ARIF RAJA

 

Star Infatuation-1

 

In front of my eyes

Dances a star

Like a crane

 

Crossing towns and cities

Wandering through forests,

Its eyes set always on me,

It follows me

Lovingly

Like a pet cat

 

I want to name after her

The star that follows me at sundown

 

Suddenly afraid,

I remember the innocent eyes

Of a baby dumped

In the dung heap

Of the dark night

 

I look up

At the sky—

A cradle of a million stars,

Orphaned, all of them

 

 Is it a dream forgotten

From a life long ago?

It follows me

Wherever I go

A lone star

Like an orphaned child

 

Translated By: H S SHIVAPRAKASH

 

Nakṣatra mōha - 1

 

nanna kaṇṇa munde

nakṣatra nartisuttade

ondu kokkareya hāge

adeṣṭō ūrukērigaḷa dāṭi

kāḍumēḍugaḷa aledu

nanna mēle kaṇṇiṭṭu

himbālisuttade adu

sāku bekkina hāge muddāgi

 

iḷisan̄jeyalli

hīge bennuhattiruva nakṣatrakke

avaḷa hesariḍōṇavendukoḷḷuttēne

ēnō digilāgi

kāriruḷu kasada toṭṭiyalli

yārō bisāḍi hōda

niṣpāpi kūsondara kaṇṇugaḷu nenapāguttave

 

Kattetti nōḍuttēne

bāna toṭṭila tumba lakṣa nakṣatragaḷu

tandetāyigaḷillada tabbali kūsugaḷu

 

idu yāva janmada kanaso

nā hōdalellā hinde bandide

ondu oṇṭi nakṣatra

anātha maguvāgi

 

What’s The Colour Of The Midnight’s Lips?

         

Twice a day, invariably, she goes for a shower.

She rises in the midnight out of the blue

To wear her lip balm.

She looks again;

There’s something she calls to her mind—

Helplessness, anxiety, protest, disease.

She stares, again and again, at the mirror in the eyes,

Flashes a variety of colours—

Deep red, rose, ash blue—

And wears her lip balm.

         

Her endless bath also occurs

In much the same way, day after day,

Like the last rites of bathing the earth,

Like the storm that makes an abrupt landfall.

Every season is grateful like today’s breath.

They’re for today; they won’t last forever.

 

Translated By- Manu V Deva Devan

 

Naḍu rātriya tuṭige yāva baṇṇa?

 

Dinakkeraḍu sarti tappadē tale snāna māḍuva ivaḷu

iddakkiddante naḍu rātri eddu

tuṭige lip bām savaruttāḷe

ēnō nenapādavaḷante

matte nōḍikoḷḷuttāḷe

dain'yateyō duguḍavō pratibhaṭaneyō khāyileyō

matte  matte kaṇṇakannaḍiyanu duruguṭṭuttāḷe

kaḍu gempu,gulābi,būdu

nīli tharāvāri baṇṇagaḷa jhaḷapisi

tuṭige lip bām savaruttāḷe

 

Avaḷa ananta snānavū kūḍa heccu kam'mi

nitya hīgeyē jaruguttade

bhūmiyanu mīyisuva

antima kriyāvidhiyante

hēḷadē kēḷadē bandu appaḷisuva

chaṇḍa mārutadante

yāva r̥tuvina r̥ṇavū śāśvatavalla

ivattina usiru ivattinadē embante!                     

 

Each Time You Blink

 

Each time you blink,

my heart’s lamp

is put out and rekindled

Who should keep a watch

to ensure   

that you don’t slip into sleep?

 

A time has come

for your mother

to bear you again

in her womb.

 

The border wars may end soon,

please wait, my child.

 

This is a fragrant

grave,

why should anyone sing

lullabies here?

 

Translated By: Kamalakar Kadave

 

 

*Nīnu reppe baḍidāgom'me*

 

nīnu reppe baḍidāgom'me

nanna hr̥dayada dīpa

āri hottikoḷḷuvudu

nīnu niddege jāradante

īga yāru

kāvalu kāyabēku?

 

Ninna hettam'ma

mattom'me

ninnanē garbhadharisuva

hottu bantu

 

gaḍi taṇṭe mugiyabahudu

taḍeyo kanda

 

sugandha sūsuva

gōriyidu

 

yārēke

lāli hāḍabēku!

 

In Front Of  Ghalib’s Tomb

 

Your heart

a pitcher of wine full of holes

goes on      

                dripping

                             drop

                                      by

                                           drop

jealous at times

rarely compassionate

often smutty       

always inebriated

 

No matter

in what silence you bury it

its sourness

Its bitterness

 

For this wine to mature

and turn into incense

it takes one thousand years

of madness

 

Translated By: H S SHIVAPRAKASH

 

Gālibana gōriya munde

 

tūtu bidda heṇḍada buṇḍe

ninna guṇḍige

 

hani 

     hani

          hani

sōrkentane hoṇṭada

 

kelavom'me asūye

aparūpakkom'me antaḥkaraṇa

āgāga pōlitana

sartigom'me pyālitana

 

enthā mahāmaunadali

hūtiṭṭarū

ī huḷi

ī ogaru

 

ī śarābu māgi

attarāgalu

sāvira varṣagaḷa sāvirada

huccutanavē bēku!

 

Che

 

Che Guevara has become

A picture on the young boy’s T-shirt

         

On the shirt of the juvenile one

Who captures vulgar films in his hand

And goes screwing with his fist

Who sips beer in the pub every evening

Thinking of the girls who didn’t come his way

Who sends countless applications for government jobs

And tries his luck in the examinations

 

Che Guevara, with his military cap and burning cigar in his twisted mouth,

Che Guevara, who strikes slogans into the skies with his hammer-like right-hand fist

Che Guevara, who roars, addressing thousands of rivers of struggle

Is now a black and white portrait

On the teen-age boy’s T-shirt.

 

 

What was in the diseased bosom of the romantic rebel

Who scaled mighty trees and mountains

To capture eagles with his nets?

In his eyes was the streak found in Neruda’s last poems…

 

I remember the guerilla guru

Who went hunting with his comrades

With a rifle on his shoulders to liberate Bolivia

Being hunted down in the thick jungle like a wild boar

And his body being kept in a school

In the village for the public to pay homage

Fans arriving in queues who hold their nose

And walk away as soon as they approach the body

 

Because

None has the guts

to look into the eyes of a tiger

lying with his eyes open

 

Translated By: Manu V Deva Devan

 

Che-

 

ā hareyada huḍugana

T-śarṭina mēle citravāgiddāne che guvēra

 

aṅgaigannaḍiyali aślīla sinimāgaḷannu

serehiḍidu hastamaithuna māḍikoḷḷuva

dinā san̄je pabbinali

sigada huḍugiyaranu nenasikoṇḍu biyar burugisuva

sarkāri udyōgakkāgi nūrāru arji hāki parīkṣeyali adr̥ṣṭavannu parīkṣisikoḷḷuva

ā hasihuḍugana aṅgiya mēle

Miliṭari kyāpu dharisi soṭṭabāyali sigāru suḍuva che guvēra

balagai suttige māḍi ghōṣā vākyavanu ākāśake gum'muva che guvēra

hōrāṭada sāvirāru nadigaḷannu sambōdhisi bhōrgareyuva che guvēra

ā ṭinēj pōrana

T-śarṭina edeya mēle kappubiḷupina citragaḷāgi

 

ettarettarada mara parvatagaḷanēri raṇahaddugaḷannu

kavaṇi bīsi keḍavuttidda

ā romyāṇṭik krāntikāriya kṣayapīḍita edegūḍinalli ēnittō

nerūdana konegālada kaviteya min̄cu avana kaṇṇallitte..

 

Nanage nenapāguttide

boliviyāda vimōcanegāgi kōviyanu hegaligērisikoṇḍu

saṅgātigaḷondige bēṭeyāḍalu hōgidda gerillā guru

daṭṭakāḍinali kāḍ'̔uhandiya hāge bēṭeyāgiddu

matte ā ūrina śāleyondarali

avana śavavanu sārvajanika vīkṣaṇege iṭṭiruvudu

sālugaṭṭi abhimānigaḷu avana kaḷēbarada sanihake baruttiddante nōḍanōḍuttalē pāpa mūgu muccikoṇḍu dāṭi hōguttiruvudu

 

ēkendare kaṇṇu teredu malagida

cirateya kaṇṇalli kaṇṇiṭṭu nōḍuva ēḷuguṇḍige

yārigū illa.

 

ARIF RAJA

 

ARIF RAJA is a premier Kannada poet. He was born in Arakera village, located in Raichur district of Karnataka, India on 6th December, 1983. He is working as an assistant professor in an undergraduate college. He has published five collections of poems so far: Saitanana Pravadi (A Prophet of Satan, 2006), Jangama Phakeerana Jolige (The Satchel of a Mendicant Faqir, 2009) and Benkige Todisida Batte (A Raiment for Fire, 2013) Nakshatra Moha (Star Infatuation, 2017) and Ede Halina Pali (The Turn of Breastfeeding, 2022). Arif Raja has been awarded the Da.Ra. Bendre Award-2010, Aralu Award by Karnataka Sahitya Parishath-2010, Yuva Puraskara of Indian Academy of Letters-2012, and the Dinakara Desai Award-2014. In addition, he has also won prizes in several poetry competitions and other book awards. His poems have been translated to English as well as other Indian Languages.The process is on to publish his poems translated to English under the title ‘I am a Public Lavatory’.