• The Boy There   -   Arpana Agarwal,
• The Ghost  -  Arpana Agarwal,
• Midnight Song  -  Faiz Ahmad Faiz
• Let There Be Some Clouds  -  Faiz Ahmad Faiz
• End Of The Rain Stones  -  Faiz Ahmad Faiz
• Nothing To Be Said  -  Philip Larkin
• The Importance Of Elsewhere  -  Philip Larkin

THE BOY THERE:

He was sitting there
so fragile and preciously small ,
He gurgled , crooned and cried
I touched his face
And the dark tender flesh lit up
Like a shooting star piercing through the night
It blazed momentarily , then died.

He was the cement carrier's child
Youngest of Nine
Naked in a world of Dirt and Grime
He was only a child .
Unaware of raucaus cranes and bulldozers
He sucked on his finger
His black face amidst a more blemished society
Like the serenity of flowers in the wild

I gave him the biscuit , I had to
At first shy , then just humanly hungry
he took it between his baby teeth
Not all of it , just a tiny bite
He tasted it , relished it
Savoured it , like a demi-tasse' of exotic brew
Like caviar . It was only a biscuit
Something that we all deem so trite .

It took him aeons to devour the treat
He never asked for more
He smiled - his manner of gratitude
And I felt a million galaxies prance in cheer!
I had to go , touched his face again
Said a silent prayer ; and wondered
of the Wonderland he lived in - an Ironical World
And to what purpose Man is living here ?

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THE GHOST:

I believe I saw his ghost.
It was cold,
And he was old,
and tired , with sagging flesh on fettered bones .

He lurked about the church tower
In a tattered gown,
That was button-down,
He hustled restlessly about his big brass bell

The fireflies lit up his hollow face
I was afraid,
And awe amazed,
to confirm that such a presence did really exist;

I think he felt my presence near the rusted gate
he saw me clear,
I spotted a tear ,
That seemed unbecoming on an ectoplasmic form;

I could have guessed who he was -
The bill ringer,
Young choir singer,
Who lived and died alone in the shack behind the church wall.

I felt his sad eyes fall upon my state
They were in pain'
Not of material gain,
But of total lack of human love and care;

I was but a traveller passing by
But my disbelieving stare,
To chance by him there,
Didn't seem to bother his bell polishing routine;

I felt I was trespassing - an intruder
I rose to leave ,
And he sought to heave,
An eerie sigh of once forgotten companionship;

He wished me to stay and watch
His unspoken plea,
Of camaraderie,
I sat mesmerized that I had heard his thoughts;

At dawn , I had fallen into listless sleep,
so , the night did seem,
A fascinating dream,
Until I saw him depart into the misty shack at the church wall !

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Midnight Song

Midnight, moon, self-forgetfulness -
desolate is the theatre of being.
Silence is desire's vesture
and sad the conclave of stars.
This ceasless cataract of tranquility -
oblivion reigns all around
as though existence is a mere fragment of a dream
and the entire world a mirage.

On the clustered treetops
the jaded cry of moonlight sleeps.
With half-shut eyes, the constellations
seem to articulate my meek payer to you.
Through the mute heart-strings
filters the intoxication
that swells to ecstasy.

Desire, dream, your beautiful face!


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LET THERE BE SOME CLOUDS

Let there be some clouds, some wine
and then if retribution follows, who cares?

Let the moon descend to the terrace
and in the cup-bearers palm appear the sun.

Let candles light up in every blood-vein
as she appears, her face unveiled.

On every page of the book of life, my heart saw
a sequence of the cantos of your kindness and loyalty.

Counting today the sorrows of this world -
endlessly I remembered you.

Never could I challenge your love's supremacy
even though revolt has been my heart's daily wont.

Up in flames went my rival's concourse - roof and doors,
each time my destitute self showed up there.

Such was the resonance of my silence,
it seemed answers echoed from all directions.

Fully triumphant was my life's journey, O Faiz,
success greeted me wherever I went.


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END OF THE RAIN STONES

Suddenly, today, sundered from my vision's thread,
lay splintered in the sky the sun and the moon.
Now there'll be no light or darkness anywhere.
Extinguished, after me like the heart, is the path of
commitment -
friends, how ill it now fare with the caravan of pain?

Let somebody else now nurture the garden of sorrow;
friends, now has dried up the dew of the grieving eye,
now stalled frenzy's uproar, the rain of stones.
Today the pathway's dust carries the tint of the beloved's lips,
and there stands unfurled, in her lane, the banner of my blood.

Let's see which ones will be called out after I'm gone -
"Let's see who stands up to the fatal intoxication of love,
for I still hear, from the cupbearer, the call for another round after I'm gone."

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NOTHING TO BE SAID:

For nations vague as weed,
For nomads among stones,
Small-statured cross-faced tribes,
And cobble-close families,
In mill-towns on dark mornings,
life is slow dying.

So are their separate ways,
Of building, benediction,
Measuring of love and money,
Ways of slow dying.
The day spent hunting pig,
Or holding a garden-party.

Hours giving evidence,
Or birth, advance
On death equally slowly.
And saying so to some,
Means nothing; others it leaves,
Nothing to be said.

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THE IMPORTANCE OF ELSEWHERE:

Lonely in Ireland, since it was not home,
Strangeness made sense. The salt rebuff of speech,
Insisting so on difference, made me welcome:
Once that was recognized, we were in touch.

Their draughty streets, end-on to hills, the faint,
Archaic smell of dock land, like a stable,
the herring hawker's cry, dwindling, went
To prove me separate, not unworkable.

Living in England has no such excuse:
These are my customs and establishments,
It would be much more serious to refuse.
Here no elsewhere underwrites my existence.
 

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