پسپائی اور محبت کی آخری نظم

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1. A Poem of Retreat by Naseer Ahmed Nasir

   When the boats
   and the shores become tired of the water
   the paths while pass­ing through the ham­lets of the set­tle­ments
   sud­den­ly get crushed under the range of a high­way;
   then you should assume
   that your and my days, on this earth, have come to a close
   and I have lost the last bat­tle too!

   With the aids that you sent in the form of prayers
   and in the com­pa­ny of my own guardian words
   in the ditch like a down­hill path
   wait­ing des­per­ate­ly for a futile effort to heal my wounds, and
   try­ing to suck in oxy­gen from the radi­at­ing rays;
   right in the mid­dle of the bat­tle­ground
   the poems I wrote for you
   and the diaries in which dreams of peace were writ­ten
   have turned into coal-ash with the trees
   that were ful­ly laden with flow­ers,
   before the ray attack,and
   under whose shade I sat the last time
   swal­low­ing the pieces of hard dried roti.

   If you notice
   that the time has stopped all of a sud­den
   even before the evening prayer calls could become loud­er,
   the day has pro­longed; and
   while peep­ing through the win­dow
   if you find that every­thing around has changed
   then don’t remem­ber me becom­ing sud­den­ly uneasy
   oth­er­wise they
   will reach me eas­i­ly through the path of your heart
   and will embalm me
   as a mark of their vic­to­ry.

   And when instead of me
   you see an alien ani­mal-like crea­ture
   has reached your farm­house gate,
   then don’t be dazed
   and open the gate furtive­ly
   and all those warm kiss­es
   that you have kept safe for me
   while touch­ing them with the flash­ing lips of an alien wolf
   don’t shed tears –
   or else, the earth will be cov­ered with a mias­mic smoke for­ev­er, and
   when the last gust of wind
   while pass­ing through the por­ti­co
   decode my mes­sage to you by mur­mur­ing about
   then please, don’t turn around to that wind
   oth­er­wise, that alien wolf will become alert
   of the weak­est part of your soul
   and will gnash his machine like teeth in that same fee­blest part
   and lis­ten!
   before you sub­mit to him com­plete­ly
   don’t wait for any oth­er sign –
   in the his­to­ry of mankind
   the death of love is the last rit­u­al!

   Trans­la­tion by Bina Biswas