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The Lost Samarkand – Poetry from India

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The Lost Samarkand – Poetry from India

Came the death to Babar

Kissed his forehead far in Delhi

Samarkand was in his eyes

Samarkand was on his lips

Samarkand was in his heart

But Babar was not in Samarkand

[author title=”Sudhir Saxena ” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/Sudhir-Saxena-India-Sindh-Courier.jpg”]Indian poet, writer and journalist Sudhir Saxena was born in 1954. He published number of books in India and abroad. His notable achievements include Pushkin Award, Vageshwari Award and many others. [/author]

 

The Lost Samarkand

Soaked in murk

Is the whole city

And, in reminisces of ancestors

Is lost Samarkand!

 

From here

Time and again, he crossed

Riding his horse

Making him fly

Holding the dream in eyes!

 

Aspiring to create history with his sword,

Babar crossed from here

He crossed Hindukush

Stars showered the blessings

On the golden robe that Babar wore

The earth kissed and pecked

On The Babar’s feet

Along with the arrows, swords, guns and caravan

One day Babar was gone

Exploding the gunpowder

Quaking the earth with explosions

Making the rings of gunpowder

Yearning to return to the country

Alas! Babar never returned

He didn’t return then after

With arms open

With aching heart

Awaited Samarkand

Came the death to Babar

Kissed his forehead far in Delhi

Samarkand was in his eyes

Samarkand was on his lips

Samarkand was in his heart

But Babar was not in Samarkand

***

Samarkand is far-off Delhi

How far?

I think

Bewitched by the discovery of Zero, Ibn e sienna

Sitting in the observatory

Dreams of Delhi far

Watches with

Sparkling, twinkling eyes

 

Yonder the foggy mist

Peeps out Samarkand

He babbles

Delhi is far from Samarkand

 

Samarkand is far-off Delhi

How far?

Thither is Babar

Let’s question Babar

Babar smiles

Didn’t utter any word

Down he looks at his feet

Swathe in mud and muffled

Doesn’t say anything yet

Shuffles his hand on the horseback

On the back of your horse

Shuffles hands with gusto in glee

Dithers the horse

 

He puts his feet in the stirrup

Laughs and roars

And says-

“Take care of Samarkand, here I go to Delhi”

 

For each Babar

There is no distance between Delhi and Samarkand.

________________

Translated by Prof. Fauzia Arshi