This poem was translated by Professor Carlo Coppola as part of the MULOSIGE Translations project. You can explore our collection of Urdu Poetry here.

Professor Carlo Coppola, Oakland University

Socne ke liye kuch nahı̄n̲ / Nothing to Think About

Why should I be upset

Why worry

There’s nothing to think about.

.

Along the streets, tree-shadows

Lengthened, shriveled;

In the streets, passing cars,

Shining, noisy.

.

What happened to man?

He got lost in the noise

His mind got a little tired

Even though there’s nothing to think about.

.

Whether the gardens are green, or covered with a leaf-shroud of 

scattering yellow,

Whether the sky is blue or black, 

Helplessness is everywhere, far and near; 

Hope is useless. 

.

Which way should I go? 

My mind has died, 

My heart too;

Why should I comfort them.

.

I had decided to give my life to Beauty, 

To sacrifice by being for Art,

To know myself.

But in the end, the same suffering, the same loneliness.

Death hovers about my head.

.

What should I complain about?

I’m free today,

Despondent today.

There’s nothing to think about.

.

  November 1957

.

From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. pp. 22 – 23

             

Why should I be upset

Why worry

There’s nothing to think about.

.

Along the streets, tree-shadows

Lengthened, shriveled;

In the streets, passing cars,

Shining, noisy.

.

What happened to man?

He got lost in the noise

His mind got a little tired

Even though there’s nothing to think about.

.

Whether the gardens are green, or covered with a leaf-shroud of 

scattering yellow,

Whether the sky is blue or black, 

Helplessness is everywhere, far and near; 

Hope is useless. 

.

Which way should I go? 

My mind has died, 

My heart too;

Why should I comfort them.

.

I had decided to give my life to Beauty, 

To sacrifice by being for Art,

To know myself.

But in the end, the same suffering, the same loneliness.

Death hovers about my head.

.

What should I complain about?

I’m free today,

Despondent today.

There’s nothing to think about.

.

  November 1957

.

From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. pp. 22 – 23