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| Devi Nangrani |
THE KEY
If you think you shall stem
me
with the shackles of your sweet selfish love
you are mistaken
Don’t ever think
That you have trapped me in the clutches,
Snatched away my freedom,
It is your idiocy
I am not so foolish to pledge my freedom
For the majestic splendor of your prison
with the shackles of your sweet selfish love
you are mistaken
Don’t ever think
That you have trapped me in the clutches,
Snatched away my freedom,
It is your idiocy
I am not so foolish to pledge my freedom
For the majestic splendor of your prison
It is true
I
have closed the doors of my freedom behind me
But
Still have the key that unlocks the door.
It is long since I have not used it,
undoubtedly it has rusted a bit
But it is the same key,
And I am very much sure
But
Still have the key that unlocks the door.
It is long since I have not used it,
undoubtedly it has rusted a bit
But it is the same key,
And I am very much sure
‘The
key that locks the
lock
also unlocks it.’
also unlocks it.’
THE
SOURCE
On
The
wings of thought,
I, rise
high and high
To See
the glory of nature
In
Pleasure
and paradise,
In pool
of pain and misery
Where
I Wander
from dawn to dusk
Wherever
desire takes me,
In
pursuit of pleasure
To see
something exciting
To see
something unseen.
Finally
The urge
to free myself
From my
own web
Compels
me
To
retrace and go back,
To the
Source.
HEAP OF GUNPOWDER
Amazingly terrified as a
mother
yes terrified, badly scared
yes terrified, badly scared
With the memories of those
toys
That my child would acquire
in his childhood
With his unwavering
willfulness
A toy called BANDOOK
A water gun, a race car,
When he would sit in the car
and pretend to shoot with the gun
A water gun, a race car,
When he would sit in the car
and pretend to shoot with the gun
Looking at me, in my eyes
with glittering smile
But
Today seeing the same toy
In the hands of young children
Takes me back to the memory lane
But
Today seeing the same toy
In the hands of young children
Takes me back to the memory lane
That makes me ponder
If we have made our mansions
On a heap of gun powder!
If we have made our mansions
On a heap of gun powder!
THE MIRROR AND ME
The mirror though old
Yet knows well how to perform
And it performs consistently
At every step taken in youth
And now in old age
But lately the dust has layered it
However, much I may clean
it
yet, I have to see my dusty face
With its dusty eyes
Neither has he changed
Nor me!
yet, I have to see my dusty face
With its dusty eyes
Neither has he changed
Nor me!
Devi Nangrani (b. 1941) is a celebrated Sindhi, Hindi and
English poet, writer, critic and activist. Sindhi being her mother tongue, she
started writing Sindhi Ghazal and then drifted to Hindi Ghazal, which is still
her passion. The reflections of partition inclined her to the translation of
stories of Sindhi writers from Sindh and Hind in Hindi and vice Versa, to merge
in the atmosphere of harmony like other provincial languages. She has published
34 books to her credit as also many stories and articles on social pressures,
on women’s rights, peace, justice, Hindi language and gender issues, published
in national and international literary journals. She is the recipient of
several national and international awards notably, the NCPSL Award. An English
poetry compilation " Journey" is now being translated in Hindi and
Sindhi. Many of her stories have been translated in Sindhi, English, Telugu,
Malayalam, Tamil, Marathi, Bhojpuri and Urdu.
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