What a wonderful thought...

AIK KAMRA-I-IMTEHAAN MEIN

Bey-nigaah aankhoN sey
DeikhTay heiN perchay ko
Bey-khayal haathoN sey
Un-baney sey lafzoN per
UngliaN ghumaaTey heiN
Daairey sajaaTey heiN
Ya sawaal-naamey ko
DeikhTay he jaaTey heiN

Her Taraf kanakhyoN sey
Bach bachaa ke TakTey heiN
DoosroN kay perchoN ko
Rehnumaa samajhTay heiN
Shayad is Tarah koi
RaasTa hi mil jaey
Bey-nishaaN jawaboN ka
Kutch paTa hi mil jaey

Mujh ko dekhTay heiN Tau
YuuN jawabi kaapi per
Daairay sajaTey heiN
Haashiyay lagaTey heiN
Jaisay oon ko perchay ke
Sab sawaal aaTey heiN

Is Tarah kay manzar meiN
ImTihaan gaahoN meiN
DekhTa he rehTa tha
Naql kernay waloN kay
NiT naey TareeqoN sey
Aap luTf leiTa tha
DostoN se kehTa tha

Kis Taraf sey jaaney ye
Aaj dil kay aaNgan meiN
Ik khayaal aaya hai
SainkRoN sawaaloN sa
Ik sawaal laya hai
“WaqT ki adaalaT meiN,
Zindagi ki sooraT meiN
Yeh jo Teray haathoN meiN
Ik sawaal-nama hai,
Kis ne ye banaya hai?
Kis liyay banaya hai?
Kutchh samajh meiN aaya hai?”
Zindagi kay perchay kay
Sab sawaal laazim heiN
Sab sawaal mushkil heiN!!

Bey-nigaah aankhoN sey
DekhTa huuN perchay ko
Bey-khayaal haathoN sey
Un-baney sey lafzoN per
UngliyaN ghumaaTa huuN
Daairay sajaaTa huuN
Ya sawaal-naamay ko
DeikhTa he jaaTa huuN
Deikhta he jaaTa huuN!

(Amjad Islam Amjad)

And here is a rather lame attempt at translation...

In an examination hall

With eyes barred of vision
They gaze at the question paper
With hands unthinking
On words unstructured
They rub their fingers
Inscribe circles
Or at the question paper
They stare unimpeded

Towards each side, with eyes pretentious
Cautiously, they take a peek
Answer sheets of others
They reckon may guide
Perhaps with their help
They’d get through
Of answers void
They’d find a clue

And as they catch sight of me
On their answer sheets
They Inscribe circles
Draw margins
As if, of the paper
They can answer each question

Such spectacles
In the examination halls
Were commonplace
Of the cheaters
The latest tactics
I used to enjoy
And share with my friends

Out of the blue
Today in the concourse of my heart
This question has befallen
Worth a hundred queries
It has raised one question
“In the court of time
In the shape of life
In your hands that you hold
This question paper
Who fabricated it?
And why?
A single word do you fathom?"
Of the sheet of existence
All questions are compulsory!
Each question is tough!

With eyes barred of vision
I gaze at the question paper
With hands unthinking
On words unstructured
I rub my fingers
I Inscribe circles
Or at the question paper
I stare unimpeded
I stare continually…