न पूछिए ...

Na Poochhiye . . .

Dedicated to the loving memory of my distant uncle Shri Madan Mohan Madhok ji, whom I never met in person yet I took a deep liking to him in our short lived interactions on Facebook. I could not bring myself to say anything else in these sad times ...

Presented below is essentially a literal English translation of this ghazal. A lot of effort and ability is required to carry over the charm of poetic expression and aesthetic value present in any original work into another language. I am afraid I do not have this ability. Yet I wanted to reach out to a wider audience. So even at the risk of sounding dull, I have attempted, by the way of this translation, to somehow try to covey the underlying idea of the ghazal however coarse it may seem though. I deeply lament that I could not preserve the allure of metre and rhythm that form the very soul of any ghazal in this translation. I offer my humble apologies to my readers for these poetic failings.

Don't Ask

Now that he has come alive in my heart
My speech reeks of rebellious pain 
Don't ask me where I have to go

The journey itself has become my abode

What's this self awareness that I 've found?

The whole world seems alien to me

Please linger on somewhere once you are out of my sight

It is now time for me to move on

There are no worldly pleasures or any other joy

Ever since my conscience has revealed itself to me 
Your thought was like some careless peace of mind
Where should I look for it now that it has hidden itself within me

The distress born out of desires does not go down my throat

Look at the things that I've narrated

                                                                                        - Ishu Priye

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