State or Slaughterhouse
What flowers when for us prisoners it is
forbidden to look at the garden wall through the cage
~ Mir Taqi Mir
is it your beauty or the thought of death
gardens spill over with roses this time
look at the eyes of the peacock with their immense wait
our helplessness, your pride
history bears witness
books are filled with vigorous tales
what do we achieve from this confusion
union or separation
these crooked lines
which form the circle that we call a country
where souls agitate for freedom daily
what else are they but prisons?
books were scoured
yet no messiah to speak sooth
it is said that
the sound of death
is hidden in the eyes
now, at home or in the bazaar
as eyes meet there is alarm
they are my brothers, no strangers
who call me traitor at every little thing
they crossed a limit when they said:
“he who asks questions is a Mussulman,
he should go to Pakistan”
“mon frère, pardon, I hope you are not a Mussulman?”
in harmony our fathers had sought the means to immortality
wearing it as as a garb beyond death into eternity
we are paying the dues of our disharmony to die everyday
time is a miscreant who can take anyone in its grasp
all workmanship prior to
completion remains an idea
any minor decisions of the state
every petty command
is enough to tire you for life.
These days no one laughs
neither does anyone cry
laughter is hidden in tears
and crying in weak smiles
– this was told to me by
that joker from the nautanki
who sells chicken in the village bazar.
Fear, like an addiction,
always stayed with him
with shards of sunlight
on the lids of his eyes
and an amulet of grief
hanging in his throat
he walks on.
What Will the Moon Do
when all the stars will go
and the reluctant night will leave
what will the moon do
when the sheet of grief will have spread so far
that there will be no way to step out of it
and the wait for someone will stretch evermore
and eyes shall get dark and darker still like the inner core of the lamp
then what will the moon do?
Where Are You Friend
It is the darkest of nights
the moon has been deported
in the distance, on the peepal,
fireflies have woven a blanket of light
where are you my friend?
I do not even have
with me tonight.
that he would never come
still, he spread the rumour of his coming
so that there is hope.
The prostrate sky
said to the man lying on his back:
“how lonely are you!”
a whisper followed,
and both broke into a laugh.
Making an incision of
in the sky of grief
“how do you feel now?”
When I said to her
You are very pretty and I love you
I started hating myself.
Even in my views of love
I was a slave to my forefathers.
Kabir’s love lane is very narrow
make some space
a mob follows.
This world is spread
like the fresh leaves of gram
a cow whose mouth is shut with a muzzle
returns with water contained in her eyes
her muzzle straps taken off at the gate
and a bucketful of gram kept in front
which she swallows in one breath
her legs are then tied up
as she is milked
she shuts her eyes as she chews the cud at night
and finds herself grazing in the gram fields.
Sudhanssu Firdaus, born Sudhansu Shekhar, is a PhD student in mathematics at Jamia Millia Islamia. His first collection of verse is due from Sahitya Akademi this year. Firdaus is committed to writing nature poetry through which he approaches the political.
Maaz Bin Bilal is Assistant Professor in English at Jindal School of Liberal Arts, OP Jindal Global University. He is also a poet and translates from Hindi and Urdu. Maaz remains committed to friendships and multiculturalism.