https://soundcloud.com/ghazala-shamim-siddiqi/ghazals-of-shamim-hanfi
Saturday, May 27, 2017
In
the dark times will there also be singing?
Yes
there will also be singing.
About
the dark times.
-Bertolt
Brecht
And this is what we
witnessed in the three- day Poetry Festival from 7 to 9 April, 2017 at Triveni
kala Sangam. Expressions of dissent, acknowledgement, bonhomie, emotions in all
forms-raw, naked, subtle and razor sharp.
Here was a microcosm of
The India that every true Indian heart yearns for. The three- day celebration –Vak:
The Raza Biennale of Indian Poetry 2017, organized by Raza Foundation was a
respite from all the mayhem that one has been reading, witnessing morass and
hearing on TV channels, in the newspapers and at every drawing room conversation.
The festival was a realization that not all is lost. Some sense of morality,
freedom and conscience does exist even today amid this morass. Eminent and
budding poets from all over the country came together under the banner of Raza
Foundation to share their expressions and voice their opinions. What was indeed
noteworthy was that the gathering in that auditorium comprised poets from
different parts of the country and not once did anyone feel a sense of isolation,
alienation or marginalization in any way. It was heartening to listen to the
voices from different cultures and regions as a collective whole. A number of
myths were shattered. A number of myths were reborn in refreshing avatars. There
were poets belonging to different religions who presented poems in languages we
don’t generally associate them with. Rajathi Salma the celebrated Tamil writer, whose debut
novel The Hours Past Midnight has
been listed for the Man Asian Booker Prize presented her poetry in Tamil
Language. Hers is one of the first novels by a
Tamil Muslim woman. Abhishek Shukla was one of the several esteemed
poets who presented his poems in Urdu. A number of panel discussions took place
ranging from Poetry as Memory, Poetry Freedom and Poetry as Conscience . It was
overwhelming to hear the voices of dissent, of anger, of disturbances, of conflict
and collective resonance in these times. However there were a few voices that
echoed the sentiments contrary to what the popular voices in the panel
discussions spoke about. A noted sociologist said-Poetry should only be read
for the sake of entertainment.It is not capable of arousing a sense of morality.
The translations of
poems helped in understanding the nuances and subtleties of other native languages
along with the rhythmic charm of listening to the intonations and music of the
native languages themselves. I am thankful to VAK for giving me the opportunity
to present the translations of the ghazals of Shamim Hanfi. I shall always cherish the memories of
meeting such poets like Sachidananda, Manglesh Dabral, Keki Daruwala , Salma
and many more who made the three days truly memorable. I am sure the voices
will reach out far and wide and bring about a definite positive change in
society one day. A day will come when we shall transcend all barriers of religion,
Languages, cultures, popular myths that tie us and cripple us at times,
prejudices and be born again with a sense of a collective conscience that we
belong to one country yet we have our individual differences we are so proud
of-our individuality.
Admission
into time and space of a poetic sensibility requires a belief in one’s sense of
judgment creating an awareness of the self. These reawakening and stirring of
the soul lead us to believe that we are
so incomplete. Yet, far from indicating that we flawed, they fill us with
desire, ignite our emotions, fuel our passions, and catapult us out into a new
world where journeys are begun, connections are made, and our divine sense of incompleteness persists.
It is events like these that can
help in writing a better history of our times.
Love is all there is, three cheers to VAK!
Love is all there is, three cheers to VAK!
Monday, February 22, 2016
A tribute to Intezar Husain
Dedicated to Intezar Husain-The legend who lives on in our hearts forever.
You promised you would visit my home
For last time was too busy
And we couldn’t go to the bird sanctuary
Or the by lanes of old Delhi
Or meet Bittu who has an eatery just round the corner
You promised you would come...
For last time was too busy
And we couldn’t go to the bird sanctuary
Or the by lanes of old Delhi
Or meet Bittu who has an eatery just round the corner
You promised you would come...
I remember a long time ago
A marigold in your hand
You found amid the trimmed hedges at my place
How tenderly you had picked it up and cupped it in your hands.
The sun had so subtly borrowed some yellows
from the sunshine in your palms
And as you walked ahead
With me , a little girl , trying to match your steps
My tiny steps
Struggling to keep pace with you and Papa
You stopped and smiled and matched your pace with mine
A marigold in your hand
You found amid the trimmed hedges at my place
How tenderly you had picked it up and cupped it in your hands.
The sun had so subtly borrowed some yellows
from the sunshine in your palms
And as you walked ahead
With me , a little girl , trying to match your steps
My tiny steps
Struggling to keep pace with you and Papa
You stopped and smiled and matched your pace with mine
And at the Okhla Barage
Under the big banyan tree
As you paused to take a look around
The monkey with the long tail
Cautiously climbed down
And snatched the flower from your hand
How you smiled!
The notes of the orchestra coudnt be sweeter.
Under the big banyan tree
As you paused to take a look around
The monkey with the long tail
Cautiously climbed down
And snatched the flower from your hand
How you smiled!
The notes of the orchestra coudnt be sweeter.
“Kahaniyon ki jade bohot gehri hoti hain lekin nazmein
...nazmein to awaara hoti hain..’’
Your words still ring in my ears
And today
As I watch the sunset
The yellows are a shade quieter
A story in my heart
will live on forever in quietude
...nazmein to awaara hoti hain..’’
Your words still ring in my ears
And today
As I watch the sunset
The yellows are a shade quieter
A story in my heart
will live on forever in quietude
The paper is wet
The ink-
Invisible
The ink-
Invisible
(Rest in peace Intezar Husain)
-Ghazal
Wear Walls
Wear Walls
Let us all wear walls
For the lamp on the shelf
Is scared of the breeze
The breeze that blows
Will extinguish it
Only the wick will remain
Carrying remnants of fire that once danced on its apex
Now let us all wear walls
Remove every single
clothing that sticks to your silhouette
Against the setting sun
You are too conspicuous
Your voice too loud
Let the plaster consume the brittle pieces of your thoughts
As you spit them out
Wear walls
You will be safe
Let them design walls
Cheap
Economical
Strong
In every shade
But monotextured
So that every voice is a single voice
A single voice
A recurrent rondo
Wear walls
…..Ghazal ( 23.2.16..10:20AM)
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Zoom in
Zoom in
Far far away
From the mainstream life
On a mountain rugged and raw
Lives a monk
A crimson speck on the horizon yonder
My eyes behold
His cloak
as
purple as the misty brush
Of Claude Monet
Over the purple landscape of the soul
As I inch closer
The pall rises
The monk is a tree
The tree is oak , a hundred years old
Each line on the bark
As deep as the sigh
Of Godess Inanna on Ebih
That fills the hollows in the universe
Closer ahead
Under the tree
Sits
the wise one
With wisdom of the sages
Sanctifying all crevices
He speaks and the winds pause to listen
A million stars break into dust
And sprinkle far and wide
Unto the smoky void
As I zoom my lens
On a
canvas wide
I see a painting live
Embossing a Van Gogh stroke
Of a
starry night in daylight
The Wise one
Under the crimson tree
Amid
bells and beams of light
Amid bells and beams of life
Somewhere up in heaven
The Maker smiles
And puts his palette away
…Ghazala (18/2/16….1.15 am)
Monday, December 14, 2015
Selfie
Selfie
Puts
you in a spot
Then
pulls you in a vacuum
You
stay put
With
a tilt of your head
Till
the eye of the cam
Glares
at you with all it’s might
Squeezing
the life out of you
Freezing
you in a molten frame
And
all this while
All
this while a wanderer passing by
Looks
at you in wonder
His
hands holing a rose
Close
in more carefully around the stem
Till
a maiden adorns them in her hair
A
hurt pigeon breathes its last
A
shooting star crumbles into dust
A
flower blooms
An
orchard resonates
With
the humming of honeybees
A
tree drops a leaf
Gently
, silently, in a whisper
Like
a prayer from the lips of that old old monk
Who
lives on that hill yonder
The
sun melts the sky in all shades of fire
And
the eye holds you captive
A
plastic form
A
cold piece of flesh
Frozen
veins
Approbation
Thunderous
applause
Of
the click
And
the shutter closes on you
Shutting
you in a catacomb
Till
you exhale and live
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