Kashmiri poems translated by ASHFAAQUE LONE

IMPRESSION

          Clichés have a way of cropping up every now and then. Talk of translation and the cliché goes like this: Translation is all about finding a middle path between beauty and faithfulness. Genuine practitioners of the craft however have a different viewpoint. They believe, and rightly so that translation is an exercise in recreation. Actually since every language boasts a peculiar idiom and diction, semantic barriers are likely to arise while translating from one language to another even if the languages belong to the same country. Being perpetually in a state of evolution languages have a shifting temporal and spatial ambit. A serious translator is thus required not just to be conversant with the imaginative usage of languages he works in but also have a distinct feel for the spirit of those languages. Successful recreation of a poem into another language is possible only when the poet has a highly developed and chiseled sense of what the translation is intended to represent and convey.

          Personally it has been a rewarding experience to translate Satish Vimal’s poems for they are striking, multi-layered, pure and purposeful-all at the same time.

                             Ashfaaque Lone

                                       POEMS OF SATISH VIMAL

Which is why

Long tresses have rivers flowing in them

Which is why

Long-haired can wash their heads really well

Long tresses have fires blazing in their shade

Which is why

Long-haired can light up numerous lamps

And dispel all darkness within

Long tresses have heavens

Woven in their plaits

Which is why

Long-haired can soar very high

Rags have embers concealed in them

Which is why                                                               

Rag-wearers are immune to cold

Every single spangle on a rag

Stands for non-conformism

Which is why

Rag-wearers enjoy the pleasure of boundlessness

All dimensions of time and space

Get absorbed in rags

Which is why

Rag -wearers unravel secrets of the world beyond

Long tresses are a thick montane forest

Which harbour the herb of abiding life

Which is why

Longhaired fear not death

Rags are the shrine of a great saint

With doors and windows ever open

Which is why

Rag-wearers see hardened woes melt away

Along their hemlines

From long tresses emerges

The glow of dawn

From tattered robes

Comes out a quaint evening

Which is why

Longhaired wear rags

And rag-wearers allow their tresses to grow.

THE WELL

In his hand

Consecrated by holy beads

He held my forehead

With the radiance of affection

He had showered with gentle moments of his fingers

Through my hair

And asked

“Tell me what is remarkable about my palm

If you answer correctly

You will get whatever you want”.

On the highways of my sensibilities

My thoughts ran wild

And in the level palm of my hand

I could feel

Depth unfathomable

But couldn’t dare say it

The hallowed-being had however

Felt the reverberations within my soul 

He said “There is a well

In the palm of my hand

A deep well

Filled to the brim

Come

Try to descend into it

Gingerly

Then plunge into it

Whatever you find there would be yours”.

Holding the reins of my consciousness firmly

I got into the well

Slowly & steadily

And then

Sensing its depth

Plunged deep down

In this well of mysteries

Every single drop held for me

A sea of uncertainty

I was completely drenched

While climbing back

My false ego was rung off my being

Drop by drop

And when I came up

The hot furnace

That would burn in my head was quelled

I was feeling relaxed

But I felt cold as well

Kissing my forehead

He gifted me a little heat

From the bountiful reservoir

Of his well earned energy

The heat gave me wings

I soared high above

Traversing the skies

I couldn’t forget though

The deep well in the palm of his hand.

DO YOU KNOW?

Do you know why

I wrote the poem?

I was quite distracted last night

The lights had gone out

And while groping for a candle

In the dark

I accidentally struck

The photo-frame hanging on the wall

It fell and broke into pieces

The lone picture of my mother was torn

I couldn’t sleep the whole night

Felt like a million glasses had broken within me

Like a vacant frame

I remained hanging

On the wall of my existence

And felt despite hanging

The pain of crashing down

Getting strewn

Gnaw at the core of my being

The pristine rays of early dawn

Kissed, caressed and embraced me

But failed to ignite

My frozen being

Standing listlessly by the window

I could sense the ebb and flow of life

But couldn’t make

The pigeons perched on my own branches

Fly

So, I felt desperate

And wrote the poem.

JOURNEY AND THE  STAR 

Life was at its usual best

When I ascended

While walking on a straight level road

Those few steps

That took me through breath route

To the heavens

There I met the brilliant star

That had nurtured for years and years

In its radiant lap

A million expressions

It took hold of my hand

Carried me to the first rung of its being

And taking out

From its rich stock of expressions

The expression of the origin

Handed it over to me

In the record book of my eyes

I copied the image of the expression

Innumerable are the rungs

Immeasurable is my desire

To progress to sublimity

The record book of my eyes

Is gradually turning into a holy book

Until the sweep of my vision reaches its zenith

The journey should continue

That is what I wish

While the brilliant star

Promises to take me beyond heavens.

UNBAKED VESSEL

‘Love means perfection’

I reposed my total faith

In this observation of hers

And submitted

The unbaked vessel of my existence

To the raging furnace

There I came across

Not just the purifying fire

But heaps of garbage

Loads of dirt

Smoke

And stench

Keeping however

The flame of her inspiration

Alive within me

I continued to brave

The heat outside

Continued to get perfect

The furnace is quelled now

And I am

Completely perfect as well

The furnace will be opened

And I will be taken out

‘A fully baked vessel’

That could be immersed

In any kind of water

I crave so eagerly to be held

By her radiant hands

And get dipped

In the river.

WHISPER

This time round

The voice that travelled all the way

From the valley of voices

And entered my bedroom

Turned out to be

A mere whisper

It took me a little while to wake up

But once awake

I didn’t feel like relapsing

Into dreamland

For the first time ever

I sensed

That a whisper is the ultimate voice

This low-pitched sound

Didn’t strike against me

Nor did I need to get strewn

It walked in calmly

And at a little distance from me

Played peacefully

Paying obeisance at the shrine of my soul

I realized

That the ultimate voice

Is not meant to be heard

But imbibed

Moving forward

I caught hold of this low-playing whisper

And there I found

An unending odyssey of whispers

I plunged into it

My whole being was cleansed

Having traversed the entire length

Of the world of whispers

I now crave to listen

Songs of that silence

From which I was born

To be consigned

Immediately thereafter

To this loud mad city.

LIKE A DEVOTIONAL SONG

Disturbing maze

Of a million  thoughts

And I

Lying uneasy in an easy-chair

In my decked up bedroom

Trying hard to unchain my heart

Suddenly a devotional note full of life

Travelling all the way from a hallowed shrine

Entered the room

And stood right before me

In all its divine glory

I hadn’t seen a note before

That too in pitch dark

The note caressed me

And made me sense its being

I wrapped my whole form

In its magic

My heart was unchained and the maze of thoughts

Resolved

That day in my pitch dark room

I found many lyrical lamps light up

In their cool glow

I peered into the eyes of the note

My heart began to spin

Amid the radiance

That burst forth from its eyes

And some sublime expressions were born

Within me

My age-old reticence was gone

In a moment

I submitted myself to the note

Now I get rendered

Like a devotional song.

FIELDS & POEMS

O friend

I am glad to hear

That my fields are still filled

With the odour of my sweat

After so long do I feel blessed

To get the aroma of my own soil

O friend

I still prefer

Cultivating poems on paper

To growing crop in fields

My poems have been accorded

The majesty of sun’s rays

In the form of cool, moist beads

Which is why

Every word in my poems

Has a saintly halo about it

And so

I am as passionate about my poems

As I am about the crops in my fields

O friend

I want to be a poem

Like one of my own poems

So that

The majesty of sun’s rays

Gets imbibed in me

In the form of cool moist beads

And I achieve

A meaning, a purpose

Like the crop in my fields

O friend

Tell my fields

To pray for me.

EFFULGENT MOMENT

Time holds in its kitty

A few such moments as well

Which have suns bathing

In the oceans of their hearts

Time always hides in its kitty

Such moments

From public view

One way or the other

Such moments are averse too

To open display of the ultimate truth

When the tick tock of the clock

That holds time in its snare

Finds place in a heart

Time fishes out one such effulgent moment

From its kitty

The effulgent moment

Strikes a chord within the heart

Somewhere at the back of the tick tock

Doors open wide

And the heart becomes an ocean

This effulgent moment

Grants a dash of its brilliance

To the eyes of the heart

The eyes travel out

From the open doors

At the back of the Tick-tock

Into the silent realm

Where time keeps moving

In spite of being static

And remains static despite being in movement

Where eyes see everything

Yet cannot see anything

Where all differences and distances vanish

That is where

The effulgent moment

Inspires sunrise

In the ocean of eyes of the heart

Time immediately conceals this heart

In its kitty.

JOURNEY OF THE RAINBOW-1

Carrying in my heart

The passion of the journey of seasons

I had set about to analyze

All light and deep hues

Gathered in course of the journey

When whiffs of cool air

Adorned the being of my consciousness

With wings

Crafted out of sun’s rays

And I

Suffused with radiance

Embarked on a journey through the world of colours

I traversed

All seven colours of the rainbow

In each one of its colours

I found thousands of rainbows

Having in each one of their colours

Thousands of rainbows yet again

On my return from the journey

I had metamorphosed

Into a rainbow

Carrying in my heart

The passion of the journey of colours

As I counted the seasons gone by

You undertook a journey

Within me

And become a rainbow

Like me

Some day someone else will

Undertake a journey

Within you

And so on

Until the day

When we all would embark on a journey

To the heaven’s eye

As a huge caravan of rainbows.

JOURNEY OF THE RAINBOW-2

That day

The wind showered fragrance

In all lanes and bye- lanes of the milieu

And then

The star descended

From its celestial abode

With an urn filled with the offer of prayers

And became a guest

Of the milieu

All hues of its being were spread

Here and there

All lanes and bye- lanes of vision on earth

Where the wind had showered fragrance

Were not just able to observe

Different hues of the star

But have them as well

The dreams and aspirations

That were painted in these hues

Were given a generous sprinkling of acceptance

By the star

From its urn

Every eye teeming with fragrance

Boasts a small rainbow.

FRAGRANCE

The day

Gates of my mind

Opened up for me

I could feel

For the first time ever

The fragrance of sensibilities

Later

When I embarked on you holy trail

I could feel

The fragrance of journey

For the first time ever

On my return from the saint’s shrine

I saw

A halo of fragrance over my head

And when I burnt

The incense of my being

In the name of the ultimate truth

I tasted fragrance

For the first time ever

And felt

That the zest of fragrance

Is simply matchless

At each step of the ladder of zest

I found

Choicest fragrances etched

 In the language of the mind

The smoke that wafts across

From the burning incense of mind

Heralds fragrances

In the language of silence

I listen

And then feel

The fragrance of silence.

VIJDAAN

In the thread of this craving

I arranged

Moments of high intellect

That resembled

Gusts of freshness from a rich, green forest

And wore the garland

In a moment

My spirit touched its zenith

I found

In this state

The reward of every broken bond

Unqualified by the specious dictates

Of mental grasp

A worldful of look was cast on me

And I became free

From the evil influence

Of antiquated seasons

An array of cool lamps lit up

And I was bathed

In a worldful of brilliance

Choicest roses blossomed in my being

Wearing their fragrance

I am reaching out now

Slowly and steadily

As fragrance itself.

How I craved

To break free of my fetters

To move in gay abandon

With unmindful winds

And thus bid adieu

To the cross ways

Of the antiquated season within

When suddenly

Some moments of high intellect

Appeared in my sealed room

Like gusts of freshness

From a rich, green forest

And I

Breathed in

A wholesome breath

After so long

One wholesome breath

Is enough for a lifetime

But after one wholesome breath

I craved for another breath

For yet another lifetime.

ROSE

Rosy mornings are the loved one’s moments

Rosy evenings are the tale of rendezvous

Rose is the warm cheek, the hot lip

Rose is the moon abode, the nights grin     

Rosy countenance plays

Confidant to the cynosure

Rose kindles pass an in the vale of solitude

Rose of the fragrance of seasons gone by

Rose is the hope of moments fleeting by

Rose will bring to me

The aroma of rendezvous

From that fragrant robe

And stoke the desire of my eager eye

For a rendezvous soon

While I share with the heavens above

My cherished thought for the meeting born

Luscious youth would sway night and day

Dreams of virgin love would be happy and gay

The first rose would blossom

On the branch today