Main usko tohfe deta hoon
kabhi shampoo to kabhi aata
ya sabun ya ghar ka bana khaana
ek baar kuch kalam bhi diye the
kabhi khoobsoorat guldaan nahi diye
ya sukoon dene wali filmon ki DVD
aur kuch na sahi
chandni raatien bhi na de paaya
Ye mera tariqa hai
kuch kahne ka
kya kahna hai magar mujhe pata nahin
ye harf jo hai "kuch"
bohat chhota sa hai
"wasee" main mumkin ye kainaat hai
uske tohfe kuch muktalif hote hain
wo apnee gamzada tasveerein
jo ki apne phone se kheenchtee hai
wo mujhe bhejtee hai
uske tohfe yahin tak nahin hai
wo mujhe ek samandar bhar ke
qahqahe bhi nazar karti hai
usko mil bhi jaate hain
aise mauke jab ham saath hote hain
usko mere tohfe pasand aate hain
(aisa usne kaha)
wo mujhe ishq ka hadia pesh-e-khidmat karti hai
aisa ishq jo bataya na jaye
ye ishq se bhi khoobsoorat hai
magar ye ishq bhi nahin
lekin ye kuch aur bhi nahi
wo mere diye hue shampoo se apnee zulfein dhokar
mere saamne jhatakti hai
mujhe lagta hai ki jaise "slow motion" main wo hua
aur ek coffee shop ke wash basin main
apne chehre ko thande paani se dhokar
mere saamne baithkar khilkhilati hai
aur uska chehra aur bhi damakta hai
ye paani ka asar tha?
aur wo baatein karti hai, hasti hai aur sar hilati hai
aur sunti hai bina sune hue
aur uski machalti huee aankhein
kuch naye khaab bayan karti hain
main jo tohfe deta hun wo gairzaroori hain
ya mujhe jo wo tohfe deti hai
mukhe uski zindagi ke safar se
ik marasim hai
Ella es un regalo
y cuando cierro los ojos
todo lo que veo es un niño
English Version:
I gift her shampoos, whole wheat flour, soaps and instant oats
pencils and home food
not porcelain mugs, vases or bouquet of fancy candies
nor DVDs or moonlit nights
it is my way of saying something
that something is yet unknown to me
or to my mind
the word “something” is limiting
“everything” has unlimited exposition
she brings the gift of selfies with
a face full of pain and tears
much more than this
she gifts me unlimited horizons
of laughing over situations
that are gifted to us
she likes those gifts or that’s what she says
she gives me love (not a cliché)
of the kind that’s unimaginable
it is beautiful than love itself
although it is not love
it is neither anything else
she shows her recently shampooed hair
and I see the scene in a slow motion
and the aroma touches my nostrils
and she washes her face at a tap
in an open-air café
and let the water dry, naturally
she loves the coolness of the water
and I look at her face
that has a sudden glow
is it the water?
then she walks and talks and laughs and nods
and listens without listening
the immaculate attention that she doesn’t give
or the phases of her naughty eye movements
irrespective of what I gift to her
or what she gives me as a return gift
I find her trajectory of living riveting
Ella es un regalo
y cuando cierro los ojos
todo lo que veo es un niño
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