Mangalesh Dabral (India)
My Heart
One day when I became convinced
that my heart itself is the root of all troubles
so much so that it has now become a trouble in itself
I took it to a doctor
and said helplessly Doctor this is my heart
but it is not that heart
I was once proud of*
even the doctor wasn’t any less experienced
he had mended so many hearts
that he himself didn’t seem any less than
a professional patient of the heart
he said you have surely read Mirza Ghalib closely
I know this is an old heart
initially it was transparent
but by and by it started turning opaque
and now you can’t see through it at all
it keeps absorbing emotions and doesn’t express anything
just as a black burrow soaks up all light
but do tell me your history
I said yes maybe you are right
I often feel that my heart isn’t in its set place
and it’s difficult to find out where it is
sometimes I feel it’s gone into my stomach or my hands
I often get the illusion that it is living in my legs
that it’s not my legs but my heart
which has been crossing this difficult world
leaving his profession aside the doctor became a philosopher
yes yes he said as soon as I saw you I knew
there’s no cure for hearts like you
but some repair can be done some darning et cetera
such hearts heal only when
some other heart also converses freely with it
and you must know the times we are living in
these days nobody talks heart to heart
everyone hides things
so many people but not a soul anywhere
that’s why your heart also leaves its place
and darts around here and there
now in the hand now in the leg
*A couplet by Mirza Ghalib: ‘Arz-e-niyaaz-e-ishq ke qaabil nahin raha / Jis dil pe naaz tha mujhe, woh dil nahin raha.’ (‘As an offering [made] for love, this my heart is fit no more, / The heart that once I prided in is now with me no more.’). K. C. Kanda, Mirza Ghalib: Selected Lyrics and Letters (New Delhi: New Dawn Press), p. 81.
Translated from the Hindi by Sarabjeet Garcha
One day when I became convinced
that my heart itself is the root of all troubles
so much so that it has now become a trouble in itself
I took it to a doctor
and said helplessly Doctor this is my heart
but it is not that heart
I was once proud of*
even the doctor wasn’t any less experienced
he had mended so many hearts
that he himself didn’t seem any less than
a professional patient of the heart
he said you have surely read Mirza Ghalib closely
I know this is an old heart
initially it was transparent
but by and by it started turning opaque
and now you can’t see through it at all
it keeps absorbing emotions and doesn’t express anything
just as a black burrow soaks up all light
but do tell me your history
I said yes maybe you are right
I often feel that my heart isn’t in its set place
and it’s difficult to find out where it is
sometimes I feel it’s gone into my stomach or my hands
I often get the illusion that it is living in my legs
that it’s not my legs but my heart
which has been crossing this difficult world
leaving his profession aside the doctor became a philosopher
yes yes he said as soon as I saw you I knew
there’s no cure for hearts like you
but some repair can be done some darning et cetera
such hearts heal only when
some other heart also converses freely with it
and you must know the times we are living in
these days nobody talks heart to heart
everyone hides things
so many people but not a soul anywhere
that’s why your heart also leaves its place
and darts around here and there
now in the hand now in the leg
*A couplet by Mirza Ghalib: ‘Arz-e-niyaaz-e-ishq ke qaabil nahin raha / Jis dil pe naaz tha mujhe, woh dil nahin raha.’ (‘As an offering [made] for love, this my heart is fit no more, / The heart that once I prided in is now with me no more.’). K. C. Kanda, Mirza Ghalib: Selected Lyrics and Letters (New Delhi: New Dawn Press), p. 81.
Translated from the Hindi by Sarabjeet Garcha