Wildflowers by the roadside,
Along cycling paths,
Lining the winding roads of memory..
Ever since we joined in our new roles as teachers last month, I’ve been getting a bit more time to read and ponder about the utterly magnificent dohas of Kabir. It helps to have a colleague who has been listening, reading and pondering on these beautiful and deep lines written hundreds of years ago, and recently I came across these two lines, which have made an imprint on my muddy mind’s surface.
What these lines say, translated as best as I can, is:
The clay tells the sculptor “what! You will beat and pat and trample me? There will be a time when I will do the same to you”.
As the morning sun struggled to rise up,
fighting to break free from the clouds,
to unwrap itself from the heavy blanket of cold wind,
struggling up from the valley floor,
the clouds pulled the wind up with them,
the wind pulled the clouds up with it,
ssshh. It hissed. And Roared. SSSHHHH
ચમકતી ધારા ની ચળકતી ધાર
ધીમે થી અંદર ઉત્રી જાય,
મારી સાથે એક બનીને
મને ઘમી જાય..
ક્યારેક શાંત સર્કી મારી બની જાય
પૂર બની ને વહી ને મારી જાય..
ક્યારેક હસ્તી નાચ્તી કૂદતી જાય
સાંપ ની જેમ ડસી જાય,
થીજી ને જામી જાય
પ્રકાશ માં ફરી જીવિત થાય..
એના અતૂટ અખૂટ ચક્ર મને કહે
મારામાં પલળી ને અસીમ વહે
ઘણાં પાણા, ઘણું પાણી
મારામાં રેહવાના, ઓગળવાના..
And below, a quick, basic and rough translation (Realized how difficult it is to translate even something that is your own work. I can imagine the effort needed, the struggle required, the depth one would have to go to to understand someone else’s work to translate, and finally the reward of having done it satisfactorily.
Title: Water and Rocks
The glistening edge of a glittering stream
slowly slides into me,
becomes one with me.
I feel good about it.
Sometimes, it slides past me silently, becoming mine,
Sometimes, it becomes a flood and kills me,
sometimes it playfully dances and jumps around,
while sometimes, serpentine, it bites me.
It freezes, and stays frozen,
In the light it becomes alive again
Its unbroken, unending cycles tell me
Come, get drenched in me and flow, flow limitless.
A lot of stones, a lot of water,
Will stay in me, and melt away.
A bird flapped its wings and they moved,
the air moved to become the breeze,
the breeze shook the leaves,
which flapped and flew away, like birds,
and there I was, rooted in self.
વર્ષો ના ગાળા પછી મળેલા વર્ષો થી
જાણીતાં દોસ્તારો અજાણ્યા લાગે છે;
ઈ હિસાબે ડુંગર દરિયા જંગલ આકાશ માં
કાંઈક તો ખાસ હશેજ..
A rose bud awaited bloom
in excitement of Life itself,
To stretch her petals
and play with the wind,
to exchange scents with her fellows
and kisses with the rain.
A tumbler of water
was all that stood
between spring and winter,
between Life and Death.
They came and spilt it.
She gasped in shock
Their joyful laughter
numbed her pain
And she waited, silent.
Awaiting not her death,
But her Life.
You see ,
the thing about Seasons is ,
they work in cycles.
And the thing about evil is,
Foolish to think Silence is weak.
She knew her Seasons
She knew her Freedom
They were her Friends.
And so her roots she kept working,
stretching and holding,
till they reached all the water
they’d so joyously spilt.
Her source of life
SHE has become,
Be it drought , flood or malice,
She will never succumb.