There was a thunderclap in the sky,

And heavy sheets rained icicles

over the sandstone cenotaph,

where I sat wrapped

in remembrance of my forbears 

 who left me alone

in this world of events

very long ago.

The soporific chanting of our village priest

Was drowned by the golden Oriole

perched on a tall bough above

Who inquired 

‘Why light another funeral pyre?

To choke the rosebuds

in the fullness of youth?’

‘The seasons will pass

And we must go away,

Imagine the elongated ennui

Of endlessness,’ said the Koyal

‘Why do you grieve?

Life follows a cyclical pattern

Like  roulette in a brightly lit casino

‘My little ones too have flown away

They are there on the bough

Of a flowering mango tree

And fly past my searching eyes

Into starlit skies;

I look on sadly

when they pass me by

with expressionless looks

as if we had never met at all

But I sing for you in and out of season

Till my wings become heavy and I cannot fly.

Why do you cause this sepulchral spectacle

Did you not know that the world is circular;

We go up and we come down.

The ritual priests should have told you so

But they lost their learning long ago.

 

 

All is lost, for the battlements are reduced to rubble.

Time, our greatest foe, is at the watergate.

The loyalists have undone the locks from within.

The defences have disintegrated.

The proud fortress has fallen.

I leave my throne room vacant with

its glittering chandelier lights,

my singing birds and dancing girls.

The falcon has left my wrist.

Shall I return to witness the ruins, my elephants

raising their trunks in salutation to my

coat of arms.

 

They tell me to hasten away from my kingdom by

river for safety under the cover of this night.

The journey will be along the river by a boat

propelled forth by eunuchs.

Hasten not, I caution them.

The cause for calculation has ended.

Let me look again at these ancient ramparts

and the golden domes of my prayer hall.

I turn back to see an entirety smothered in smoke

as the boatman carries me away.

 

 

Lagta nahin hai ji mera ujde dayar mein

Kiski bani hai aalam-e-napaidar mein

Bulbul ko baagban se na sayyad se gila

Qismat mein qaid thi likhi fasl-e-bahar mein

Keh do in hasraton se kahin aur ja basein

Itni jagah kahan hai dil-e-daghdaar mein

Ek shakh-e-gul pe baith ke bulbul hai shadmaan

Kante bichha diye hain dil-e-lalazaar mein

Umar-e-daraaz maang ke laaye thhey chaar din

Do aarzoo mein kat gaye do intizaar mein

Din zindagi ke khatam huye shaam ho gayee

Phaila ke paon soyenge kunj-e-mazaar mein

Kitna hai badnaseeb 'Zafar' dafan ke liye

Do gaz zameen bhi na mili ku-e-yaar mein

 

                                

 

Incarcerated in a wasteland

amidst a crescendo of despair

the nightingale sings her seasonal song

unmindful of the pain I bear.

She serenades her hunter

in the blossoming gardens beneath

swinging from bough to bough above

as my mind wonders from heath to heath.

I once prayed for life to extend itself

to savour the myriad colours of hope

instead, the hours fragmented themselves

scattering obsessive longing in their wake.

Bleeding with a lacerated heart

enabled to welcome pain no more

I direct all desire to some other haunt

to traverse another shore.

The breath of life is passing swift

with shadows flickering upon my grave

I, the accursed Bahadur Shah Zafar,

denied in death a resting place

in the beloved land I ruled,

I take leave of you now

as there is nothing beyond the end.