Translation: Hindi Poety Translated by Santosh Alex

Santosh Alex
- Santosh Alex

Author of 29 books, Santosh Alex is a bilingual poet, translator and a poetry curator. He is the founder Rithupoetry -  ejournal devoted to poetry.

He has two poetry collection Dooram (2008) and Njan ninakku oru ghazal (2013 )in Malayalam and one poetry collection Panv Tale ki mitti (2013) in Hindi. His translations and a book on translation have been included in the syllabus of Calicut University and University of Sanskrit, Kerala.

Pratap Rao Kadam

Born in 1961. Published 4 poetry collection and one Essay Collection. Works as a Professor in Makhan Lal Chaturvedi College. Awarded Sharad Joshi Puraskar, Sharad Billauri Puraskaar, Ahalya Samman and Sutra Samman. Can be contacted at


A cow died
Its skin will be used
for making shoes
for sure.

Every year thousands
roam with flags
Yell zindabad, murdabad
and pass out from the college.
Not sure what their future will be.


They were keeping
the dead body on the pyre
somebody shouted
bring his specs
Specs was a part of his personality

Through out his life
he saw through the specs
After his death
This is the only thing people remembered.

I like

I like
to return home in the evening
after a tired and weary day.

I would like to
stand at the dead end of
the street,
watch the yellow maize
undress into white
and see the lobes of the maize
burst in the firepot.

But I like
Those lobes of maize
which don’t burst
I think With all “yes sir”
There still exist who say “no”

Niranjan Shotriya

Born in Ujjain in 1960. Ph.D in botany. Published two collections of poetry. One short story collection. Edits the popular Hindi Journal titled Samavarthan. Works as a professor in Guna. Awarded the Shabd Shilpi Samman. Can be contacted at


Today I saw the ugly legs
of peacock and was happy
Rain starts with the
movement of their legs.
Today I saw the rough hands
of the worker and was happy
These hands would make
the buildings.
Today I saw the blisters
on mothers legs
and was happy
that we would be safe
with her

Today I saw the kids
fighting for toys and was happy
The world is proper.
Today I saw the beauty
of the world and became happy.

Darkness: Few situations

When it gets dark
in the palace
Light the lamp
not the torch
The king fears the torch

When its gets dark
in the hut
light the lantern
not the lamp
The hut fears the lamp

When it gets dark
in the country
Don’t light anything
the citizens are used to darkness.

Hey king don’t’ fear
the bonfire lit
during a December night
People are warming themselves
chasing the winter
not the darkness.

The poet
Isn’t watching the
calmness of the night
he is piercing it

Arunab Saurabh

Writes in Hindi and Maithili. Published two poetry collections and One book on Criticism. He has been awarded 'Young Writer Award' by Bhartiya Jnanpith,

A letter to the father

I had no other option
I couldn’t call from the mobile
balance was only forty paise
and hence SMS facility could not be used
I could not talk to you through internet
moreover I had to pay
fifteen rupees per hour for the internet usage.

I had seven rupees fifty paise left with me
Spent five rupees for this envelope
and I saved two rupees fifty paise
I want to smoke a cigarette
The throat is itching
bought three beedis for fifty paise
and am writing this letter to you
like the way Muktibodh used to write poems

This useless son of yours
have spoiled your reputation
I am sorry for that.
Now I feel like
coming back to the village
so that I can have delicious food from mom
use the pickaxe and hand trowel
would go to the fields, take care of the mango cultivations
and go for fishing

Its difficult to
make ends meet
moreover, I am in Delhi
Its difficult to survive in Delhi.

Mother, Prayer House and Life

Mother moves in an unique world
She is a collage of
doubt, fear ,terror
she knows that Kalki
would come out of
the prayer house and incarnate.

Mother is seated
in the utopian vaikunt
When you disturb her
she comes back
and speaks about Dashavtaar.
I am thousand kilometres away from my mother
But at my place
i get the fragrance
of agarbathi lit by my mother.
The smell of camphor, mustard oil
and the smell of cotton
comes from my mom’s new saree

If I were a child
would go back to the yester
years in time
and I would play hide and seek with mom.

Between you and me

Between you and me
there’s Patna and Allahabad
village and rural places
fields and thrashing floor
blockades of bamboo and tree top hunting place

There are trains between
you and me

Between you and me
there’s Shahrukh Khan
Tom cruise and Amir Khan
Angelina , Katrina, Deepika
Gulzar, Sameer
and A.R. Rahman

Between you and me
There’s International Airport
Visa and pass port
Many languages and dialect
Many countries and foreign countries
Many likes and dislikes

Yet I keep quiet
and you don’t speak at all
Because when you speak
Howrah bridge shivers
When you smile
The marble of Taj Mahal shines
When you see
The tower of pisa leans

Between you and me
There’s a cup of poison
consumed by Socrates.
Theres a poem of a poet
who had a bad end
There’s fortune and misfortune

Nityanand Gayen

Born in 1981 in West Bengal. Young Hindi poet. M.A. in Human Rights. Published one poetry collection. Worked as Deputy editor in Daily Hindi Milap, Swatanta Vartha, Milap Rajbhasha Patrika. Currently working as Deputy Editor in Delhi Selfie. Email:

Why is it that goats
are sacrificed
They don’t have sharp claws
or sharp teeth.
Its sure that the one who slains it
Doesn’t know the language of eyes
and the goat speaks with its eyes
before being slained.

In my courtyard

Birds don’t come to
my courtyard any more
to peck grain.
Perhaps they understood
my situation and the price rise.

The neem tree
in my courtyard
has lost its leaves for ever.
My courtyard has become dry

The streams don’t sing any more
they have stopped falling from the mountain
and now man has occupied the mountain

The frogs in the ponds
Have got visa of another country
Now they are called non migrant

In this era of change

With time
everything changes
man and the society too.

In the increasing concrete jungle
In the attractive lights
The moonlight is lost
It is struggling to reach the earth

The government has issued
a notice to the industrialist
for special economic zone
Since then the fire flies have left the jungle

In this era of change
engaged in child labour
somewhere the childhood is lost.

Jyotikrishan Verma

Born in 1964 in Himachal Pradesh. M.A. in English Literature. Published one poetry collection. Working as Joint Editor in Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. Email:


There is neither script for that language
nor dictionary in any market
Yet in silence
many things could be said.


They say
his picture in the mirror
is fading day by day.
What could the poor mirror do ?
It does not know as to how to project
two faces at a time.


Who said that
The broken heart is of no use
We have seen
broken hearts turning
into vibgyor in the sky.


He searched the pages
of history
So as to know
who made the weapons first
The one who wanted the war
or the one who wanted peace
at any cost.

Lalitya Lalit

Lalit is a well known Hindi author. He has published 26 books of poetry and two books on satire in Hindi. He is currently working as Editor with National Book Trust, New Delhi.

Today’s World

How many times would you die
In life
No, many a times
With the comments of
Teacher, Lover, Father and wife
You die,
With the neighbour’s behavior
The harassment of boss
you die
You can’t ignore them
so die by yourself
One day they will realize the truth.
he died on such and such date
he was a nice person, friendly, Helpful,
Who can stop the destiny
many participated in his cremation
They cried, sobbed and left
some paid their respect and feedback
posted the photograph
They said his ghazals were awesome
Then it was a flood of
likes and comments.

Life’s Journey Without Love

Because of misery
A father sells his daughter
for few rupees
Nobody knows
from one customer to customer
how long she moves on

She is a child
It’s the age for how to play and study
But the barbarians
spoiled her life, her dreams.
There is a mirror
in front of her
There are many kinds of lipsticks
deodorants and colourful bangles
It’s a small room with a Squeaky bed
where she has to lie and sell herself

She was sold for seven times
with people elder to her in ager
Gulaboo would be in pain and agony
and think whether her father had sold her
The policeman too is involved
for the sake of money
Is there life beyond this
she remembers her brothers and sisters
If she tried to flee
she would be beaten
she had experienced all these
at this young age
nothing could be done
but then how long
one day she was released
from the Red Street
by an NGO
25 girls and she was the youngest of them
Now she is in a relief centre
learning to make envelopes
even now she wakes up at night

She decides to move on in life
and want to ensure that
no other girl would have the same fate as of hers
she bought her younger brother and sister with her.

Today she has crossed seventy years
She has her own NGO which works
for the helpless girls.
Now she doesn’t remember her father
she is engrossed in her work
as if it’s a mission.

Life: Few Snippets

There’s a poor girl
in the street
People don’t care for her
and move on

The rich are
least bothered by summer
The poor bear the brunt
The water in the jar made of mud
is tasty.
Even if there’s no electricity
the taste remains

Even If you don’t change the channel
at least change your thoughts
all the mountains are alike
There’s no better heaven
than the house
where ever you go you come back

No woman is bad
they are not lazy either
try to step into their shoes one day
you will sweat out for sure

Nothing would change
whatever was
would continue to be the same
The face would change
but the situation continuous to be the same.

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