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Thus Spake The Fish:Satyapal Anand

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Satyapal Anand

 

THUS SPAKE THE FISH

 

 

 

Thus spake the fish to the dwellers of the deep

Take heed, O brothers

How this, our ocean was once clean

How dirty has it become – a muddy pond!

Wasn’t it but a recent event

That gods of heaven and demons of earth

Joined hands to churn it up

In an unholy ‘manthuna’?

Used air blowers to awaken the fire demons asleep in the deep

Fired up a hearth of cascading earthquakes!

Where was the elixir of life –

Indeed where was it?

What they found was poison –

Poison that broke the surface

And now boils and broils all life forms.

Where are the nymphs – my sisters of yore

That played with the waves?

 

Thus spake the half-dead fish

To the half-dead dwellers of the deep.

Take heed, my friends

We’re but dead already.

The demons and gods have used a ruse-

To churn up the ocean

And to turn it into a mud heap.

The Poet
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Satyapal Anand

Wapsi 
By Satyapal Anand

A poem expressing feelings of the poet following a visit to his birthplace after 52 years. Professor Satyapal Anand visited his native village Kot Sarang, Tehsil Talagang, District Chakwal, Punjab, Pakistan for the first time after his migration to India.


Tang pathreeli gali ne chaunk kar awaz di
-Shayid wuhi hai!
Dhoop, jo aahistgi se seeRhian chaRtey huey
Bey-dam si shayid thak gai thi, aik lehza ruk gai
-Kiya waqayi whoh aa raha hai?

Zouf ki maari huyi booRhi hawa ne popley munh se kaha Main uski khushbu soongh sakti hun
Wuhi nat-khat hai, wapis aa raha hai!

BooRhey darwazon ki aankhen band theen
-Kuchh bhi nazar aata nahin, shayid wuhi ho!

Uskey bachpan ka khilanDra dost, ik kancha
Jo pichhlet saaTh barson sey

Gali key aik koney main manoN maTTi key neechey so raha tha Kulbali kar cheeKh uTha,
Al-madad! Koyi mujhey bahir nikalo!
Haan, wuhi hai, dhoop boli,
Par who bachcha jisko main pehchanti thi
Aaney waley mard dil main kahiN gum ho gaya hai.

BooRhey darwazon ne aankheN khol deeN
-Pehchantey hain ham isey, laRka wuhi hai
Baap ki maaNind lamba ho gaya hai!

Tang pathreeli gali boli,
-Main kitni peeRhion se
Nanhey qadmoN ke baRey hotey huay sab naqsh
Apney jism par sambhaal kar rakhti rahi huN.

CheeKhta kancha manoN maTTI ke neechey ro diya 
-Main kaisey nikluN?
Aur phhir booRhi hawa jo dam-bakhud si ruk gayi
thi Khilkhila kar haNs paRi
-Aao, zara deikheN,
Tumhare gall, aaNken, baal, chehra to wuhi hai
Itni muddat tak kahaN gum ho gaye thay?
Ab kaho aaya karo gay?

"It is a matter of great privilege
and pleasure for me to inform you
that my English poem titled
"Thus Spake the Fish" has won the
Distinguished Award and the Third
Cash Prize of $2,000 in an international
competition held by the U.N.
sponsored Committee for
Earth Preservation Day Celebrations.
The poem was originally written in English
but I've now translated it into Urdu
and it will appear in one of the many
magazine that I contribute to.
The subject is framed in the
Hindu mythological context of
the gods and demons churning up
the oceans and
finding - alas! only poison, no
elixir of life, thus making all creatures
 of the deep, high and low,
big and small, to die."
 
Satyapal Anand.

Fragrance of Moments

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Few years back Dr Satyapal Anand

visited Pakistan and cordially received

by the writers at Islamabad,

Rawalpindi and Lahore. He delivered

lectures and recited his poems

in different meetings. A meeting of

Halqa Arbab e Zauq was also held

at Iqbal Hall Islamabad in his honor.

This meeting was presided over by

Zia Jalandhri. In this picture

M. Hameed Shahid is reading a

paper on Anand's poetry and on

black board in back view details

of meeting can be seen with date

appearing as 06.03.1999.

The Return


The narrow, stony street was startled, and it spoke:
'Perhaps it is him.'
The sunlight gently moving up, step by step,
Paused for a moment,
As if it were tired and wanted to get its breath back.
'Is it really he who is come?'
It asked.

The wind, its strength failing like an old woman's
Spoke in its crone's voice:
'I can smell his nice familiar smell;
He was always the playful one, it must be him who's
come back.'

The old doors had gone to sleep, their eyes shut tight
'We see little, but maybe it is him,' they said. 

His old marble that he played with as a child,
Under tons of earth for sixty years it has lain,
Just around the corner where the street turned.
But today it suddenly came to life.
'O come to my aid, please,
Release me from my grave, O please,'
It said.

'Yes, it is him,' the sunshine said
'But it is not the child I knew,
Who's lost somewhere in the recesses of time.'

The old doors opened their eyes,
'We know him; it is the boy
Only he is grown tall like his father,'
They said.

The narrow, stony street spoke now,
'For all those years that are past,
I have preserved the imprint of your tiny feet on my
breast.'
His old marble that lay under tons of earth,
Now screamed,
'O let me get out!
Please get me out.'

Which was when the old woman wind
That had stopped in its tracks,
Burst out laughing;
'So, let's see who we've here," she said.
"Your cheeks, your eyes, your hair, your face
Nothing ,but nothing has changed.
But where have you been all these years?
Promise you will keep coming back.
Always."

A Club of Urdu Writers

Mohabatien
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Mohammad Hameed Shahid

Mohammad Hameed Shahid

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