This poem was translated by Professor Carlo Coppola as part of the MULOSIGE Translations project. You can explore our collection of Urdu Poetry here.
Kitne mausam . . . / How Many Seasons . . .
How many seasons have passed,
How many times has the dust settled on my feet
And blown away?
.
How many times are clouds gathered—lightening flashed,
Storms surged on the sea far from shore?
How many times has it rained in the desert?
Dust has dried up the shower of voices of my city’s people.
They always gulp down the truth; the earth is left dry.
How can the hands of the Creator even if they have the power,
Build the house with parched earth?
And how could they invite Her to come
Should She come just to wander about in the sun upon the burning streets?
No, no contemplation of the Goddess in the destiny of this city’s people.
And I have to go on calling out, as if by compulsion,
Until this dry pond fills up again.
Thus are the seasons. . . .
.
May 1961
.
From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. p. 57
How many seasons have passed,
How many times has the dust settled on my feet
And blown away?
.
How many times are clouds gathered—lightening flashed,
Storms surged on the sea far from shore?
How many times has it rained in the desert?
Dust has dried up the shower of voices of my city’s people.
They always gulp down the truth; the earth is left dry.
How can the hands of the Creator even if they have the power,
Build the house with parched earth?
And how could they invite Her to come
Should She come just to wander about in the sun upon the burning streets?
No, no contemplation of the Goddess in the destiny of this city’s people.
And I have to go on calling out, as if by compulsion,
Until this dry pond fills up again.
Thus are the seasons. . . .
.
May 1961
.
From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. p. 57
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