The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 11,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Every woman is a whore
Or a potential whore
What does it matter
what the subjective details of this instance were
When the demons of past
raise their ugly head
they ask for blood
if its not people
at least relationships
the kill is not called for by need
and the dead are not eaten
the corpses are abandoned
left to rot
and fill the deepest niches in our beings
with their morbid stench
and then
I can be accused again
of being a woman.
Another translation that I attempted a few days ago was especially interesting because the original is a ghazal, and I tried to preserve the ghazal metre (beher) and rhyme scheme (which goes AA, BA, CA… and so on) in my translation. Would be interesting to know what you think of the result 
Ghazal By Ishrat Aafreen
(From We Sinful Women)
Bhook ki karvahat se sard kasile honth
Khoon ugalte sookhe chatkhe pile honth
Tooti choori, thandi larki, baghi umr
Sabz badan pathrai ankhen nile honth
Soona angan tanha aurat lambi umr
Khali ankhen bhiga anchal gile honth
Kachche lafzon ka ye nila zehr
Chhoo jae to moorakh too bhi chhile honth
Zehr hi mangen amrat ras ko munh na lagaen
Baghi ziddi vehshi aur hatile honth
Aisi banjar baten aise karve bol
Aise sundar komal surkh rasile honth
Itna bologi to kya samjhenge log
Rasm yahan ki ye hai larki si le honth
My Translation
made cold by bitterness of hunger, taut lips
chapped, dry, spewing blood, yellow lips
Broken bangles, cold girl, rebellious age
raw bodies, stone eyes, blue lips
forlorn courtyard, lonely woman, stretched life
empty eyes, drenched bosom, wet lips
blue vitriol of unformed, accusing words
if they only touch, you fool, they abrase lips
they demand venom, never even tasting the elixir
rebellious, stubborn, obsessive, adamant lips
such parched exchanges, such bitter words
from such pretty, supple, red, juicy lips
what will people think if you talk so much
tradition here is that girls stitch their lips
The Ghazal in Devnagri script…
भूख की कड़वाहट से सर्द कसीले होंठ
खून उगलते, सूखे, चटखे, पीले होंठ
टूटी चूड़ी, ठंडी लड़की, बागी उम्र
सब्ज़ बदन, पथराई आँखें, नीले होंठ
सूना आँगन, तनहा औरत, लंबी उम्र
ख़ाली आँखें, भीगा आँचल, गीले होंठ
कच्चे लफ़्ज़ों का ये नीला ज़हर
छू जाए तो मूरख तो भी छीले होंठ
ज़हर ही मांगें अमृत रस को मुंह न लगाएं
बागी, जिद्दी, वेहशी और हठीले होंठ
ऐसी बंजर बातें ऐसे कड़वे बोल
ऐसे सुन्दर, कोमल, सुर्ख, रसीले होंठ
इतना बोलोगी तो क्या समझेंगे लोग
रसम यहाँ की ये है लड़की सी ले होंठ
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Chashm-e-nam, jaan-e-shoreeda kafi nahin
Tohmat-e-ishq-posheeda kafi nahin
aaj bazaar main pa-bajolan chalo
Dast afshan chalo, mast-o-raqsan chalo
Khak bar sar chalo, khoon badaman chalo
Rah takta hai sub shehr-e-janaan chalo
Hakim-e-shehr bhi, majma-e-aam bhi
Teer-e-ilzam bhi, sang-e-dushnam bhi
Subh-e-nashaad bhi, roz-e-naakaam bhi
Unka dum-saaz apnay siwa kaun hai
Shehr-e-janaan main ab baa-sifa kaun hai
Dast-e-qatil kay shayan raha kaun hai
Rakht-e-dil bandh lo, dil figaro chalo
Phir hameen qatl ho aain yaro chalo
My Translation
Teary eyes and stormy life are not enough
Even the accusation of a secret love is not enough
Come, walk today in public wearing your shackles
Hands thus adorned, walk in trance- dance
Walk with dust over head and blood on attire
Come, walk to the beloved city, everyone is waiting-
the town ruler and the common spectators;
the arrow and the stone of accusation too
along with the sorrowful morning and the day of failure.
Who will be their ally, if not us?
In the beloved city who remains unsullied?
No one worthy of the hand of executioner remains.
Behold your heartbeats, come even the broken hearted
Friends, come lets us go and be slain
I have been listening to Nayyara Noor singing this nazm for quite some time now but I realized that I had not really understood its true essence till I actually sat down to translate it late last night. It is not as if Faiz is exhorting people to react and speak up because the situation is oppressive (as in case of his nazm Bol). It is also not as if he is talking of change that will be ushered in by people when they arise (as in case of Hum Dekhenge). In Aaj bazaar mein pa ba jolan chalo things have reached such a pass that just exhorting and hoping will not do. It is not enough that we cry for the underdog, It is not enough that we are being accused of siding with the oppressed. To be aware that even though we do not come out in open, we do wear the shackles in our private-day to day lives. We have to come out to walk in public knowing fully well what our fate will then be. Even though our hearts are broken it is we who will have to do it because no one else is left to do it for us.
Fazaaye dil pe udaasi bikharti jaati hai
Fasurdagi hai ke jaan tak utarti jaati hai
Fareb-e-zeest se qudrat ka muddaa maaloom
Ye hosh hai ke jawaani guzarti jaati hai
Faiz Ahmed Faiz
The climate of heart gets smeared with gloom
Desolation climbs deep into my being
Illusion of life explains nature’s concerns
I’m conscious of youth passing by
My Translation
Life is changing your password
from freespirit to funspirit
it is being settled like sludge
of dying wishes
that shallows each passing day
Life can be exciting little kicks
from within your belly that fail to affirm you
life is being woken up one Sunday morning
by kisses of a child
and missing your own mother
life is what happens
when a finicky friend
lets you order at the restaurant
to make you feel better
Life arrives at some unremarkable instant
and leaves you weeping
as you climb the stairs home.
Life is the art of wondering
without really caring…
Where is it that successful people reach
when they succeed?
Life is making a little ritual speech
addressed to yourself, every now and then
and going on.
नए मोड़
दिल में कुछ खद्शे
नए रिश्ते और नई-पुरानी बातें
चौराहे, बंद गलियाँ
नए तेवर, वही बहाने
खोए लफ्ज़…नए गाने
भीड़… हाथ थामे
कोई साथ
कई जी चुराते
मुश्किल लोग उलझी आँखें
नादाँ मन…
नादाँ मन…
Am I myself?
Or extension to an idea?
You ask
me to draw my limitations
tighter… more clearly
or else I’m asked
to stretch and stretch
I won’t do either
I’d leave my bounds amorphous
and draw out the argument a little further
Stumble It!
