Bazaar
Raat ki khamoshi gaanvon se nikalkar
Sunsaan raaston mein baith rahi hai.
Yehi raaste savere jeevan ka bazaar honge.
Chhoti cheezon ki chhoti dukanen, bhed-bakriyon ki kyaariyan,
Dhool ki chaadar odhe, bheedon ke mele honge.
Dhoop ki teevrata mein makai ke saath
Baalaaon ki chamdiyan sikengi.
Zyaada ujaale ki aasha mein
Andheron se khelne waali mombattiyan bikengi.
Ye bazaar sabko
Apni oar kheench laate hain,
Khareed-daari ke ye naatak,
Deen dilon ko bhi bhaate hain!
Ratti bhar zameen to nahin,
Par ek mutthi aasmaan khareedenge.
Gaay-bhed to nahin,
Par unko baandhne ke liye rassiyan khareedenge.
Is khaali pet aur garibi ko bevakuf bana,
Thodi si aashaon ka aasmaan khareedenge.
Wahi aasmaan raat ki andher chaadar se
Angraayee lekar uthega.
Saara din bazaar ki bheed mein
Mat-maila hokar garibi se ruthega.
Aur godhuli-bela mein, aashaon ke kaalpanik paatron ka yeh jhund,
Bazaaru raaston se umadkar,
Issi aasmaan mein,
Aansoo bankar,
Phir deen aankhon se phutega.
[Translation in English]
Bazaar
The silence of the night effervesces from villages and
Settles like dust on deserted streets.
These same streets would be the marketplace of life early in the morn.
There’ll be small shops of small wares,
Cattle for sale – lined up in a neat sequence,
Among other things – huge crowds wearing dust on rugs torn.
Along with corn bushels,
The skins of small girls get roasted as the unforgiving sun bakes.
In anticipation of a brighter tomorrow,
Candles that play with darkness get sold like hot cakes.
The show of consumerism attracts every speck of pocket-holes,
This gala show plays even for the poorest of souls.
They’d say – “Well, we don’t have an inch of land...
But we’ll buy a handful of sky anyway.
We don’t have cattle and sheep,
But we’ll buy ropes to keep ‘em tied away.
We can mock this empty, hungry tummy,
And buy a little hope of a sky, nay?”
That sky, listening through the night all this while,
Wakes up and struggles out of the cozy blanket of darkness;
And lazes by the marketplace all day,
Angry on poverty! - After getting pasted with clouds of dust and red clay.
Then, at dusk, when the cattle of illusory hope
Heads home - forming new clouds of dust,
Marching along the streets of the bazaar…
Clop! Clump! Clomp! Forming a vapor of tears,
Bursting out of hopeless eyes, all gloom - mirth stands by…
And evaporates into that dark sky…
Raat ki khamoshi gaanvon se nikalkar
Sunsaan raaston mein baith rahi hai.
Yehi raaste savere jeevan ka bazaar honge.
Chhoti cheezon ki chhoti dukanen, bhed-bakriyon ki kyaariyan,
Dhool ki chaadar odhe, bheedon ke mele honge.
Dhoop ki teevrata mein makai ke saath
Baalaaon ki chamdiyan sikengi.
Zyaada ujaale ki aasha mein
Andheron se khelne waali mombattiyan bikengi.
Ye bazaar sabko
Apni oar kheench laate hain,
Khareed-daari ke ye naatak,
Deen dilon ko bhi bhaate hain!
Ratti bhar zameen to nahin,
Par ek mutthi aasmaan khareedenge.
Gaay-bhed to nahin,
Par unko baandhne ke liye rassiyan khareedenge.
Is khaali pet aur garibi ko bevakuf bana,
Thodi si aashaon ka aasmaan khareedenge.
Wahi aasmaan raat ki andher chaadar se
Angraayee lekar uthega.
Saara din bazaar ki bheed mein
Mat-maila hokar garibi se ruthega.
Aur godhuli-bela mein, aashaon ke kaalpanik paatron ka yeh jhund,
Bazaaru raaston se umadkar,
Issi aasmaan mein,
Aansoo bankar,
Phir deen aankhon se phutega.
[Translation in English]
Bazaar
The silence of the night effervesces from villages and
Settles like dust on deserted streets.
These same streets would be the marketplace of life early in the morn.
There’ll be small shops of small wares,
Cattle for sale – lined up in a neat sequence,
Among other things – huge crowds wearing dust on rugs torn.
Along with corn bushels,
The skins of small girls get roasted as the unforgiving sun bakes.
In anticipation of a brighter tomorrow,
Candles that play with darkness get sold like hot cakes.
The show of consumerism attracts every speck of pocket-holes,
This gala show plays even for the poorest of souls.
They’d say – “Well, we don’t have an inch of land...
But we’ll buy a handful of sky anyway.
We don’t have cattle and sheep,
But we’ll buy ropes to keep ‘em tied away.
We can mock this empty, hungry tummy,
And buy a little hope of a sky, nay?”
That sky, listening through the night all this while,
Wakes up and struggles out of the cozy blanket of darkness;
And lazes by the marketplace all day,
Angry on poverty! - After getting pasted with clouds of dust and red clay.
Then, at dusk, when the cattle of illusory hope
Heads home - forming new clouds of dust,
Marching along the streets of the bazaar…
Clop! Clump! Clomp! Forming a vapor of tears,
Bursting out of hopeless eyes, all gloom - mirth stands by…
And evaporates into that dark sky…
