Category: Poems

We could have met, if you had stayed.
Some bonds we could have now remade.

Some shattered dreams lie at my door.
But at your feet, my heart would’ve laid.

So many nights you stared at it.
That birthmark you could have surveyed.

This garden owes its life to you.
You too could, here, have blossomed red.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, इतने दिनों बाद…

itne dinon bād…

āye the to ruk ke mil lete
kuch rishtein dobārā sil lete

sapne choukhaT pe toD gaye par
wapas tohFa-e-dil lete

jo dekh kayīn shab guzre the
Fir wo nazārā-e-til lete

ye bāG tumne hī sajāyā thā
rukte to tum bhī khil lete

About a thousand bets I’ve lost.
Often against myself I’ve lost.

I’d wagered just a brick at first,
And now a wall entire I’ve lost.

A month or more had passed before
I realised her love I’ve lost.

What’s there to say about my pride?
I’ve saved my face; income, I’ve lost.

Pursuing fame, I never looked
Behind to see the springs I’ve lost.

So busy I’ve been within my Self,
O Misra, my Supreme I’ve lost.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, हार चुका हूँ

hār chukā hūn

shartein karīb hazār hār chukā hūn
main Khud se itnī bār hār chukā hūn

shurū mein īnT rakkhī thī dāv pe
ab to pūrī dīvār hār chukā hūn

mahinā guzar gayā thā jab tak
jānā ki uskā pyār hār chukā hūn

apne gurūr kī kyā hī bāt karūn
nāk bachāke rozgār hār chukā hūn

nām ke chakkar mein mud ke na dekhā
pīcHe kitne bahār hār chukā hūn

khud mein itnā masrūf rahā ‘Misra’
apnā parvardigār hār chukā hūn

With all my innocence forgotten,
I’m blinded, Sacred Light forgotten.

I daily dress in pricey silks,
A million martyred worms forgotten.

Why does Nightingale grace my home
At dusk, her sky-high home forgotten?

To free her from this world was hard,
The sparkling of her eyes forgotten.

I oft forget to talk to her
Who talked to me, my pranks forgotten.

I stay away from all her mail,
Her dazed, hypnotic scrawl forgotten.

I’m grateful, Misra, for them now,
Whose kindness, so far, I’d forgotten.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, भुला कर

bhulā kar

ho chukā hūn apnī nadānī bhulā kar
andhā Khudāī daraKhshānī bhulā kar

resham ke kapDon mein sajtā hūn har din
karoDon kīDon kī Kurbāni bhulā kar

āti hei kyon mere makān pe wo bulbul
har shām apnī makān āsmānī bhulā kar

mushkil tha jahān se rihā karnā usko
uskī wo niGāhein nūrānī bhulā kar

bhūl jātā hūn aksar bāt karne us se jo
bāt kartī rahī har shaitānī bhulā kar

dūr rehtā rahā uske har khat se main bhī
wo likhāwaT uskī mastānī bhulā kar

hūn shukar guzār unkā is pal mein ‘Misra’
jiyā hūn jinkī meherbānī bhulā kar

Muslim to choose? Hindu to choose?
Both, Arms of God. Which one to choose?

Again my fortune’s coin is flipped.
Again no clue which side to choose.

Beloved’s scent or Mother’s bread.
I don’t know which fragrance to choose.

What beauty trickles off her that
I’ve cups or cupping hands to choose?

But who will choose me face-to-face?
Why meet her face-to-face to choose?

My venom-thirst, unquenched by verse,
Has snake or scorpion to choose.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, चुनूँ

chunūn

musalmān chunūn ya hindū chunūn
KHudā ka hī hei jo bāzū chunūn

phir ucHlā hei āj kismat kā sikkā
phir na patā kaunsā pehlū chunūn

sanam kā itr yā mān ke parānthe
chunūn bhi to kaunsi khushbū chunūn

kaunsā husn tapak rahā hei uskā
ki paimānā cHoD ke chullū chunūn

mujhe kaun hi ru-ba-ru chunegī
main kya kisī ko ru-ba-ru chunūn

zahar kī talab na bujhī sher se
sānp chunūn ya bicHū chunūn

I’d grant your wish, but there’s no time.
I’d pluck the moon, but there’s no time.

I know “I’m busy” vexes you.
I’d hear your pleas, but there’s no time.

Upon your pic in saree-look,
I’d pinch sindoor, but there’s no time.

If I could care for revenue,
I’d start up too, but there’s no time.

I gave the page my hours since dawn.
I’d give you dusk, but there’s no time.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, वक़्त नहीं है

waqt nahīn hei

KHāhish pūri kar detā par waqt nahīn hei
utār ke Kamar detā par waqt nahīn hei

jāntā hūn is masrūFiyat se shiKwe hein
shiKwon ko nazar detā par waqt nahīn hei

tumne sāDi mein bhejī hei taswīr apnī
usmein sindūr bhar detā par waqt nahīn hei

mujhe paDī hotī rozgārī kī agar
khol apnā daFtar detā par waqt nahīn hei

main subah se baiTha hūn kāgaz pe ‘Misra’
tujhe dopahar detā par waqt nahīn hei

Say what you will, certain it is
That Poetry’s odd. Fun, it is.

Though Writing is Worship for me,
You say my prideful run it is.

No habit drives my daily couplets.
Predestination it is.

Just let me keep composing lines.
Whatever your deal, done it is.

Come, feel what blows through windows here.
The zephyr of passion it is.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, सुरूर-ए-शायरीसुरूर-ए-शायरी

surūr-e-shāyarī

Jāne jo kaho ye to zarūr hei
shāyarī ka alag hi surūr hai

ibādat hei Gazalein likHna magar
tum kehte ho merā ye Gurūr hei

rozānā sheron kā bunnā bunwānā
ye ādat nahīn merā dastūr hei

ijāzat do jumle kasta rahūn main
koi shart phir do wo manzūr hei

khol ke khiDki khud dekh lo tum
jo beh rahā Fizā-e-Fitūr hei

Of blossoms on a thorn, beware.
Of certainty in doubt, beware.

She daily comes to steal your songs.
Of thieving Nightingale, beware.

Afraid of Beauty’s Rākhi strings?
Of finger-wrapping curls, beware.

She’ll leave it burning in the end.
Upon this bridge of love, beware.

He’ll pardon, Misra, all your sins.
Of Meeting the Supreme, beware.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, बचके रहियो

bachke rahiyo

kānTe pe khilī gul se bachke rahiyo
shak mein cHipe bilkul se bachke rahiyo

terā gānā churāne ātī hai har din
Is luTerī bulbul se bachke rahiyo

hasīnā ke rākhī se dūr bhāgne wāle
hasīnā ke kākul se bachke rahiyo

ākhir mein jalāke jāyegī mehbūbā
is mohabbat ke pul se bachke rahiyo

tere sab gunāh Khudā baksh degā ‘Misra’
moukā-e-takābul se bachke rahiyo

Does no one hear me, these walls excepted?
My ghazals are worthy, complaints excepted.

Why don’t you come and see my room
Where all’s kept well, my oaths excepted.

The roses are glad of my books’ embraces –
Their only home, your gardens excepted.

There’s nothing you can’t rely on here,
My sweet-sweet words, of course, excepted.

You’ll lose your all against me soon
With nothing to bet, emotions excepted.

To know me, Misra, come with me
Where no one is, ourselves excepted.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, “सिवाय…”

sivāy…

koi to sun lo in divāron ke sivā
kuch ghazal hein mere shikwon ke sivā

kabhi āo dekho merā kamrā yahān
sab barābar rakhtā hūn vādon ke sivā

meri kitābon se mil kar khush hein gulāb
ki ghar hei inkā tere bāghon ke sivā

kuch nahin jispe bharosā na kar sako
meri in mīthi mīthi bāton ke sivā

sab hāroge mere sāmne kuch na hoga
dāv pe lagāne jāzbāton ke sivā

mujhe gar jān-na hai to sāth chalo ‘Misra’
jahān koi na ho hum donon ke sivā

Everyone’s simply loving this year!
And here I am complaining this year.

It’s time to change the tide of times;
My mischief’s still campaigning this year.

They’re busy making Dreams come True.
My Truth is Doomsday reigning this year.

Allowed to read out a line, Misra,
I waste it on profaning this year.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, “नया साल मुबारक”

nayā sāl mubārak

nae sāl mein sab mohabbat kar rahein hein
aur hum hein ki shikāyat kar rahein hein

waqt to aa gaya hai ki waqt badle
hum phir wahi sharārat kar rahein hein

log banānein chalein hein sapnein haqiqat
hum haqiqat hi qayāmat kar rahein hein

ijāzat thi padhnein ko ek hi misra
hum fir touhīn-e-ijāzat kar rahein hein

On closer look, a gift of yours it seems.
Relief of Revelation’s yours, it seems.

It’s only I who knows of why I broke.
To other men, a work of yours it seems.

No others ever send complaints of me.
The only ones I get are yours, it seems.

Now, even seasoned drunkards leave this place,
When they detect a drink of yours, it seems.

It’s just how things have always been with us.
I do the crime but blame is yours, it seems.

Here, keep this house. Someday, you’ll need it too,
Though now, to you, the world is yours, it seems.

I’ll somehow find myself a partner, O Misra.
The life of loneliness is yours, it seems.

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Translated from my Hindi poem, “तुम्हारा लगता है”

tumhārā lagtā hai

gaur karūn to inām tumhārā lagtā hai
ye rāhat-e-ilhām tumhārā lagtā hai

bas main jāntā hūn mere bikharne ka rāz
zamāne ko to kām tumhārā lagtā hai

hai nahīn kisī aur ko shikāyat mujhse
lagtā hai toh ilzām tumhārā lagtā hai

bhāg jāte hain sharābzāde bhī yahān se
galti se bhī gar jām tumhārā lagtā hai

kab se hi aise hotā ā rahā hai nā
jurm main kartā hūn nām tumhārā lagtā hai

rakh lo is ghar ko kabhī zarūrat hogī
tumhein jahān tamām tumhārā lagtā hai

DHūnDH hi lūngā koī aur humsafar Misra
tanhāyi par anjām tumhārā lagtā hai