Mujhe muskurane ki adat hai ...

uske liye kisi bahane ki jarroat nahi

Haar pal ko kaid ker loon ek mukurahat main...

Kya zindgi itni khoobsoorat nahi ...

Jo gar ho yeh akhiri safar tumhara.

Kah sakoge E-zindgi mujhe kahin koi gum nahi

Gujar di yuni jiss kal ki talash main

Kya hai voh mukamal kal,

 khud ko bhi shayad koi  ilum nahi !!!

Jee lee aab to bande iss pal ko yahin

Kaun sa hoga akhiri…..
yeh kissko malum nahi !!!

Aur likh sake kuch aur pal uske age

Asi to bani hee koi kalam nahi  !!!

Held among wars, watching

     all of them

     all these people

     weavers,

     Carmagnole

Looking at

     all of them

     death, the children

     patients in waiting-rooms

     famine

     the street

A woman seeing

     the violent, inexorable

     movement of nakedness

     and the confession of No

     the confession of great weakness, war,

     all streaming to one son killed, Peter;

     even the son left living; repeated,

     the father, the mother; the grandson

     another Peter killed in another war; firestorm;

     dark, light, as two hands,

     this pole and that pole as the gates.

What would happen if one woman told the truth about

        her life?

     The world would split open

By Muriel Rukesyser

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/90874/kathe-kollwitz