Jab aasman khul kar baras chuka to sarkain darya ban chuki thein, mgar main phir bhi tumhari laal sar wali chamakti gulabi roshani ko uss par se dekh sakti thi. Jab hum bachay the, to hum ne torch aur cherry jello se apna Morse Code banaya tha, aur ab main iss sooch mein hon ke iss selaab mein se tum tak apna rasta talaash karoon. Main janti hoon ke mere bhege huwe joote kuch ahmiat nahein rkhte, jab pore ke pore ghar samundar mein beh rahe hain unn jazeeroon pe jo tofanoon se sab se Zaida motaasar huwe hain, pore ke pore gaoon samundar ne nigal liye hain. Yaqinaan khuda dewaane hoon ge, ya naraaz, ya phir yeh sirf ek gair-munazam tofani raqs hai, bhanwar kaatta imkan, badalta waqat, kismet ke tamtamaate taal, aur afshaan hone ko kuch bhi nahein. Main takriban tumhare darwaze par phoonch jati hoon jab mujhe yaad aata hai ke tum saloon phele ja chuke ho. Balcony ke laal sar kisi aur ki khaani ka akas hain, hamaari khaani se mukhtalif, lehroon mein chupi hui jaise ek musawada, ya jaroon se juri phool khilati. Beharhaal, unhoon nai tumhere carnival ke parinde rakhe huwe the, aur main unki tarf phir se khinch gayi thi. Iss tofan mein main sirf yehi janti thi ke tum kaise mashal-e-rah the.
The roads were rivers after the sky fell open, but I could still see your flamingo light string blinking pink from across the way. When we were children, we made our own Morse Code with a flashlight and cherry Jello, and that's what I think of now, finding my way to you through the flood. I know that my soaked sneakers are nothing, when whole houses are floating out to sea on the islands hit hardest by the hurricanes, whole villages swallowed by the sea. The gods must be crazy, or angry, or maybe it's just the random tempest dance, chance churning, time turning, fate’s flickering rhythms, and nothing more. I'm almost there, at your doorstep, when I remember you've been gone for years. The balcony flamingos are a vestige of someone else's story, different from ours, layered like palimpsest on top of it, attached at the root and flowering of its own accord. They kept your carnival birds, after all, and I was drawn back to them. All I knew in that storm was how you were like a lighthouse.
Lorette C. Luzajic, translated into Urdu by Maraam Pasha and Saad Ali.
The English version of this poem was first published in Pretty Time Machine, by Lorette C. Luzajic (Mixed Up Media Books, 2020.)
Maraam Pasha (b. 1999 C.E. in Lahore, Pakistan) has been raised in Rawalpindi & Islamabad, Pakistan. She earned her Bachelor’s degree in Accounting & Finance from the National University of Pakistan, Pakistan. By profession, she is a Marketing & Communication Executive, and now works at Mob Inspire, USA. She has been published in The Ekphrastic Review. She finds literature a way to connect with both herself and others. Her other interests include: photography, painting, music, travelling, baking, and sculpting. She shares her artistic creations on her page: www.instagram.com/maraam_pasha.
Saad Ali (b. 1980 C.E. in Okara, Pakistan) has been brought up in the UK and Pakistan. He holds a BSc and an MSc in Management from the University of Leicester, UK. He is an existential philosopher-poet. Ali has authored four books of poetry i.e. Ephemeral Echoes (AuthorHouse, 2018), Metamorphoses: Poetic Discourses (AuthorHouse, 2019), Ekphrases: Book One (AuthorHouse, 2020), and Prose Poems: Βιβλίο Άλφα (AuthorHouse, 2020). He is a regular contributor to The Ekphrastic Review. By profession, he is a Lecturer, Consultant and Trainer/Mentor. Some of his influences include: Vyasa, Homer, Ovid, Attar, Rumi, Nietzsche, and Tagore. He is fond of the Persian, Chinese and Greek cuisines. He likes learning different languages, travelling by train, and exploring cities on foot. To learn more about his work, please visit www.saadalipoetry.com.
Lorette C. Luzajic is an award-winning, internationally collected visual artist. She is also a widely published author who usually writes about art. She is the founder and editor of The Ekphrastic Review. Visit her at www.mixedupmedia.ca.
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