जब वो ख़ामोश नज़र से मुझे देखती है,
कुछ कहते-कहते न जाने कहाँ खो जाती है।
जब मैं उससे नज़रें मिलाकर कहता हूँ —
“कुछ तो बात है जो आप बताना चाहती हैं,”
झुकी हुई पलकों से वो मुँह मोड़ लेती है,
फिर धीरे से, एक झूठ ही सही, बोल देती है।
कुछ कहना होता तो कह देती,
पर न जाने क्यों, यह बात मुझे बेमानी लगती है।
Step over step, as I move further into my life,
I find one name written across my memories.
Winds and floods of troubles passed over you,
yet it stays intact — my finest memory.
Someday, somehow, it was meant to be:
that we would meet, and become good friends.
Now, when I pour out my silence,
I always remember you, my friend.
In a moment of darkness,
you hold me in your caress;
and in a moment of dullness,
one name draws close to me again.
Some of my greatest memories are these —
those little but sweet fights with you,
the whispered words of love,
and how I loved to share my everything with you.
जब कभी मैं ख़ामोश होता हूँ,
किसी दुख के अँधेरे में खो-सा जाता हूँ —
मुझे एक आवाज़, एक हँसी सुनाई देती है:
वो एक तुम्हारी मुस्कुराहट…
लगता है, एक आदत-सी हो गई है
मुझे सपनों में गुम हो जाने की —
इसलिए, कि मुझे मिली थी वो ख़ुशी,
शायद वो तुम्हारी एक मुस्कुराहट की…
कभी-कभी चेहरों में ढूँढता रहता हूँ,
मिल जाए मुझे फिर वैसी कोई हँसी —
मगर नहीं, कोई मिली अभी तक:
वो एक मुस्कुराहट — जानी-अनजानी — मेरी एक दोस्त की…
This is for someone I have come to know — someone who has become a part of my world. To give a name to every relationship is difficult, so in the verse below I try to express a few of my untouched memories with that person — without, of course, disclosing her name.
I often say a few words,
but your answer silences my world.
When I stand, sad, in a corner,
your unspoken touch heals me.
I set things wrong for myself,
but you correct them, and feel me;
I hide, trying to run from life,
and you come close, and love me.
When I ask, “Who am I to you?”
I hear your unanswered, eternal truth.
My friend — do I matter to you?
Your eyes ache just to hear it.
I searched for a truth, and for you —
and God gave me both, in you.
And when I call you with my silence,
once again, your answer silences my world…
When peace takes hold of me,
far from anything I desire,
alone, at my very best —
I hear the words of silence.
I ask: is this it?
My soul echoes back: live it.
Sitting in the corner, unfelt,
I feel the power of silence.
I lay my speech bare,
with a tender flinch;
but something empowered me,
and I found it in a crowd of silence.
I am lowered by the feelings,
and settle back into the voyage;
but a charisma is meant to happen —
and I am travelling through peace, in silence.
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है!
मैं खो न जाऊँ इसमें कहीं!
जब हम भी अनसुना करते थे —
आज हम भी हुए, तो ऐसा क्या है!
ना जाने इस बार क्या ख़ास बात है…
अकेले-से दिख रहे हैं चेहरे कई,
कुछ कह रहे हैं, लेकिन कई कुछ नहीं;
लगता है, भीड़ की तन्हाई ही ऐसी है।
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है;
सोचता हूँ, मैं भी भीड़ ही बन जाऊँ —
अपने जाने-पहचाने कुछ चेहरे थे,
बेगानी-सी भीड़ में छुपे हैं, वो भी।
ना जाने इसमें क्या बात है —
भीड़ में खोए हम, तब भी कुछ याद है;
भूले नहीं जिसे हम कभी भी,
वही हमारी तन्हाई की याद है।
ना जाने क्यों भीड़ कुछ ज़्यादा है;
हैं इस इंतज़ार में हम भी, मगर —
शायद कोई पुकारे भीड़ से हमें,
तोड़े ये पल-पल मारता अँधेरा।
I see so much in a still face —
sometimes lost, sometimes struggling for a way;
they hold a secret sadness, every face,
and seem, especially, to be looking for a way to cry.
I feel it when I see a downcast face:
it is losing its joy with every hurt,
painting over a memory of every phase,
hiding itself behind every fake.
I speak to every downcast face —
not with words, but with a glance.
I hesitate to face that estate,
because I lack the ease to move at that free pace.
But I am in love with one face —
unknown to me, yet a dream, I say;
struggling to find it, in any case,
and leaving it a choice to make my fate.
A long, unsleeping night,
a day that never sees its dawn,
a light that never reaches its destination —
just shades of a darker, all-too-real life.
He is not so distant from you,
yet a bridge still stands between you;
he is not afraid of fate or fortune —
but why is he so different now?
His questions are a paranoid memory,
needing a listener to be shared;
control is not all that he needs.
Is he searching for the unsaid question?
Rise above all the bargaining and melancholy —
darkness is all he loves now.
You give him sorrow; he confronts it.
At least it’s hate she is still giving him.
Ashes from a past of fire —
some through my eyes, some upon old wounds.
Unknown fragments of who I was,
perhaps reborn somewhere,
have begun to dominate my present.
I justify myself — but am I really immune?
Ciphers and deep secrets speak,
and I am lost somewhere within them.
It was never friendly to me —
all this taking and throwing away,
crossing the river, left undone at last,
trying every effort to subdue my deeds,
to dub over that lost ray of what came before.
But I have shaken it off — all of it — again, alone.
I was wrong, and somewhere, so were you…
Things were never as bad as they seemed.
A few uttered words of my soul,
and a few of hers, dissolved it all—
the unnamed thing we had between us.
Hope is all I can do, and all I have now.
Things will be the same again someday;
I’ll hold the same dreams in my eyes
and taste those tears of joy once more.
I’ll hear those words one day—
but silence is all I assume for now.
I’ve heard it often: time heals all wounds.
But feeling—can it ever be surpassed?
This is the one thing I know, after all of this:
some things will never bend to your will.
So I let go of all my complaining—
forgive me, because I was wrong.