hasan kuza-gar (1)
jahān-zād nīche galī meñ tire dar ke aage
ye maiñ soḳhtā-sar hasan-kūzā-gar huuñ!
tujhe sub.h bāzār meñ būḌhe attār yūsuf
kī dukkān par maiñ ne dekhā
to terī nigāhoñ meñ vo tābnākī
thī maiñ jis kī hasrat meñ nau saal dīvāna phirtā rahā huuñ
jahāñ-zād nau saal dīvāna phirtā rahā huuñ!
ye vo daur thā jis meñ maiñ ne
kabhī apne ranjūr kūzoñ kī jānib
palaT kar na dekhā
vo kuuze mere dast-e-chābuk ke putle
gil-o-rañg-o-roġhan kī maḳhlūq-e-be-jāñ
vo sar-goshiyñ meñ ye kahte
hasan kūza-gar ab kahāñ hai?
vo ham se ḳhud apne amal se
ḳhudā-vand ban kar ḳhudāoñ ke mānind hai rū-e-gardāñ!
jahāñ-zād nau saal kā daur yuuñ mujh pe guzrā
ki jaise kisī shahr-e-madfūn par vaqt guzre
taġhāroñ meñ miTTī
kabhī jis kī ḳhushbū se vārafta hotā thā maiñ
sañg-basta paḌī thī
surāhī-o-mīnā-o-jām-o-subū aur fānūs o gul-dāñ
mirī hech-māyā ma.īshat ke iz.hār-e-fan ke sahāre
shikasta paḌe the
maiñ ḳhud maiñ hasan kūza-gar pā-ba-gil ḳhāk-bar-sar barhana
sar-e-chāk zholīdā-mū sar-ba-zānū
kisī ġham-zada devtā kī tarah vāhima ke
gil-o-lā se ḳhvāboñ ke sayyāl kuuze banātā rahā thā
jahāñ-zād nau saal pahle
tū nādāñ thī lekin tujhe ye ḳhabar thī
ki maiñ ne hasan kūza-gar ne
tirī qaaf kī sī ufuq-tāb āñkhoñ
meñ dekhī hai vo tābnākī
ki jis se mere jism o jaañ abr o mahtāb kā
rah-guzar ban ga.e the
jahāñ-zād baġhdād kī ḳhvāb-gūñ raat
vo rūd-e-dajlā kā sāhil
vo kashtī vo mallāh kī band āñkheñ
kisī ḳhasta-jāñ rañj-bar kūza-gar ke liye
ek hī raat vo kohrbā thī
ki jis se abhī tak hai paivast us kā vajūd
us kī jaañ us kā paikar
magar ek hī raat kā zauq dariyā kī vo lahr niklā
hasan kūza-gar jis meñ Duubā to ubhrā nahīñ hai!
Hasan the Potter
jahāñ-zād us daur meñ roz har roz
vo saḳhtā-baḳht aa kar
mujhe dekhtī chaak par pā-ba-gil sar-ba-zānū
to shānoñ se mujh ko hilātī
(vahī chaak jo sāl-hā-sāl jiine kā tanhā sahārā rahā thaa)
vo shānoñ se mujh ko hilātī
hasan kūza-gar hosh meñ aa
hasan apne vīrān ghar par nazar kar
ye bachchoñ ke tannūr kyūñkar bhareñge
hasan ai mohabbat ke maare
mohabbat amīroñ kī baazī
hasan apne dīvār-o-dar par nazar kar
mere kaan meñ ye navā-e-hazīñ yuuñ thī jaise
kisī Dūbte shaḳhs ko zer-e-girdāb koī pukāre!
vo ashkoñ ke ambār phūloñ ke ambār the haañ
magar maiñ hasan kūza-gar shahr-e-auhām ke un
ḳharāboñ kā majzūb thā jin
meñ koī sadā koī jumbish
kisī murġh-e-parrāñ kā saayā
kisī zindagī kā nishāñ tak nahīñ thaa!
jahanzad, below in the street, before your door
Here I stand, heart aflame, Hasan the potter!
This morning in the bazaar, at old man
Yousuf the perfumist's shop, I saw you
And in your eyes was that fire
In whose longing I have wandered mad for nine years
Jahanzad, for nine years I have wandered mad!
Lost in that desire
I never turned toward my sad pots
Those images of my restless hands
Lifeless creations of dust and colour and oil
Now they whisper:
'Where is Hasan the potter?
Creating us, he's become a god!'
Jahanzad, nine years passed over me
As time treads over some buried city
Dust in flower-pots
Whose aroma I'd fondly breathe
Was now laden with stones
Goblet, enamel, cup, pitcher, lantern, flower-vase
All hope of an art to express
My worthless existence
Lay dead,
And I, Hasan the potter, dust on my head
Dishevelled hair, prostrate on the potter's wheel
Like some downcast god
Creating pots in a dream world of being and nothing
Saw in your bright eyes of Caucasus
That fire
Through which my body and soul became wayfarers
Of cloud and moonlight
Jahanzad, that dreamy night in Baghdad
The bank of the river Tigris
The ship, the closed eyes of that sailor
For some weary, disheartened potter
One night alone was alive
Which even now claims his
Spirit, his body
Only one night's joy the river's wave has granted
In which Hasan the potter sunk never to emerge
And now, Jahanzad, each day
That unlucky one comes to haunt me
Prostrated on the potter's wheel
It shakes me by the shoulders
(That wheel which year to year was my only hope of livelihood)
‘Hasan the potter, come to your senses
Cast an eye on your ruined home
How shall the bellies of these children be filled?
Hasan, Love's fool!
Leave that sport of the rich
And look to your own house.'
In my ear that sorry voice fell
Like one calling down a whirlpool to a drowning man
Yes, that lake of tears fed life to flowers
But I, Hasan the potter, was enchanted
By ruins of the city of illusions
With no sound, no motion
No shadow of a bird in flight
No trace of life
Jahanzad, in your street today
Against night's chilling darkness
I stand restless before your door
Through the window, those enchanting eyes
Peer at me again
The age, Jahanzad, is that potter's wheel on which
Like enamel, cup, pitcher
Lantern and flower-vase
Humans are created and destroyed
I am human, yet
These nine years have passed in the shape of grief
Hasan the potter is today a heap of dust
Without sign of moisture.
Jahanzad, this morning in the bazaar at
Yousuf the perfumist's shop, your eyes
Have spoken once again
Breathing moisture into dust
Perhaps dust will waken into clay.
jahāñ-zād meñ aaj terī galī meñ
yahāñ raat kī sard-gūñ tīrgī meñ
tire dar ke aage khaḌā huuñ
sar-o-mū pareshāñ
darīche se vo qaaf kī sī tilismī nigāheñ
mujhe aaj phir jhāñktī haiñ
zamāna, jahāñ-zād vo chaak hai jis pe mīna-o-jām-o-subū
aur fānūs-o-gul-dāñ
ke mānind bante bigaḌte haiñ insāñ
maiñ insāñ huuñ lekin
ye nau saal jo ġham ke qālib meñ guzre!
hasan kūza-gar aaj ik toda-e-ḳhāk hai jism
meñ nam kā asar tak nahīñ hai
jahāñ-zād bāzār meñ sub.h attār-yūsuf
kī dukkān par terī āñkheñ
phir ik baar kuchh kah ga.ī haiñ
un āñkhoñ kī tābinda shoḳhī
se uTThī hai phir toda-e-ḳhāk meñ nam kī halkī sī larzish
yahī shāyad us ḳhaak ko gil banā de!
Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I'll become once more
The same potter whose pots
Were the pride of every palace and quarter, every city
and village
Adorning the dwellings of rich and poor
Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I'll turn once more towards my sad pots
Those dried pans of being and nothing
Towards hope of an art to mirror my livelihood
From that being and nothing, from that colour and oil
To strike again the sparks by which
The ruins of hearts are illumined.
tamannā kī vus.at kī kis ko ḳhabar hai jahāñ-zād lekin
tū chāhe to ban jā.ūñ maiñ phir
vahī kūza-gar jis ke kuuze
the har kāḳh-o-kū aur har shahr-o-qariyā kī nāzish
the jin se amiir o gadā ke masākin daraḳhshāñ
tamannā kī vus.at kī kis ko ḳhabar hai jahāñ-zād lekin
tū chāhe to maiñ phir palaT jā.ūñ un apne mahjūr kūzoñ kī jānib
ġhil-o-valā ke sūkhe taġhāroñ kī jānib
ma.īshat ke iz.hār-e-fan ke sahāroñ kī jānib
ki maiñ is gil-o-lā se is rañg o roġhan
se phir vo sharāre nikālūñ ki jin se
diloñ ke ḳharābe hoñ raushan!
jahan-zad niche gali mein tere dar ke aage
ye main soKHta-sar hasan-kuza-gar hun!
tujhe subh bazar mein buDhe attar yusuf
ki dukkan par main ne dekha
to teri nigahon mein wo tabnaki
thi main jis ki hasrat mein nau sal diwana phirta raha hun
jahan-zad nau sal diwana phirta raha hun!
ye wo daur tha jis mein main ne
kabhi apne ranjur kuzon ki jaanib
palaT kar na dekha
wo kuze mere dast-e-chabuk ke putle
gil-o-rang-o-roghan ki maKHluq-e-be-jaan
wo sar-goshiyn mein ye kahte
hasan kuza-gar ab kahan hai?
wo hum se KHud apne amal se
KHuda-wand ban kar KHudaon ke manind hai ru-e-gardan!
jahan-zad nau sal ka daur yun mujh pe guzra
ki jaise kisi shahr-e-madfun par waqt guzre
taghaaron mein miTTi
kabhi jis ki KHushbu se warafta hota tha main
sang-basta paDi thi
surahi-o-mina-o-jam-o-subu aur fanus o gul-dan
meri hech-maya maishat ke izhaar-e-fan ke sahaare
shikasta paDe the
main KHud main hasan kuza-gar pa-ba-gil KHak-bar-sar barhana
sar-e-chaak zholida-mu sar-ba-zanu
kisi gham-zada dewta ki tarah wahima ke
gil-o-la se KHwabon ke sayyal kuze banata raha tha
jahan-zad nau sal pahle
tu nadan thi lekin tujhe ye KHabar thi
ki main ne hasan kuza-gar ne
teri qaf ki si ufuq-tab aankhon
mein dekhi hai wo tabnaki
ki jis se mere jism o jaan abr o mahtab ka
rah-guzar ban gae the
jahan-zad baghdad ki KHwab-gun raat
wo rud-e-dajla ka sahil
wo kashti wo mallah ki band aankhen
kisi KHasta-jaan ranj-bar kuza-gar ke liye
ek hi raat wo kohrba thi
ki jis se abhi tak hai paiwast us ka wajud
us ki jaan us ka paikar
magar ek hi raat ka zauq dariya ki wo lahr nikla
hasan kuza-gar jis mein Duba to ubhra nahin hai!
Hasan the Potter
jahan-zad us daur mein roz har roz
wo saKHta-baKHt aa kar
mujhe dekhti chaak par pa-ba-gil sar-ba-zanu
to shanon se mujh ko hilati
(wahi chaak jo sal-ha-sal jine ka tanha sahaara raha tha)
wo shanon se mujh ko hilati
hasan kuza-gar hosh mein aa
hasan apne viran ghar par nazar kar
ye bachchon ke tannur kyunkar bharenge
hasan ai mohabbat ke mare
mohabbat amiron ki bazi
hasan apne diwar-o-dar par nazar kar
mere kan mein ye nawa-e-hazin yun thi jaise
kisi Dubte shaKHs ko zer-e-girdab koi pukare!
wo ashkon ke ambar phulon ke ambar the han
magar main hasan kuza-gar shahr-e-auham ke un
KHarabon ka majzub tha jin
mein koi sada koi jumbish
kisi murgh-e-parran ka saya
kisi zindagi ka nishan tak nahin tha!
jahanzad, below in the street, before your door
Here I stand, heart aflame, Hasan the potter!
This morning in the bazaar, at old man
Yousuf the perfumist's shop, I saw you
And in your eyes was that fire
In whose longing I have wandered mad for nine years
Jahanzad, for nine years I have wandered mad!
Lost in that desire
I never turned toward my sad pots
Those images of my restless hands
Lifeless creations of dust and colour and oil
Now they whisper:
'Where is Hasan the potter?
Creating us, he's become a god!'
Jahanzad, nine years passed over me
As time treads over some buried city
Dust in flower-pots
Whose aroma I'd fondly breathe
Was now laden with stones
Goblet, enamel, cup, pitcher, lantern, flower-vase
All hope of an art to express
My worthless existence
Lay dead,
And I, Hasan the potter, dust on my head
Dishevelled hair, prostrate on the potter's wheel
Like some downcast god
Creating pots in a dream world of being and nothing
Saw in your bright eyes of Caucasus
That fire
Through which my body and soul became wayfarers
Of cloud and moonlight
Jahanzad, that dreamy night in Baghdad
The bank of the river Tigris
The ship, the closed eyes of that sailor
For some weary, disheartened potter
One night alone was alive
Which even now claims his
Spirit, his body
Only one night's joy the river's wave has granted
In which Hasan the potter sunk never to emerge
And now, Jahanzad, each day
That unlucky one comes to haunt me
Prostrated on the potter's wheel
It shakes me by the shoulders
(That wheel which year to year was my only hope of livelihood)
‘Hasan the potter, come to your senses
Cast an eye on your ruined home
How shall the bellies of these children be filled?
Hasan, Love's fool!
Leave that sport of the rich
And look to your own house.'
In my ear that sorry voice fell
Like one calling down a whirlpool to a drowning man
Yes, that lake of tears fed life to flowers
But I, Hasan the potter, was enchanted
By ruins of the city of illusions
With no sound, no motion
No shadow of a bird in flight
No trace of life
Jahanzad, in your street today
Against night's chilling darkness
I stand restless before your door
Through the window, those enchanting eyes
Peer at me again
The age, Jahanzad, is that potter's wheel on which
Like enamel, cup, pitcher
Lantern and flower-vase
Humans are created and destroyed
I am human, yet
These nine years have passed in the shape of grief
Hasan the potter is today a heap of dust
Without sign of moisture.
Jahanzad, this morning in the bazaar at
Yousuf the perfumist's shop, your eyes
Have spoken once again
Breathing moisture into dust
Perhaps dust will waken into clay.
jahan-zad mein aaj teri gali mein
yahan raat ki sard-gun tirgi mein
tere dar ke aage khaDa hun
sar-o-mu pareshan
dariche se wo qaf ki si tilismi nigahen
mujhe aaj phir jhankti hain
zamana, jahan-zad wo chaak hai jis pe mina-o-jam-o-subu
aur fanus-o-gul-dan
ke manind bante bigaDte hain insan
main insan hun lekin
ye nau sal jo gham ke qalib mein guzre!
hasan kuza-gar aaj ek toda-e-KHak hai jism
mein nam ka asar tak nahin hai
jahan-zad bazar mein subh attar-yusuf
ki dukkan par teri aankhen
phir ek bar kuchh kah gai hain
un aankhon ki tabinda shoKHi
se uTThi hai phir toda-e-KHak mein nam ki halki si larzish
yahi shayad us KHak ko gil bana de!
Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I'll become once more
The same potter whose pots
Were the pride of every palace and quarter, every city
and village
Adorning the dwellings of rich and poor
Who knows the expanse of desire, Jahanzad, but
If you wish, I'll turn once more towards my sad pots
Those dried pans of being and nothing
Towards hope of an art to mirror my livelihood
From that being and nothing, from that colour and oil
To strike again the sparks by which
The ruins of hearts are illumined.
tamanna ki wusat ki kis ko KHabar hai jahan-zad lekin
tu chahe to ban jaun main phir
wahi kuza-gar jis ke kuze
the har kaKH-o-ku aur har shahr-o-qariya ki nazish
the jin se amir o gada ke masakin daraKHshan
tamanna ki wusat ki kis ko KHabar hai jahan-zad lekin
tu chahe to main phir palaT jaun un apne mahjur kuzon ki jaanib
ghil-o-wala ke sukhe taghaaron ki jaanib
maishat ke izhaar-e-fan ke sahaaron ki jaanib
ki main is gil-o-la se is rang o roghan
se phir wo sharare nikalun ki jin se
dilon ke KHarabe hon raushan!
This content features in following collection(s)
Additional information available
Click on the INTERESTING button to view additional information associated with this sher.
About this sher
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Morbi volutpat porttitor tortor, varius dignissim.
rare Unpublished content
This ghazal contains ashaar not published in the public domain. These are marked by a red line on the left.
