces,

or bury me somewhere

near the bank of a river

on the snowy mountains

in some village

or in the lane of a town

under a heap of grass

I am thirsty

for the touch of my earth.

Kite

In this rain

behind his tent

a child hides his kite

in the cage

of a dead buffalo

he has lost faith

in the tent.

Inside the Tunnel

We search for every step

in the years long

narrow tunnel

facing trials and tests,

for the time being

we are crawling

towards a pinpoint

source of light.

Free of Fear

There was fear inside the house

there were travails outside,

they took pity

on our state

and one by one

torched our houses,

now there is neither the fear inside

nor the travails outside.

I Am Afraid

The gun doesn't scare me

its purport I understand,

what scares me

is your gunpowder silence.

I am not afraid

of truth not being believed,

what I fear

is your yesmanship.

More than your sphinx-like face,

what haunts me

is your beguiling smile.

I am frightened

These days

more of the hope of life

than of death.

Curse

No weapon of theirs

could kill us to the finish,

nor could any fire

burn us, no flood could

submerge us completely

nor could the wind

blow us like dried leaves.

is the curse of immortality

What we died of

of our writhing souls.

DISCLAIMER: The views expressed in the Article above are Author’s personal views and kashmiribhatta.in is not in any way responsible for the opinions expressed in the above article.                                                    

Courtesy: June, 1997Koshur Samachar: