This poem was translated by Professor Carlo Coppola as part of the MULOSIGE Translations project. You can explore our collection of Urdu Poetry here.
Bangāl / Bengal
O political philosophers of this old world!
The demands of a new system are questioning you:
.
Were these roads made
So that the masses of this country should die upon them, gasping
Did the earth grow grain
So that the race of Adam and Eve should die sobbing
Did the mills weave heaps of silk
So that the daughters of the land should lack even tatters
Did the gardener water the garden with blood
So that his own glances should long for spring
O gods of earth’s creative power!
O organizers of the mills, O sons of kingship!
Five million withered, rotten skeletons
Protest against capitalism!
With silent lips and dying eyes,
They protest against every person.
.
From: Talk̲h̲iyān̲ (Bitternesses). Dihlī: Panjābī Pustak Bhanḍār, 1963. pp. 100 – 102
O political philosophers of this old world!
The demands of a new system are questioning you:
.
Were these roads made
So that the masses of this country should die upon them, gasping
Did the earth grow grain
So that the race of Adam and Eve should die sobbing
Did the mills weave heaps of silk
So that the daughters of the land should lack even tatters
Did the gardener water the garden with blood
So that his own glances should long for spring
O gods of earth’s creative power!
O organizers of the mills, O sons of kingship!
Five million withered, rotten skeletons
Protest against capitalism!
With silent lips and dying eyes,
They protest against every person.
.
From: Talk̲h̲iyān̲ (Bitternesses). Dihlī: Panjābī Pustak Bhanḍār, 1963. pp. 100 – 102
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