Account, A Poem By Czeslaw Milosz In Hindi Translation
meri bewakoofi ki history se
by Ravi Kopra
baDay granth likhay ja sakte hain
kuch honge mere moorakh-pan k
jasiay bhonwray ko agar pata hai
k jal jayega shamaa ke sholay se
phir bhi wo uski taraf chakar lagata rehta hai
kuch hon gay chinta main shanti lanay k liye
aur kuch isharay-e-hidayat-e-na-andazgi k
main alag se likhooN gi apni khushi aur ghamandi k daastaN
jab main logon k saath un main doobi hue the
aur log chalte the la-parvahi se ucHalte hue apni tees mar khani main
un sab logon ka ek hi mool mantar tha - khawaish
haey! un sub main main hi akeli aisi hoti
main un logon k saath un jaisi hi ban-na chahti the
aur darti the ki mera khumar theek nahin hai
meri bewakoofi ki kahani ab na likhi jayegi
kyon k main ab budDi ho gayi hoon aur isay likhna bahut mushkil hai
the original poem
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.