The sun that you stole <br />Was mine. <br />The house that you threw into darkness, <br />Was mine. <br /> <br />The sunshine that smiles in your home, is mine. <br />My life is bleak without it, <br />The odor of my grief is heavy on it, <br />It was mine yesterday and is mine today. <br /> <br />It is I, bereft of light, who am its father. <br />It is my fire that is embedded in its limbs. <br />The smell of my sun is in it, <br />The sun that was stolen from me in broad daylight. <br /> <br />But you cannot be blamed for this theft. <br />The sun has been stolen in every era. <br />An afternoon has always died, <br />Weeping for the sun. <br /> <br />I, lightless, beamless, have a request, <br />I, a faithless father, stand at your door. <br />Let me place a sun upon your forehead, <br />And beg you for my sunlight. <br /> <br />I, who died long ago, beg you to bestow this on me. <br />Never utter my name again in the sunlight. <br />If ever some ray asks a question, remain silent, <br />Or call me a ‘black sun' and let it go. <br /> <br />This is the request of a father of sunlight. <br />From this day, on my sunshine is dead to me <br />Along with the sun it is yours now, <br />Wherever it smiles, is the home if its father. <br /> <br />The sun that you stole <br />Was mine. <br />The house that you threw into darkness, <br />Was mine. <br /> <br />[Translated from 'Arjoi' by Suman Kashyap]<br /><br />Shiv Kumar Batalvi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-request-2/
