Where walkways were fragrant with you, I shall weep,
It was not till I left your city, I knew I shall weep.
Affinity is at discount in the market of subsistence;
There are thousands in the meandering queue, I shall weep.
My longing is an iceberg entombed under the desert,
Count not on cactus, drops of dew, I shall weep.
Pilgrims who set such store by the haze of their beloved,
Tread on jaded memories of every hue, I shall weep.
Many are the magistrates in the theatre of courtship,
I am guilty as charged, without a proof, I shall weep.
Many were the clouds in the skies of that severance,
Uma you did not waive back an adieu, I shall weep.
Uma this is beautiful!
My favorite line “Pilgrims who set such store by the haze of their beloved,
Tread on jaded memories of every hue…” most especially “tread on jaded memories of every hue…” lovingly poignant.
I can offer to share a tissue with you 🙂
Thanks for the tissue, and the encouragement, my friend. Ghazals are essentially poems of love, loss and despondence —the time was right…
I’m not familiar with the term Ghazals.
Loss and despondency are painful. Love can be as well. But poems about love, loss and despondency are tender and healing for the soul.
It boils down to Catharsis, does it not?
This poem is so beautiful that I felt the emotion of it well up inside and rise. Anyone whom has ever said goodbye before it was time to say goodbye will be touch by One Grain Amongst the Storm.
Ginene, your have your fingers on the pulse of this poem. I am delighted that it touched you back in many ways. Many thanks for those kind words.
Dear Umashankar, I sent an email to you (at gmail ) and one to Cynthia Jobin’s sister. I found her blog! My email is email@example.com. ~Ginene Nagel
Due to cybernetic logics best understood by Gmail, I found your mail pushed in the ‘Promotions’ folder which is rarely opened by me. Thanks!
Uma, did you see my comment on finding Cynthia’s blog. It is at: https://littleoldladydotnet.wordpress.com/
I think it was the dotnet that threw us. I think you will be as happy as I am to know that it is still up on the Internet. ~Ginene
And due to the cybernetic logic best understood by WordPress, the notifications button was switched to off on my blog page. Just tonight, I learned of 50 or more comments written to myself since last March. Crazy.
You have apparently unlocked a new level in WordPress! Enjoy the deluge.
“Where walkways were fragrant….” This is a beautiful ghazal, Uma. It reads like a single melody across a silence canvas. Each sher evokes lonely… forlorn… forsaken… forgotten… even a touch of cynicism and perhaps panic. I like it very much.
On a practical note, this ghazal does one of two things to me with writing: it makes me either want to give up, or want to do better! You ARE the master!
Yes, it is all there: panic, cynicism and pain… But then these are essential rites of living. Now I wouldn’t have penned this but for the promise you extracted from me this month, so don’t even think of giving up. You are like the Springtime Wind, merry and wild. Carry on singing!
How did you know that two of my poems coming up are about springtime and wind!!
Because two of my favourite themes are Springtime and Wind, and he is no poet who doesn’t know the heart of his friend.
Beautifully done. Now I want to read the Hindi version too (hint: a translation project).
Thank you ever so much, Subroto. One of these days, I shall weep in Hindi too…
I knew that people can curse in many languages. However, I didn’t knew that one can weep in multiple languages too. We lesser mortals weep in cowardly silence, lest be adjudged by the magistrates in the theatre of the absurd that is playing out these days in this country…
Loved it. Please keep on writing…
Such a soulful comment, Sabyasachi! It brings to my mind the words of Pablo Neruda:
In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?
Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress?
Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?
Is the sun the same as yesterdays or is this fire different from that fire?
Neruda of course said all that in Spanish. As for the country, the farce has transmogrified into a reeking tragedy. Perhaps the seeds lie in our congenital trauma of the ‘Two Nation Theory’. Winston Churchill’s controversially attributed theory of ‘Men of Straw’ has also played out to the full.
A strange court indeed is this theater of courtship.
After not getting even the customary adieu, perhaps, to ‘tread on jaded memories of every hue’ is the only saving grace, which of course only intensifies the pain.
Simply a superb ghazal.
There is no controlling this court-cum-theatre of this world. People keep amending the statutes to suit their position on the chessboard. Many thanks for stopping by.
So beautifully, tragically, poignant, Uma
Thanks for stepping into my shoes, Derrick.
“Many were the clouds in the skies of that severance,
Uma you did not waive back an adieu, I shall weep”.
This one took my breath away Uma Shankar. And may you write many more ghazals.
The maqta of this ghazal is a teardrop straight from my heart. I am happy it got the due honour from you. Thanks for the continued support, Shubha.
Of love and longing and grief. What would life be without them but a barren patch!
You have stated the Higgs Boson equivalent of truth, Purba.
Beautiful! I’m a silent reader of your blog, but ghazals always evoke a response. This one reminded me of ‘yun toh pehle bhi hue usse kai baar juda..’ by Mehdi Hassan
Silent readers are silent blessings that keep this blog going. Then you have bestowed upon me a rare honour with that reference. Thank you ever so much.
As somebody has said above, Hindi version would bring out the emotions the best. You’ve done the ground work for that perfectly 🙂
Perhaps what is meant here is a conversion to Urdu (written in devnagari script). Do I see that happening in this life? I guess not. Thanks for stopping by.
Poignant. The emotion swept me long before I understood the words.
And all I had tried to write was emotions, not words. Very many thanks, Ash.
If tears were also to be found at a discount in the market of painful longingness!
In my locality, it is said that loved ones find it easier to leave when no one is watching them leave.
What they say in your locality is so true. And poignant. Thanks for stopping by.
Reading your poem I felt a stab in my chest – I remembered Cynthia. She would love this poem. Miss her.
Thank you, Inese. Ghazals are a special genre. They either hit you with a force or are dud ab initio. I am glad this one touched you so.
But for Cynthia, I wouldn’t be writing ghazals. From wherever she is in her heavenly abode, I hope she is smiling at my childish strains.
I always remember her when I come across a special genre. I learned to love Persian poetic forms in my youth.
Yes. Cynthia is as unforgettable as Poetry itself, Persian and those in tongues known to humans.
I am so moved by this one. I can feel it, and I relate to it.
Thank you, PS.
That was a one of love and loss in the tradition of the Urdu Ghazals. This English form of them is something that you seem to really excel in, making this form accessible to the ones down South like me not so well acquainted with Hindi/Urdu literary works.
I have found it is easier to write them with my heart as against the sponge between the ears. 🙂 Very many thanks to you!
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