Five Sonnets of Syed Shamsul Haq

Translation : Gazi Abdulla-hel Baqui

Within the Deepest Point of Heart-1

Bird Dahuk comes out of the shirt by magical spells,
The gem of the Emperor Akbar out of the hair,
Men are dullard and keep silent, or all will observe on the market day,
How the magician draws money by playing tricks
You let the beloved bird fly away out of your eyes,
Out of your bosom, the full moon of secret love,
You yourself are amazed –you want to move to one direction
Yet, form another direction, you are pulled hard
She does not care even a bit for your dues,
The magic show she exhibits is just according to her sweet will,
After letting the bird Dahuk fly away, he no more catches hold of it.
His gold-gem is found lying inside the dust on the road.
This trick is so highly magical that the person is called a big wizard
She flatters his handkerchief in the deepest point of heart.

Within the Deepest Point of Heart-2

What are you in quest of in the dark chamber for all day long?
Which bird’s turning into gyre do you behold across the cloud?
There is the simple path, then why do you collide with stone?
Leaving behind pleasant domestic life, do you live on stone?
Why do you not devote your mind to this world of giving fate?
Your presence is deeply felt where there is vast desolation,
Your neat and clean yard has been enveloped with patches of shade.
Yet you are clearly seen lying on the bier.
Would you listen to the calling of Dhanesh bird in the solitary jungle?
Would the silver plate be thrown down on the ground?
Like a blow with an axe on the olive tree.
So, is it written on your body three time utterances of `Divorce’?
Is there any tree on the branches of which no fairy lives?
Is there any river on which no boat is found sailing?

Within the Deepest Point of Heart-3

Tell me such a sip you would make out of what bowl?
Your lips are turned blue, hands, feet and body got benumbed,
Yet you do not want this disease be ever recovered.
I profoundly desire to know which leaf-juice was it that?
Is that leaf the pan-leaf looking like a human heart?
Or whether it is the mango leaf looking like the same shape as of human face?
Or was it like a Tut leaf, or of venom-neem, or of Hemlock?
Many a time I have visited the last boundary of my village.
Treading through the rough jungle-paths I have entered into the dense forest.
My tongue has tasted various kinds of leaves many a time.
Such drops have never fallen into my heart, and into the roots.
Whether you are that unidentified tree in my own world,
You have contacted me with such a disease, quite shorn of its remedy?

Some Words Fly Away

Some words fly away, some words remain folding their wings,
Some words like liquid mercury keep on melting away.
What a kind of such word that comes out shining like a star—
Have you seen it in the mirror of god-heart?
You fail to see when shimmering darkness envelops—devours.
When politeness sinks into the grave in the fancied land of soil,
When the lusty souls start swallowing silence in fright,
Then you look into the severe pain of chastity—
Once a certain word from my lips that
Blossomed in these lips in the warmth of your body,
Today you notice that very word locked inside the earth’s bosom–
Yet, leaves of trees tremble time and again at its pronouncement.
You carefully check it; look at whether it in the sky
Maybe that very word is ‘Love’ appearing as if like a star.


Deed of Gift

Being aware of your presence I signed the Deed of Gift.
Not really very poor, savings are not so small in these few years.
Opening my casket you see your existence there in layers
The gold gems prevalent during your time.
You are carved out bright; the throne lies in union with me,
Your left hand holds a sword, an eagle on the south,
I feel that the wind is blowing; your hem is flying with it,
On the other side, a sharp pen writes the identity and the year.
I have not yet forgotten, waiting for barren desert
Tilling with soft plough incessantly I have grown crops,
I have received wages for the labour I have put forth,
You have gifted me the profound voice of poetry.
Not a son, not a daughter, this inheritance belongs to you,
All the revenue is deposited; in fact this existence is mine.

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