सुन री छोटी, मेरे बाद…

कुछ  पाक़  परिंदे उड़ते भी 
बुन  साख़ जज़ीरे मुड़ते भी 
कुछ ख़ाली से
कुछ भारी से
पर लाखों बादल जुड़ते ही 
ये रोकें तो 
तुझे टोकें तो 
मत रो देना तू धीमे से 
बस घुलती जा 
और बढ़ती जा 
फिर सागर पर तू मदिरा सा 
बेबाक बरस, बेबाक बरस  !


कुछ लौट के आयें तस्वीरें
कुछ खाली, बेसुध तदबीरें 
कुछ गाली सी 
कुछ काली सी 
फिर आज की फ़ैली झोली में 
हर इक  रुत पर 
हर उस बुत पर 
जो झूठ बताये तेरा अक्स
उड़, और लरज
पुरज़ोर गरज
बन पैनी तिरछी सच्चाई 
हो ख़ाक बरस, कर ख़ाक बरस ! 

Dear readers: This poem is an emotional yet motivating note from a mother, who knows her end is near, to a daughter, to help her keep going far and strong in her absence. She speaks to her little one, alluding her to a baby cloud. For my English-reading friends, I'll try to put up the translation too.

Translation ( as honest as my muse would allow )

White gulls fly out
from islands
that have been,
and made an impression
they move too
some laden, some light
as the overcast sky wells
and tells
you to stop
or wait your turn
don't cry softly, meekly
hang on there
and continue
to merge
to grow
and then one day
like wine on a salty sea
fall fearless, fall free!

There may return
some images, some deeds
black ghosts of the past
you face the day
and to those who say
you're nothing but fluff
don't believe in airy stuff
you rise to your form
shake the skies
become a Truth undenied
unpolished, 
unhindered and scathing
Fall fearless, fall free
Fall fearless, fall free.