CHINAR SHADE: TWO VIEWS OF KASHMIR AND A POEM OF ALI SARDAR JAFRI .

Thursday, February 25, 2010

TWO VIEWS OF KASHMIR AND A POEM OF ALI SARDAR JAFRI .

For this post I have uploaded three views of Kashmir and a poem of Ali Sardar Jafri. Jafri sahib recited this poem in many gatherings in India and abroad . I have already conveyed that Nobel Laureate Pablo Neruda was his personal friend and Jafri Sahib even taught him Urdu .I would like my readers to read the poem "Asia Jaag uthaa "and enjoy the realistic presentation of of Asia put forth SARDAR ( As he was Popularly known all over ). This has also been one amongst my favourite poems . A photograph of Ali Sardar jafri with Pandit Nehru has also been uploaded .

(Asia Awakens )

This is the soil of Asia,
The womb of civilisation,
The land of culture.
It was here that
The sun opened its eyes.
It was here that
The first dawn of humanity
Unveiled its beauty.
It was here that
Ancient ages lighted
Their lamps of science and wisdom.

It was from this height that
The Vedas sang their happy songs.
From here did the Buddha
Teach the lesson of equality.
From here did Mazdak
Sing the songs of love and justice.
The winds of our history
Have heard the words of the Christ.
Our sun has shone
On the head of Mohammed.
This is the soil
Which has borne
The sheaves of grain;
it is as ancient
As the story of mankind;
It is as majestic
As the tall peaks of Himalayas;
It is as beautiful
As the nymphs of Ajanta
It is as generous
As the kind waters
Of the Ganges and the Nile;
This fertile lap is filled
With children and flowers.

Our heritage extends
From Mohenjo Daro
To the great wall of China,
Our history, from the Taj
To the pyramids of Giza,
Our treasures, from Babylon
To Nineveh.
Since our childhood,
Eloquence has kissed our lips,
And poetry sung lullabies to us.
Our tongues have learnt
The Vedas, Gospels and the Quran.
Our imagination has already touched
Those soaring heights, where shine
The suns of Firdausi and Saadi,
Nizami, Khayyam and Hafiz;
The heights, where hold sway
Valmiki, the revered Tulsi,
Kabeer and Surdas;
The heights, where resound
The lute of Iqbal,
The songs of Tagore.
***
This is the soil of Asia,
The womb of civilisation,
The land of culture,
Her peasant, a wooden plough
In his aged hands;
Her poor workers
With burning, tired eyes;
Ships, sailors, songs, storms,
Potters, blacksmiths,
Milkmaids bathed in milk;
Old story tellers,
Sitting round a fire;
Innocent faces of little children
Safe in their mothers' laps;
Fields of ripe crops,
Cows and buffaloes;
Tinkling of glass bangles
In green fields;
Dreary deserts,
Silent and profound like prophets;
Flowing tresses of date palms;
Pomegranate flowers, mango blossoms;
Granaries, heaps of cow-dung cakes;
Dancing virgins of winding pathways.
Long and lovely rivers
Kissing with their waves
The tremblings lips of their banks;
Gentle waterfalls
At the slender waists
Of beauteous bridal valleys;
Blue bowls in mountain palms;
Stars reflecting in lake mirrors;
Loving arms
Of the Ganges and Jamuna
Round the neck
Of the Himalayas;
The shawl of blue ice
On the head of mountain storms.

This is Asia,
Young, fresh, and fertile,
Whose poor, penniless children,
Mute at the poisonous snake of hunger;
Their lips never tasted milk
After leavings their mothers' breasts;
Their tongues have never tasted
The bread of wheat;
Their backs have never felt
The touch of clean, white cloth;
Their hands have never held a book;
Their feet know nothing
Of shoes and slippers;
Their heads are strangers
To the soft delight of a pillow;
They regard their hunger
As their food:
These unique creatures
Will be found only
In the Paradise of Asia;
Still 'animals'
Even after three centuries
Of imperial 'civilisation.'

Where are you,
You bearers of the torch of 'culture'?
Come and see
The sideshow of your 'culture.'
***

Nowhere else will you see
Such pitiful faces.
Every corner of this earth,
You have filled with
Your regal memorials.
Here, you have reared
An arch of victory,
There, pillars of your arrogance;
Here, you have cast
Horses of bronze,
There, statues of stone:
But they do not represent
Your culture and civilisation.
Call your sculptors and painters,
To adorn your museums
With these pitiful faces,
As the lasting memorial
To your mighty deeds.

***
Now, in Asia we have
A forest of hands,
Fists of white marble,
Of dark granite.
O bride of the dawn of spring,
We are waiting to adorn you with
A fistful of twilight's vermilion,
Flowers of moon and stars,
Rouge of red sunbeams.

( Ali Sardar jafri )