Writing 101,Day 7: Beloved

Today’s assignment: Beloved

I have translated the following song which helps to understand, how one feels when one is separated from his/her beloved.

I think of my beloved a lot,

In the dark days of my sorrow,

I light up and extinguish my

Love’s lamp, hoping to feel better tomorrow.

It does not work

For every step I hear,

Awakens the memory of my dear,

The roads cannot help but laugh

That my heart still beats for my beloved.

Often I am misled into thinking

He is coming towards me smiling

But it is only my imagination.

My memory of him has not faded ,

There is a burning in my heart

The tears  flow without stopping,

Who knows what others think.

That I have not forgotten him

But my cries suddenly turn into laughter,

When I see him smiling in my thoughts.

The separation from him

Feels  as if there is no life in me

The lamp  continues to burn

There is no brightness.

I try  very hard,

But I am unable to appease my heart,

I  play various  tunes and  sing a variety of  songs,

It is  not enough  to console my heart!

 

I felt I could not write a better poem than this song. Pardon me for taking this route, I feel I have made some contribution by translating a song which is in a language other than my own.

Thank you all. 🙂

 

Ghalib’ ghazal sung by Habib Wali Mohammad posted and translated by Ranu

This is my favorite ghazal, I read it when I was very young, I probably did not understand it as much as I do now, but I certainly loved repeating certain parts of the lyrics.

It was not in my fate to see my beloved

Even if I lived longer I would still be waiting

Someone can ask my heart about this half drawn arrow

I would not have the anxiety,had it gone through my liver

Whom can I complain to about my night of grief

There was nothing wrong with death had it been once

I was disgraced after my death, why did I not drown in the river

Then  there never would   be a  funeral nor a tomb for me

These thoughts of mysticism,  your report ‘Ghalib’

We would have considered you our chief, had you not wasted

your life away by drinking.

……………………

https://sabethville.wordpress.com/2015/04/04/ghalib-ghazal-…slated-by-ranu/

 

Ghazal: Runa Laila : ranjish hi sahee ,posted and translated by Ranu

 

Even though it is unpleasant, come to break my heart

Come  to leave me once  again

Our relationship is not the same as before, still  sometimes

do it for the sake of worldliness

How many people can I tell the cause of our separation

Come for the sake of the world even if you are angry with me

Show some respect for my love of you

You could also come to console me sometimes

Too long have I been deprived of the passionate expression of grief

Oh my beloved , come even if it’s only to make me shed tears!

—————

 

For dear Indira who  requested me to translate the above ghazal 🙂

My sincere thanks to khurram Shafique for taking the time to read my translation, I appreciate it very much 🙂

 

https://sabethville.wordpress.com/2015/03/26/ghazal-runa-la…slated-by-ranu/

 

 

Writing Prompt: Local Flavor

Write a piece  about a typically “local” experience where you come from as though it’s an entry in a travel guide.

I am torn between where I live now and where I come from i.e., my original home. Which one shall I choose, I think my choice is my original home.

It is a very quiet little town, I am thinking back when I was thirteen. I remember at exactly at 3:30 in the morning the rooster will crow and I’d open my eyes and say it’s still too early and go right back to sleep.

It gave a feeling of freedom,the vendors out with their daily routine of carrying fresh vegetables going door to door to sell them, the man selling chicken would offer to remove its feathers and clean it, you could bargain with him,if you wanted to pay less than he was asking for,he’d give in because he’d been carrying these for a while,the sun was hot and he was tired.

Then there was a man selling fresh buttermilk, he’d been around longer than he wanted to, any longer would spoil his buttermilk.

There will be kids of all sizes and shapes going to school with their heavy book bags,eager to get to school so they can lighten the load by placing them on their desks.

It is a warm place birds of all varieties would fly around alerting everyone it’s time to wake up and start our chores.

The rickshaws would gather on the stands hoping someone would be kind enough to hire them.

There was no fear of army marching on the streets to show their presence.

It’s a very quiet unpolluted town where Tagore’s song is heard by kids as young as five, getting ready for the show in the evening.

You’d hear a chorus of “Amaar Shonar Bangladesh”, my beloved Bangladesh.

https://sabethville.wordpress.com/2014/03/23/writing-prompt-local-flavor/

(Patthika) Reader by Tagore Translation by ranu

English: Rabindranath Tagore ,Tamilndu,India (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

(Patthika)  Rabindranath Tagore

The wind blows at troubled speed,

the sky is overcast,

the peacock calls.

I did not work,  did not change,

the day is over, my hair untied___

I read your words.

O my poet tho,

I have never known you,

still your message embeds

a hidden image in my mind.

Your words render cloud and shadow

in a melancholic tune,

that brings tears to my eyes.

My heart yearns to understand you.

When and where you wake,

whose absence distresses you__

who is your beloved!

You are Indra, your wife is Indrani

You have painted a picture of her

with your affection.

O my dear poet ,

although the rhythm beats in my heart

I am lifeless,  a statue

I know not why I feel this way.

The woman is forever beloved

your songs praise her__

without reason your heart is elated.

Even if I had not heard her name,

nor seen her once

there is no loss in that!

If one knows not your sweetheart

one knows her by your song.

O my dear poet,

the spring is far-off

yet the blood dances in my veins.

The one you know appears

in this strange place,

as I stand among these strangers.

Your garland came around my neck.

the flowers wet with rain…

On some rainy evening your beloved’s

braid wrapped round you

the scent like a dream.

And in my heart, past lives converge.

O my poet,

know you not the soft melody

in my arbour of creepers–

You sang a song of sadness

of things that occurred long ago…

Your brooding melody

flowing into a marvel of its own.