Wonder if there is anyone out there to hear this virtual tree falling.
But I hear there is a time for everything.
“A time to give birth, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to uproot what is planted. A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to tear down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to throw stones, and a time to gather stones; A time to embrace, and a time to shun embracing. A time to search, and a time to give up as lost; A time to keep, and a time to throw away. A time to tear apart, and a time to sew together; A time to be silent, and a time to speak. A time to love, and a time to hate; A time for war, and a time for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1–8)
Now seems the time to blog.
On my handle. I permit myself here to interpret Saahir Ludhiyanvi‘s words for the (Hindi) movie Kabhi Kabhi, and provide my own context to them.
The unawoken poet sings:
“mai pal do pal kaa shaayar hoo, pal do pal meree kahaanee hain
pal do pal meree hastee hai, pal do pal meree jawaanee hain
muz se pahale kitane shaayar, aaye aaur aakar chale gaye
kuchh aahe bhar kar laut gaye, kuchh nagmei gaa kar chale gaye
wo bhee ek pal kaa kissaa the, main bhee ek pal kaa kissaa hoo
kal tum se judaa ho jaaoongaa, wo aaj tumhaaraa hissaa hoo
kal aaur aayenge, nagmon kee khilatee kaliyaa chunanewaale
muz se behatar kahanewaale, tum se behatar sunanewaale
kal koee muz ko yaad kare, kyo koee muz ko yaad kare
masaruf jamaanaa mere liye, kyo wakt apanaa barabaad kare”
[I’m a poet of a moment or two, my tale tells for a moment or two
My existence spans a moment or two, my youth is a moment or two
Before me several poets have come and gone
Some sighed sighs and departed, some sang ballads and left
Their’s was the story of a moment, mine is the story of a moment
Tomorrow I’ll be separated from you, but today I’m part of you
Tomorrow there’ll appear more, pickers of blossoming flowers of songs
That say it better than me, that listen better than you
Tomorrow some might remember me; why should anyone remember me?
The absorbed world, why should it squander it’s time for me?]
On awakening, the poet sings:
“Maein Har Ek Pal Ka Shaayar Hoon, Har Ek Pal Meri Kahani Hai
Har Ek Pal Meri Hasti Hai, Har Ek Pal Meri Jawaani Hai
Rishton Ka Roop Badalta Hai, Buniyaden Khatam Nahin Hoti
Khwabon Ki Aur Umango Ki, Miyaden Khatam Nahin Hoti
Ek Phool Mein Tera Roop Basa Ek Phool Mein Meri Jawaani Hai
Ek Chehra Teri Nishaani Hai, Ek Chehra Meri Nishaani Hai
Tujhko Mujhko Jeevan Amrit, Ab In Haathon Se Peena Hai
Inki Dhadkan Mein Basna Hai, Inki Saanson Mein Jeena Hai
Tu Apni Adaen Baksh Inhen Maein Apni Wafaen Deta Hoon
Jo Apne Liye Sochi Thi Kabhi, Woh Saari Duaen Deta Hoon”
[I’m the poet of every moment, My tale is of every moment
I exist in every moment, every moment is my youth
Forms of relationships change, their foundations remain intact
Dreams and aspirations, their durations do not expire
Your beauty lives on in one flower, my youth in another
One face bears your features, and another mine
You and I have to drink the elixir of life now with these hands
Make a home in their heartbeats, live in their breaths
You grant them your charms, I give them my fidelities
What I had once wished for myself, (I) give them all those blessings.]
I am no poet, and of unawoken poets I stake no claim to the noun.