Here are four poems of Balbir Madhopuri, a Punjabi poet translated by me. The poems have been accessed from his collection 'Meri Chaunvi Kavta' (My Selected Poems) (2011).The poems are posted here with permission from the poet.
Balbir Madhopuri
(Born: 1955)
BalbirMadhopuri, Punjabi writer, poet and translator, was born in 1955 in a Dalit family in Madhopur, a small village in
district Jalandhar, Punjab. His trials began at a tender age
when he began working as a child labourer and an agricultural worker. Despite his humble origins he managed to acquire a post graduate degree in Punjabi literature. His writings
are primarily focused on the issues related with the oppressed and depressed
classes, especially the Dalits. Madhopuri has published three collections
of poetry. His autobiography 'ChhangiyaRukh' (The Lopped-off Tree) was first published in 2002 and has gone through seven
editions. Its translation in English by Tripti Jain, 'ChhangiyaRukh: Against
the Night' An Autobiography was published by Oxford University Press in 2010. It has also been
published in some Indian languages including Hindi and Shahmukhi (in Pakistan
in 2010). It has been serialized by eight Punjabi, Hindi, Shahmukhi magazines
and certain chapters have been published in some English magazines and
newspapers. Madhopuri is one of the pioneering Dalit writers in Punjabi literature.
(Image and bio details are from the poet's Website)
1. My Caste
My caste is always with me
like my complexion
like my shadow.
We are so rolled into one
I’m nothing
except my caste,
wherever I am
in the city or in the village
here or across the seas.
I try very hard to hide,
wear a hundred masks
but it shows itself
again and again
like the white hair
after the dye has worn off
or like the body showing
through tattered clothes
I wish to be rid of it
like someone wanting a divorce
but they tell me,
this bond stays on
birth after birth...
nothing to think about.
Finally
the bow is strung
with arrows of contention,
which pierce both past and present.
Blood boils within, like an earthquake
and then
divisions come in the
open
up-down, right-left.
My caste is always with me
like my complexion
like my shadow.
We are so rolled into one
I’m nothing
except my caste,
wherever I am
in the city or in the village
here or across the seas.
---
2. Tsunami
Waves
The tsunami waves
washed away many things;
rocky shores,
living creatures
fishes and tortoises
trees and humans
beautiful natural landscape
The waves
wrecked the houses
where God was segregated,
where people
would step in or pass by
shivering, in fear
And in no time
the land became water
and death ruled all over.
One recalled:
‘Death is a great leveller.’
Yet the survivors sang a different tune.
The living labelled the dead
as high or low
touchable or untouchable .
In this way
on the sea shore
the ‘not humans’ were left
hungry, thirsty,
and without hope
by the demonic laughter
of the ‘humans’.
The tsunami waves
that altogether demolished
the rocky shores
could not knock down
the high walls of hatred
that stood in the human hearts.
In the aftermath
let someone,
on the now calm sea’s wide shore,
reflect, and say:
Let us push our boat
into the sea of humaneness
embrace each other like the waves
merge into each other
destroy the poisonous fish.
Come let us play this game.
---
3. Come, My Friend
Come, my friend,
let’s meet again
just as two pathways meet,
merge into each other
like a river in the sea.
Come, my friend,
let’s sing, in the marketplace,
the death song
for the Sanatani culture
that has divided mankind again and again,
that has no reason to be.
Come, my friend,
Let’s bury deep
the ’living words’
that stink,
that don’t let you forget
‘the dead mother’
and lacerate so many
hearts.
Come, my friend,
Let’s give up the kissa
tradition
give up the culture of ‘culture’
let’s load with stones and sink the boat
in which life is a living death
Come, my friend,
let’s fight another Mahabharat
write another
sixteenth chapter
dam the river of fire
drive the black spotted pigeon
across the dividing lines
Come, my friend,
let’s bring under the shade
the life that is a desert,
plant flowers in
barren lives
and fulfill the duty of words
Come, my friend,
let’s find words
that bring sunshine, air and the sea
that are charged with the energy of a warrior
that make the whole sky fragrant
Come, my friend,
let’s meet again
just as two pathways meet,
merge into each other
like a river in the sea.
---
4. My
Culture
Now
even
the deserts
have
become green.
The
barren lands too
are
blooming
The
natural landscape too
has
changed
Yet
my culture
drenched
in caste
still
remains unchanged.
Now
even
the unbounded space
has
shrunk
The
seven continents too
have
become one
like
the colours of the rainbow
in
the sunlight
The
Berlin wall
has
come down like a house of glass
and
is a heap of sand now
Yet
no key can unlock
the
stony doors of my culture
that
refuses to open up
Now
even
the glaciers
are
melting
The
waters in the oceans
are
warming up
And
hot winds too
are
blowing at places
Yet
my culture
like
the consumer culture
still
sticks different labels
on
human beings
---
5 The Sunshine’s Journey
(ਧੁੱਪ ਦਾ ਸਫ਼ਰ)
The break of day
is like a siren for her
As soon as she wakes
she begins to water the plants
and the flowers big and small
bloom and spread their fragrance
And I
while slurping my tea
turn over the pages of the newspaper
in search of state-of-the-nation news ⎼
how one faction
has battered the other
and I am reminded
of some slokas of Tulsi and Manu
That’s how
her morning turns into noon
and she spreads the shade of her being
on the blooming flowers
and the difference
between the tall mulberry tree
and her
seems to disappear
That’s how her noon
mellows
That’s how her noon
has mellowed
Whenever I return home
riding my mare
through dark and narrow lanes
she standing at the door
catches the mare’s rein
and the tidal wave
surging through her heart
recedes
A light shines in her eyes
and the earth
seems peaceful to her
That’s how
her morning begins
That’s how
her noon descends
That’s how
her noon mellows
That’s how
her high noon has mellowed
---
(ਧੁੱਪ ਦਾ ਸਫ਼ਰ)
The break of day
is like a siren for her
As soon as she wakes
she begins to water the plants
and the flowers big and small
bloom and spread their fragrance
And I
while slurping my tea
turn over the pages of the newspaper
in search of state-of-the-nation news ⎼
how one faction
has battered the other
and I am reminded
of some slokas of Tulsi and Manu
That’s how
her morning turns into noon
and she spreads the shade of her being
on the blooming flowers
and the difference
between the tall mulberry tree
and her
seems to disappear
That’s how her noon
mellows
That’s how her noon
has mellowed
Whenever I return home
riding my mare
through dark and narrow lanes
she standing at the door
catches the mare’s rein
and the tidal wave
surging through her heart
recedes
A light shines in her eyes
and the earth
seems peaceful to her
That’s how
her morning begins
That’s how
her noon descends
That’s how
her noon mellows
That’s how
her high noon has mellowed
---
