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.
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?
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"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
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."
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