Poem
Kamal Vora
No. 5 His name and address forgotten
No. 5His name and address
forgotten,
the old man sits in silence.
When a stranger asks him a question,
he smiles abstractedly,
as he tries to catch
specks of evening light
playing hide-and-seek
through the tree’s shade,
or else, waves him away
with trembling hands.
He scribbles something
in the dust
with the end
of a walking stick,
then erases it.
When someone he knows
reminds him of his name,
his address,
the old man listens,
lost in thought.
He hears him out,
then smiles
absently.
© Translation: 2015, Naushil Mehta and Arundhathi Subramaniam
No. 5 His name and address forgotten
૫
એક વૃદ્ધ
એક વૃદ્ધ
એનું નામ, ઘરનું ઠેકાણું
ભૂલી ગયો છે
બસ
ચૂપચાપ બેઠી છે
કોઈ અજાણ્યો જણ કંઈ પૂછે તો
એ આછું આછું હસે છે
પાસેનાં ઝાડના છાંયડા સાથે
સંતાકૂકડી રમતા
સાંજના તડકાને
ધ્રૂજતા હાથે
પકડવા-ઉડાડવા મથે છે
લાકડીના છેડાથી
ધૂળમાં
આડાઅવળા લીટા પાડે છે
ભૂંસ્યા કરે છે
કોઈ ઓળખીતો જણ
એને એનું નામ યાદ કરાવે
ઘરનું સરનામું સમજાવે
ત્યારે ઊંડા વિચારોમાં ઊતરી જઈ
વૃદ્ધ
બધું સાંભળે છે
સાંભળીને
આછું આછું મલક્યા કરે છે
© 2015, Kamal Vora
From: Vruddhashatak
Publisher: Kshitij Samshodhan Prakashan Kendra, Mumbai
From: Vruddhashatak
Publisher: Kshitij Samshodhan Prakashan Kendra, Mumbai
Poems
Poems of Kamal Vora
Close
No. 5 His name and address forgotten
No. 5His name and address
forgotten,
the old man sits in silence.
When a stranger asks him a question,
he smiles abstractedly,
as he tries to catch
specks of evening light
playing hide-and-seek
through the tree’s shade,
or else, waves him away
with trembling hands.
He scribbles something
in the dust
with the end
of a walking stick,
then erases it.
When someone he knows
reminds him of his name,
his address,
the old man listens,
lost in thought.
He hears him out,
then smiles
absently.
© 2015, Naushil Mehta and Arundhathi Subramaniam
From: Vruddhashatak
From: Vruddhashatak
No. 5 His name and address forgotten
No. 5His name and address
forgotten,
the old man sits in silence.
When a stranger asks him a question,
he smiles abstractedly,
as he tries to catch
specks of evening light
playing hide-and-seek
through the tree’s shade,
or else, waves him away
with trembling hands.
He scribbles something
in the dust
with the end
of a walking stick,
then erases it.
When someone he knows
reminds him of his name,
his address,
the old man listens,
lost in thought.
He hears him out,
then smiles
absently.
© 2015, Naushil Mehta and Arundhathi Subramaniam
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère