Shiv Kumar Batalvi's - "Ilzaam - The Accusation" (Presentation - Desh Ratna)

Ilzaam Mere te mere dost, TooN ilzaam lagaaiyae! Tere shehar di ik titali - Da maeN raNg churaaiyae! PuT ke maeN kise baag choN Gulmohar da booTa, Sunsaan beeaabaan - MaeN maRiyaaN ‘ch lagaaiyae! HuNdi hae suaanjhane di - Jiven jaR ‘ch kuRitan, UnaaN hi mere dil de jaReeN Paap samaaiyae! Badkaar haaN, badchalan haaN, Puhj ke haaN kameena, Har gham da araz jaan ke MaeN tul banaayae! MaeN shikara haaN maenu chiReeyaaN di SohNdi naheeN yaari! KhouTe ne mere raNg - MaeN jhooTHa lalaari! Shuhrat da siyaah sahp - Mere gal ‘ch palamdae, Dahs jaayega mere geetaaN sanne, Dil di paTaari! Meri peeR ashavthaama de - Vaakan hi amar hae! Dhae jaayegi par jisam di CHeti hi aTaari! GeetaaN di mahik badale - MaeN kukhaaN di vanaj kardaaN, Tu likhiya hae maeN bahut hi AlhaR haaN vapaari Tu likhiyae, ki puht kiran HuNde ne sada saaye! SaaiyaaN da naheeN faraz - Ki ho jaan paraaye! Saaye da faraz baNda hae Chaanan di vafaadaari, Chaanan ‘ch sada ahge - Te chaanan ‘ch hi mar jaaye! Dukh huNde je pinjare da vi - UD jaaye pankheru, Par maeN te naveN roz ne Dahke te uDaaye! Kaaran hae havas ihko Mere dil di udaasi, Jo geet vi maeN gaaye ne Maayoos ne gaaye! TooN hor vi ik likhiyae, Kise titali de baare! Jis titali ne mere baag ‘ch Kujh din si guzaare! Jis titali nu kujh chaaNdi de PhullaaN da THarak si, Jis titali nu chaahide si Sone de sitaare! Pyaara si uhda mukhaRa, JyuN chaan chaRiya ujaaReeN, Mere geet jihdi nazar nu - San bahut pyaare MaNda saeN tooN maenu puht Kise Saraswati da, Aj raae badal gayi teri Mere hae baare! Aakhir ‘ch tooN likhiyae, Kujh sharam karaaN maeN! Tezaab di ik hauz ‘ch Ahj Dub maraaN maeN. Beemaar jihe jisam - Te geetaaN de sane maeN, Tur jaavaaN tere desh di Aj jooh choN paraaN maeN! Meri kaum nu mere thouthe jahe - Gham naheeN luReeNde, Maenu chaahidae mazdoor de - HakkaaN layi laRaaN maeN! Mehboob da raNg vaND diyaaN KanakaaN nu saara, Kul duniya da gham GeetaaN di muNdari ‘ch jaRaaN maeN!

Ilzaam - The Accusation My friend , You have accused me Of stealing the color from a butterfly Of your town. I tore out of some garden, you say, A sapling of gulmohar And planted it In a desolate and barren cemetery. Just as the coral tree Has bitter roots, So, in my heart, Lies sin! I am degenerate, immoral, You have judged me to be vile! I am well aquainted with pain and have deliberately Made it my power. I am a bird of prey and do not care For the friendship of little birds. My colors are false, I am a dishonest dyer! The inky serpent of fame Lies around my neck And strikes, with my songs, Little heart-baskets! My pain, like Ashwathaama’s Is never-ending! You remind me that my body-room Will disintegrate soon enough. In exchange for fragrant songs I trade in wombs. I am, you write A very adolescent trader. You say that a shadow Is a child of light. It is not the duty of a shadow To separate. The duty of a shadow is Devotion to light. In light, to always be ahead, And to extinguish itself in light. Even a bird can fly away If is miserable in its cage. But each day I catch and discard new birds. The reason I do this, you say, is that I covet just one thing, The sorrow in my soul. Because every song I sing, Is a song of sorrow. You also write About one butterfly. The butterfly who spent a short time In my garden, The butterfly with a weakness for, Silver flowers, The butterflywho desired, Golden stars. Her face was sweet, Like the moon in a desert. My songs Were very dear to her. You considered me A son of Saraswati, Today your opinion about me Is altered! At the end you have written That I ought to be ashamed of myself! That I should drown myself In a tub of acid! I should take my sick self - Along with my songs - And leave the environs Of your town today! Society has no need Of my worthless sorrows! I should be fighting for The rights of workers! I ought to disperse the color Of my beloved To the grain in the fields. I ought to take the sorrow of the world, And set it, like a jewel, in a ring of songs!