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Archive for January, 2011

कवि और कविता

Friday, January 28th, 2011

दया प्रसाद गोलिया

ड्राइंग रूम में बैठकर
अट्टालिकाओं पर कविता लिखना
कितना प्रगतिवादी है
तालियों की गडगडाहट
कितनी बड़ी शाबाशी है

मत लिख
सत्ता शिखर स्थायी का यशगान

मत लिख
हवा से हवा में मारक कवितायेँ

मत लिख
प्रेयसी के चाँद की कवितायेँ
अब वह रहस्य नहीं है

मत लिख
लौट आया है मानव चाँद से

लिखना हो तो अब धरती की कविता लिख
क्या भुखमरी शोषण नहीं तेरी पृथ्वी पर
लिखना हो तो समानता की कविता लिख

विश्वगुरु कहलाने वाले
कितनी अज्ञानता है तेरे देश में
लिखना है तो विज्ञानं की बात लिख

क्या खड़ा है निठल्ला सा इस मोड़ पर
मूकदर्शक बना हुआ
इक्कीसवी सदी के कवी
सरेआम नचाई जा रही है
नंगी कर अबलायें इस देश में
लिखना हो तो अत्याचार पर लिख

नेताओं की बात मत लिख
नर मारा या हठी
वाह रे धर्मराज
इक्कीसवी सदी के कवी
कवितायेँ मत लिख


Tuesday, January 25th, 2011

As a child, when I bid adaab to him

saying 'Salaam-alei-kum mamu'

he blessed me wishing my words should come true,

Now when I expressed my wish to marry Haseena

this Muslim society,

which rejected my wish

like a flock of cotton

deriding me as a Dudekula

not understanding love..and affection,

drives me away

calling me a Kaafir;

In God's name,

Haseena pleaded,

as she stepped away

choosing to travel on a path of thorns

drawing away from me, forget me lover;

When God's witness itself

proved useless against the curse

of my Dudekula caste, unable to curse it,

I nurse memories soft as cotton,

which prick like thorns,

while I wander around in this desert

searching for an oasis.


My translation of the Telugu poem 'gawaah' written by Mohammed Akbar (from the collection of poetry 'alaava: muslim sanskrti kavitvam').

Come as a herald!

Thursday, January 20th, 2011

Today, when new lives shall be planted

by digging up roots

from the time that doesn't return,

ascend these moonlit steps

and walk into my poem


Now, defying the dwija's role


Walk into my poem as a herald!


Come, to pour boiling lead

into the ears of the history that boycotted you!


Come so that you can

pee into the current Manu's mouth!



My translation of Pagadala Nagender's Telugu poem 'vaitALikuDavai raa! padyamlOki' (from the collection of Dalit poetry 'daLita kavitvam- 2'  edited by Dr.K.Lakshminarayana).

Slave (‘ghulam’)

Tuesday, January 11th, 2011

Where the doors are decorated with mango leaves

Where the houses are ornamented with little flaming oil lamps

In that country a woman is still a slave


Where Sita entered the fire to prove her fidelity

Where Ahilya was turned to stone for Indra's lust

Where Draupadi was fractured to serve five husbands

In that country a woman is still a slave


Where a woman's identity fades like nature's blossoms

Where delicate jewels of emotion are trampled under a heel

Where free birds of dreams are scorned

In that country a woman is still a slave


Where the sky-flowers of desire must be left to float down the river

Where the threatening force of a woman's mind must be buried in the earth

Where the silvery moonlight of happiness must be poured into a jar of darkness

In that country a woman is still a slave


Where a woman in her youth is dried up by tradition

     she is confined all her life like a stunted tree

     she remains in the shadow of someone else's light

In that country a woman is still a slave


In that country where women are still slaves

The conflagration starts in the house of flowers

The festival of lordship is celebrated with joy but 

The stories of all that are recited with pain


To be a born a woman is unjust

To be a born a woman is unjust. 


Hira Bansode is a major dalit poet whose famous poems include "Yashodhara". The above poem was translated by S.K. Thorat and Eleanor Zelliot. Source: Images of women in Maharastrian Literature and Religion.

The portrait

Sunday, January 2nd, 2011

by Jayant Parmar


The Portrait


I can clearly count his ribs.

Sweeping the streets

His spine has worn out.

His dreams have been buried in the waste paper heap.

He remained all his life half naked

In fact he was intentionally kept so,

And yet no one called him half naked man.

So many holes of atrocities

On his shirt of life

While alive, how many deaths he met with,

If I begin to count

How many births I need to take?

Till the day

He has been kicked,

Tolerated tyranny


But today from his sweat

I smell



Jayant Parmar is a bilingual poet writing in Urdu and Gujrati. He received the Sahitya Akademi award in 2009. He is also a calligrapher and an artist. 'The portrait' was translated by Vankar G K.  

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