Exile: A Poem By One Of The Pioneers Of Modernism In Urdu Literature

I, a prisoner of the embers of my own voice
I, imprisoned in the chains of my own creation 
Who in the world will fathom the count of my wounds?
Pray, who바카라™ll be pleased by the torments of the soul on this earth?
Why must anyone come to see the spectacle of my extinction?
Who바카라™s got the time to behold a ravaged world?
Who바카라™ll endear this raging fire that바카라™s me?
Whoever will come, will be burnt along with me
What was that moment that I was exiled?
Not a whiff from the homeland did ever come!
Neither the fragrance of a flower, nor the avalanche of early morning breeze!
None from the garden did ever come looking for me
I바카라™m that pearl that was sold in the marketplace
Once sold, none came asking after me from Yemen,
Remembering the Yousuf who바카라™d been lost.
The walls of my home must have shed tears for a few days
For a few days, the streets of my village would be soaked in sadness
For a few days, my Haarsingaar would not have blossomed
For a few days, everything would have seemed deserted
The spring would have wandered restlessly in the mango orchard
That one tree I had carved my name on 
For a few days, it바카라™d have been fresh like a wound
Upon seeing it, my friends would be wondering 
Poor fellow, what land must he be stravaiging about!
No one keeps anybody바카라™s memory for a lifetime
Everyone would have forgotten me, one by one
Alas! how must they know that that woe-begone
Who had set out as a traveller for life
Has till date not found the fountain of nectar!
He, who has got even the sun steeped in darkness, 
Whatever precociousness and perspicacity he had carried from home
Remained with him as the reasons for his devastation 
My crime: I possess apperception and perceptiveness
My fault: I바카라™m a poet and an artist
I insist I바카라™ll never kowtow
I바카라™m bent on the punishment of being alive
I take pride in that I바카라™m the custodian of truth and righteousness
I boast that I바카라™m self-aware, cognizant
At every turn, there has been a mountain of grief and worries
At every step, I have fought with calamities
I바카라™ve gulped down every poison with a smile
I바카라™ve handpicked and carried all my wounds
I바카라™ve grappled with the chains of every moment
At every breath, I have felt shy of myself
Though it바카라™s not to be voiced, but let me state
I바카라™ve found the mention of love merely in books
Whenever have I extended my hands towards someone
I바카라™ve seen the distance growing even further
Not even a drop of love has anyone been able to spare
Even though I바카라™ve seen the entire tavern being sqaundered! 

(Translated from Banbaas by Khaleel-Ur-Rehman Azmi (1927-1978), one of the pioneers of Modernism in Urdu literature, by Nawaid Anjum)