PRITAM, Amrita

the spring has turned up, for the festival of colors
the flowers have collected the silk – but you have not come

the days are longer, the grapes have a tinge of red
the sickle has kissed the crops – but you have not come

the clouds have gathered, the earth has cupped hands
to drink the benevolence of the sky –
trees have cast a spell, on the wind of the woods
the beehives are full of honey – but you have not come

the magical season is here, the moon has put
jewels on the forehead of the night – but you have not come

the stars have remarked again, in the altars of life
the lamps of beauty are still glowing –
the herd of rays says, in the deep sleep of nights
the light is still awake  – but you have not come

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I say to Waris Shah* today, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love

Once one daughter of Punjab wept, and you wrote your long saga;
Today thousands weep, calling to you Waris Shah:

Arise, o friend of the afflicted; arise and see the state of Punjab,
Corpses strewn on fields, and the Chenaab flowing with much blood.

Someone filled the five rivers with poison,
And this same water now irrigates our soil.

Where was lost the flute, where the songs of love sounded?
And all Ranjha’s brothers forgotten to play the flute.

Blood has rained on the soil, graves are oozing with blood,
The princesses of love cry their hearts out in the graveyards.

Today all the Quaido’ns have become the thieves of love and beauty,
Where can we find another one like Waris Shah?

Waris Shah! I say to you, speak from your grave
And add a new page to your book of love

* Punjabi Poet

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I will meet you yet again

How and where

I know not

Perhaps I will become a

Figment of your imagination

And maybe spreading myself

In a mysterious line

On your canvas

I will keep gazing at you.

Perhaps I will become a ray

Of sunshine to be

Embraced by your colours

I will paint myself on your canvas

I know not how and where –

But I will meet you for sure.

Maybe I will turn into a spring

And rub foaming

Drops of water on your body

And rest my coolness on

Your burning chest

I know nothing

But that this life

Will walk along with me.

When the body perishes

All perishes

But the threads of memory

Are woven of enduring atoms

I will pick these particles

Weave the threads

And I will meet you yet again.