Retreated from the world, because
with none I get along.
In loneliness I learned, with me
I hardly get along.
I made myself an island then,
entirely of myself.
Now, with these naughty surging waves
I hardly get along.
I’m used to diving into books,
and swimming in their depths.
Now, with the heights of bookcastles
I hardly get along.
It’s good I lost my papers old.
Now, Hindi has my heart.
With those romantic English rhymes,
I hardly get along.
Translated from my Hindi poem, जमती नहीं
jamtī nahīn
zamāne se dūr huā ki kisī se jamtī nahīn
tanhāyī mein jānā ki merī mujh hī se jamtī nahīn
apne ko āp hī mein ek zazīrā banā diyā magar
ab in lehron kī naTkHaT dillagī se jamtī nahīn
ādat thī kitābon kī gehraiyon mein Dūbne kī
ab unse banī Tile kī unchāyī se jamtī nahīn
acHā huā purāne Kāgaz Gum ho gaye Misra
Hindī pe dil ā gayā he angrezī se jamtī nahīn
Minakhi Misra 