March two
They tarnished
Your shining forehead
Wali, you had planted
a tender heart
In some corner of this soil.
You proudly proclaimed:
“Mein, Gujarati Chhun”
but your own city
b
r
o
k
e
every brick
of your tomb.
My city too, allowed to wither
The flowers of reverence.
My dearest
You are stained with blood
I am stained with blood, too.
March two
They tarnished
Your shining forehead.
From ‘Pencil aur doosri nazmein’
“Mein, Gujarati Chhun” , “I am Gujarati”
Baidar Bakht:: Translator of Urdu Poetry par excellence
BAIDAR BAKHT is Adjunct Professor of Civil Engineering at the Universities of Toronto and Manitoba, Canada. He translat...
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My daughter Little dear daughter Lights a pencil With a sharpener. The sky of the white paper Begins to be filled with light. The black bird...
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BAIDAR BAKHT is Adjunct Professor of Civil Engineering at the Universities of Toronto and Manitoba, Canada. He translat... -
A dalit poet Leaves several things behind: A paper dripping wet with blood, A black sun On the night’s head, A river of blood, A lantern of...
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