Through 100 pages of 'Poetry as Evidence', Outlook presents a selection of poems and verses that have moved us, and we feel these serve as evidence of our bleak times and lives. The poems below are the 23rd, 24th, and 25th from the series.
i
Take this land, its trees, mountains, rivers, and snow,
pieces of our lives you came for, blazing guns and grenades.
Traces of these I might find somewhere,
but my father, I shall never find again.
In the same place where I buried my milk teeth,
I have buried my father.
A finger was all we could find,
among the scattered flesh after the explosion
that my mother’s quick eye spotted
by the wedding ring still twisted around it.
I have buried the remainder of him in my imagination.
Loving my father would be picking up handfuls of him in my memory.
They say when a father dies, he becomes a tree,
spreading and growing shade.
My father became a finger,
forever pointing up towards you
from beneath the soil.
Silent. Thoughtful. Alive.
ii
Echoes are more powerful
than the sounds that form them
and last a lifetime.
From here to there,
from snow to soil,
the sound of my weeping resonates in the valley,
takes root, turns into a flower.
Now, I understand
why so many flowers bloom in Kashmir.
—Translated from Hindi by Anita Gopalan
Geet Chaturvedi, Madhya Pradesh
(Geet Chaturvedi is a Hindi poet, short story author, lyricist, screenwriter and novelist. He lives in Bhopal and is active both as a fiction writer and critic. His poems have been translated into 22 languages worldwide. He has translated the work of the great Spanish Poet Pablo Neruda in Hindi and many others.)
A day lost, but the days won’t come back,
The days when wheat was burned,
And the day when apples grew.
Later greedy farmers learned.
All harvest was a waste,
Red apples, like blood with sweet tastes.
Oh! Apples Kashmiri,
We can sell it for more if you change your ethnicity.
“Himachal Apples,”
Calling for help now.
Don’t separate me from my motherland,
Where will money take you now?
Slapped stickers on its face,
“100% authentic Himachal Apples,”
My motherland found no trace between
Her children and Himachal apples.
Oh, I taste Kashmir,
Kashmir as it is,
The texture of wool cashmere,
And the designs of paper mache.
Red like the soil it was made on,
Sweet like the language of their mom.
Why shall I not protest
When I eat Himachal apples?
—Translated from Kashmiri
Abdullah Bin Zubair, Jammu & Kashmir
(Abdullah Bin Zubair is a 10th standard student from Kashmir with two passions: poetry and film. In 2020, he released his first book of poems titled No 'Place for Good'.)
Kathi Zan Aasi ni waar karaw kyah
Wyetryeni waenij baar karaw kyah
Hochi maxhi koli phaet lookh, wanan kas
Bochi bochi xhop asi gaar karaw kyah
Kaxhi tael shraak chye soori gosaenis
pari phokh syehri phukaar, karaw kyah
Kani moorexh balidan dodi moosim
Yachi pootyen pachiwaar karaw kyah
Yeli raechi karo looth asasas
gari laesh dee nanzi naar karaw kyah
What if the expressions lack broadcast, what to do?
What if the inner heart carts not the burden, what to do?
In a dried stream people were drowned, whom shall they address
In a state of hunger we only chewed the unchewable, what to do?
An ash-laden sage is carrying a hidden sword under his pits
The holy breath of a saint, a sorcery but turned, what to do?
The innocents sacrificed their lives to an idol
A ceremonial remembrance of lost youth, what to do?
When the guardian of peace shall loot the national property
What if he will light the houses, what to do?
—Translated from Kashmiri by Mushtaq Barq
Rehman Rahi, Jammu & Kashmir
(Rehman Rahi, born as Abdur Rehman Mir in Srinagar, remains an iconic figure in Kashmiri literature. He played a pivotal role in reshaping the literary landscape of the Kashmiri language. Rahi received several honours, including the Sahitya Akademi Award; the Sahitya Akademi Fellowship in 2000, recognising his contributions to Kashmiri literature and culture; and the Jnanpith.)