Quluf (Lock)
Suh Kryooth' Dode Kamis Baavih, Bezabaan Chhuh Quluf
Khewaa'n Chhuh Haaef Teh Qaaetil Zarab Zaraa'n Chhuh Quluf
Soh Pryaaene Koonz 'Tamyuk Warr ' Teh Aakh Ledryomut
Shareer Khaaele Teh Khayih daar Zoov Zuwaa'n Chhuh Quluf
Bu Andreh Neirha 'xalha Teh Praave ha Mukti
Yuh Kuss Sana Meh Nebire kin Baras Divaa'n Chhuh Quluf
Suh Draav Xangih Magar Baangih Phyoor Ma Wapas
Yohai Sawaal Kudurr Mei Dohai Prixhan Chhuh Quluf
Kuja Subhai Kat'hay ' Shankh Darood Aaese Grezaa'n/
Kuja Yih Waq Zih Kunuy Zonn Kuner Gewaa'n Chhuh Quluf
Vujaar Khasteh Laray Az Tih Lov Pewaa'n Subhai
Wudaaese Braan'd Chhuh Shehlaa'n Ander Dazaa'n Chhuh Quluf
Pewaa'n Chhih Laashih ' Andere Wenih Chhuh Karbala Jaaeri
Purann Chhih Soge Karaa'n ' Marsiyah Paraa'n Chhuh Quluf
Ujab Bahabeh Suh Maskhar Chhuh Roop Badlaawa'n
Vuchha'n Tufaan Tasende Dum Karith Asaa'n Chhuh Quluf
Safar Shinaakh Teh Preznathh Dafan Chhih Malbas Tal
Makaan Khaak Sapudnut Teh La Makaa'n Chhuh Quluf
How can the tongueless lock express its unbearable pain
Soaked in sorrowfulness and enduring the killer drabbing
That old key and its spin and the pale scar
The hollow body lives but a rusty life
I would outstep myself and run for attaining freedom
Who is this who is locking my door from the outside
He left in the evening but didn’t turn up till daybreak
This is the stinging query that the lock keeps raising
Whither are those morning prayers in mosques and chimes of the temple bells
And now the lock sings of only its loneliness
The desert house still is kissed by soothing dew
The saddened threshold is comforted but burns inside
The bodies fall to bullets inside and the karbala is still on
The plot meant for house is condemned to mourn and the lock to weep and wail
Strange pretences: the clown is changing his colours
Facing its slaps the lock is laughing up its sleeve
The journey and identity are buried under rubble
The house has been burnt to ashes and the lock has attained eternity
—Translated from Kashmiri by the poet
Bashir Ahmad Dada, Jammu & Kashmir
Bashir Ahmad Dada is an acclaimed actor, playwright and poet. His early Kashmiri poetry has an existentialist streak. He weaves together the themes of love, anarchy, politics and nostalgia in his work.
It Is Night Since Ages
blood red lips–
lips, redden.
more and more.
tongues of fire touch heavens
door and windows, piled high–
and higher,
shadows drip on
roofs one with the floor.
it is night since ages.
our blood boils–
greens are steaming–
add red of chilis, mint,
and other herbs,
grown, not in our beloved soil–
no, it is not the meal we need,
or crave or want.
but we consume,
like hounds
war sits in our mouths,
an ancient sore, as old as god–
god, it has been ages,
since we kissed like humans,
ages of feeding fire,
that touches heavens,
we are as cold as hell.
Ather Zia, Jammu & Kashmir
Ather Zia is a political anthropologist, poet, short fiction writer and columnist. She is the author of 'Resisting Disappearances: Military Occupation and Women’s Activism in Kashmir'; the founder-editor of Kashmir Lit and co-editor of 'Cultural Anthropology'.
