Conflict

"The million-dollar chandelier

Has turned the night into day.

Underneath it the men stand and leer

At the women who could be their prey.

The women for their own part

Know how to make best use of art.

Yet their smells and colours

Are to me as swampy vapours

That rise from the bodies of the dead.

King!

Is it well done to waste money so?

So many hopeless, starving..."

"Of all the stupidest notions

This one takes the cake.

Those with no love for beauty

Must live in squalor's wake.

Why should I care a rap for those

Who care not a rap for me?

My desires are my ruler;

They also rule theirs...

You think me heartless, callous, wicked, do you not?

Why not tell them to use their heads

And move their bums, instead?

They are themselves responsible

For their misery.

Why you all are so thoroughly stupid I could never comprehend.

Without this million dollar chandelier

My diamond ring would mean so much less to me.

This I know cannot be understood

By such poor fools as thee."

****

A blind beggar's song

I was born to say

That grief is my only friend.

O you!

You who go your way

Know that grief is my only friend.

Good man!

You, who knows the way

Know that grief is my only friend.

At night

When it grows even more dark

My good friend comes to me.

My good friend I cannot see;

But he is always true to me.

As I blunder on my way

The stones 'neath my feet say

That grief is my only friend.

O You! Whom I cannot see,

Tell me what I did to have this done to me?

The whole world laughs and goes its way.

But I must sit and I must pray

That one kind heart be kind to me.

Can I just ask why?

Why why why why why

Must I be this way?

Why was I born to say

That grief is my only friend?

****

Translation of Zafar's song "Na kisi ki aankh ka

noor hoon"

Not I the light of any eye,

Nor I the ripple of any heart.

I can be no use to any one;

I am a mere handful of dry dust.

My lyrics can give no life -

Whoever hearing them, can do, what?

I belong only to the wilderness;

I am the scream of a scorched soul.

My colour and looks are long gone.

My love has from me been torn.

I am the autumn that has not produced.

I am the vale that is accursed.

Not I the beloved of any soul,

Nor I the rival of any one.

I am fated to decay and loss -

I am the stillborn song of life's despair.

Why should any chant a requiem?

Why should any cast four petals

Or few tears over the tomb of Zafar,

The pathetic monument of helplessness?

****