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A MARTYR'S MOTHER(POEM)
My martyr son,
I'm your mother
And give you my
love and blessings,
I remember your
Childhood and youth,
When you sucked milk,
And swayed in cradle,
And grew up steadily,
But Unlike others,
And I watched you,
Every morn and eve.
You didn't bear
Homeland in bondage,
In penury, in wails,
And left behind,
Your friends and play-mates,
Near and dear ones,
Flesh and blood,
To face lances
On your youthful bosom,
You shed blood
For the Shalamar
Of homeland,
For her roses,
for her spring,
Enlivening her,
Flowers and birds
Try to wake you up
From a deep slumber,
But I'm told
You bear a frown
Upon your brow
And feel sick
To know my plight,
And a scar on my heart,
So I tell the gardener,
Who knows not
To keep a promise,
To fulfil a pledge,
That my son, too,
My martyr son,
The sight of my eyes,
Apart of my heart,
Bears the same scar.
They lad us half-way
On the road to freedom,
And shed profuse blood
Of martyrs on footpaths,
Unmindful that liberty
Was far away
And homeland lay
In a dreadful
Whirlpool of blood,
And turned their back;
Which pains me most
O my martyr son!
You left me behind
At the mercy of
Those who forgot me,
In turmoil
In a land
Where the same
Poverty prevails, and
Unemployment permeates
And the same
Scare pervade.
In a land
Where tyrants wield arms
Where Satan carries vipers
Where rulers conspire,
Where barren land
Is watered with
You blood.
I was mother,
Fertile, not barren,
Bearing off-spring,
Nor a kite, flying
Over new-born chicks
To pick them alive,
Nor a mansoon shower
To send down disaster,
So I caressed you,
And your hopes
And your ideals,
And am, therefore,
A mother
Of a million sons,
Who espouse your hopes,
Your aspirations
Your goals,
Who march forward
With the same warmth,
And zeal and zest,
And lead a caravan,
Facing a storm.
So I've come
To accost you
With the same
Million sons.
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POEMS
"MY YOUTH"
I'm my own messenger
so ask my heart
No pen nor message
will carry the tale
(Translated Kashmiri verses of Rasool Mir)
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My boat has strayed in Wullar Lake
and I'm facing unruly winds
with our rudder, I can't steer.
Convey my wails to my youth.
(Translated Kashmiri verses of Hasan Shah (Khoihami)
Courtesy:"An Anthology of Kashmiri verses by Hameed Mumtaz"
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My youth was like a forest-cedar,
Enjoying meadows on a river bank
But was cut asunder by an angry axe,
Like a new-born spring.
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My youth was like a bird of Char Chinar
Chirping and frolicking on a lilting branch
But was shot dead by a sharp shooter,
And left un-wept,
Like a new-born spring.
(Translated Kashmiri verses of Gulam Ahmed Mahjur)
Courtesy: " An Anthology of Kashmir verses by
Hameed Mumtaz"
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Thy wailings avail thee not, o Bulbul
Who will set thee free?
Thy salvation thou hast to work
with thine own hands alone
Birds of the garden are full of Song
But each one strikes its own note
Harmonize their diverse notes, O Allah,
into one rousing song !
Translated from
Kashmiri verses of Mahjur
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@KASHMIRIS.ORG
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