In someone’s war, it’s someone else
Who’s caught in that crossfire,
As every year, it’s only clouds
Who weep for summer’s ire.
For months and years, for whom two words
Were two too many said,
That father too cried out his heart
Upon this bride’s attire.
Who keeps in mind the martyrdom
Of crackers later on,
Who’d turned to ash to light us up
Diwali night entire?
It’s best you keep your own advice,
O Misra, to yourself.
You seek in ink your remedy
And dare to preach the choir?
Translated from my Hindi poem, किसी और का जंग
kisī aur kā jang
kisī aur kā jang koī aur fastā hei laDāī mein
har baras bādal hī rotā hei dhūp kī safāī mein
jisne muddaton se do lafz bhī na bole the
us bāp kā bhī sīnā fūTā hei merī bidāī mein
kaun yād kartā hei un shahīdon ko diwālī ke bād
vo paTākhe jo fanā ho gayīn nūr aFzāī mein
behtar hei terā mashvarā tere pās hi rakh Misra
tu vo marīz hei jo davā DHūnDHta hei siyāhī mein
Minakhi Misra 