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THE CALLOUS MOMENT OF CARNIVAL Nand Chaturvedi. Some day I’ll look at your face Bearing melancholy imprints Of the carnival
Now the days of carnival Are worthless Stealing like a thief A leftover memory
Who will come for the festival Vasantsena, Vasavdutta Michael Jackson, Chidambaram Or a wild boar Won’t she come? That Miss World Whatever her name?
The festival’s terror turned The village indifferent and indigent Like a defoliate tree On the shoulders of woman Are astride naked kids A little shy Hiding their member within thigh
Delhi is where the festival is And the President too But the Nation? Sun’n the moon in its eyes Elongated sad shadows on fields A Nation in the shape of the bread Is festival of residual desires
They are tired A day before the festival A village girl’s dead body was found on road Still clutching the child to her breast A day before the festival Girls were loaded in the truck To be carried like lambkins To the slaughterhouse
Which festival you come from Vasantsena! Which festival is These days In the capital of darkness
Walk slowly, O dear! Walk slowly as to see This desolation And behind you Alongside Walk The callous moment of carnival.
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AH ! HUENTSANG Nand Chaturvedi. Parijat forests aflame in TNT trenches Under each Devdar death doubtless stand Huentsang, did you take these very routes to India?
Children of this generation have torn those pages of history Where your country’s name is written On your image some uncanny black-yellow or blue Coloured signs drawn Ah! Huentsang it is difficult to explain That an invader you were not But a traveler
Listen Huentsang! Jealousy is venom And it is spreading Youth these days of love, romance or maidens Talk not The adult and old walk fast Talk sharp and indifferently swing the sticks Maidens tie their hair in different knots With clenched fist public convey The inexpressible agony Anger and revenge All bow in reverence at the Buddha Yet train to fire a gun Because they have been deceived
Ah Huentsang! Mao-tse-Tung didn’t make bridges He repeated history’s meaningless tables Because he didn’t know that history’s Ink isn’t blood
India has fought wars, Huentsang! But mere wars they were Now its both jealousy and war Wars are not remembered But jealousy is a wounded snake That on history’s door Strikes its hurt head And people pick up arms
You are not unknown to India Huentsang Its sky is still clear and blue But in the veins of many future generations When the blood of jealousy shall flow Who will bear its onus Its sad, Huentsang whenever guns are raised People forget the Buddha
Translated by Ashutosh Mohan from theoriginal Hindi poems of the renowned poet Nand Chaturvedi. Ashutosh Mohan
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