Thursday, December 21, 2023

उपान्त्य - You Are the Penultimate Love of My Life" by Rebecca Hazelton

 उपान्त्य (Penultimate) - मेरे अंत से ठीक पहले वाला प्यार हो तुम … 

by Rebecca Hazelton


मुझे बिताने हैं कई,

पर नहीं ‘सारे’ साल तुम्हारे साथ। 


जब ठसक के मैं बोलूँ कि, आँखें हरी हैं तुम्हारी। 

वो आँखें जो स्लेटी के अलावा कभी कुछ रही ही नहीं। 


जब सेक्स इतना मुकम्मल हो, कि नीयत ही ना भरे। 

पर उतना बेहतरीन नहीं जितना हमारे घर के बग़ल के घर की दीवारों से छन के आती आवाज़ों में होता है। 


जब छोटी छोटी चीज़ों में प्यार शुमार होगा। 

जैसे बिस्तर से मेरा गीला तौलिया उठा लेना, 

और फिर एक दिन उठाना बंद कर देना, हमेशा के लिए। 


जब मैं उतना अच्छा ना लगूँ, 

जितना मैं लगता था तुम्हें, तुमसे मिलने से पहले तक। 

और भरोसा जो पहले मुझमें था बेइंतहाँ,

अब मेरे बेतरतीब गिरते बालों पर भी ना हो। 


जब तुम मेरे लिये मेरी मनपसंद वाईन लेके आओगी,

और फिर टोकोगी भी, कि कितना पीने लगे हो तुम। 


उस उपान्त्य में भी कुछ तो है, 

मुझे वहीं उसी जगह थामे हुए है। 

शायद, तुम्हारी, भूरी आँखें ? 


-x-



"You Are the Penultimate Love of My Life" 


by Rebecca Hazelton


I want to spend a lot but not all of my years with you.

I will remember your eyes as green when they were gray.


Sex will be good but next door's will sound better.


There will be small things. I will pick up your damp towel from the bed, and then I won't.


I won't be as hot as I was when I wasn't yours

and your hairline now so untrustworthy.


You will bring me wine and notice how much I drink.


But there's something holding me here, for now,

Like your eyes, which I suppose are brown, after all.


(I took extreme liberty to translate in Hindi, few excerpts from the captioned poem as it felt very intriguing and different. Any translation loss is purely due to my lack of skill and craft) 

Monday, December 11, 2023

Love, that’s taken for granted!


Love that’s taken for granted. 
Does not die an immediate, clean death. 
It persists, chokes, gasps and hopes. 
Staring into the dark, searching for a stray ray,
That might show the way through the chasm. 

Love, that’s taken for granted. 
Does not realise that sometimes a star-less gap in the night sky;
Is because of a blackhole. 
That exists in stealth-mode. 
Not letting any shred of goodness get past it. 
Not even of hope. Or destiny. 

Love, that’s taken for granted. 
Forgets that once there were signs and symptoms,
Long before there was apathy and neglect. 
Or excuses and de-prioritisation. 
Long before there were arguments that deserved a discussion. 
And silences that deserved the cushion of companionship. 

Love, that’s taken for granted. 
Has nowhere to go. 
Except inwards. 
And scratch and burn and cut and bruise. 
As it digs deep. 
But eventually rest, with rest of the regrets. 
And emerge never again. 

Love, that’s taken for granted. 
Is the soil on which will grow. 
Tomorrow!