MUJH SE KISI NE POOCHA NAHIN
main kya chahta hoon.
Sab ne bataya
mujhe kya hona chahiye,
kis tarah jeena chahiye,
kis cheez par muskuraana chahiye.
Magar kisi ne yeh nahin poocha—
jab main tanha hota hoon,
toh kis cheez se darta hoon?
Kis khamoshi se main roz guzarta hoon?
Mujh se kisi ne poocha nahin
main kis cheez se thak chuka hoon.
Woh bojh kaun sa hai
jo main roz bina shikayat uthaata hoon?
Woh sapna kaunsa hai
jo main sirf is liye chhod deta hoon
kyunki use chaahne ki ijazat nahin hoti?
Sab ne dekha
main sambhal jaata hoon.
Magar kisi ne yeh nahin poocha—
har baar sambhalne ke baad
main kitna toot jaata hoon?
Mujh se kisi ne poocha nahin
ke agar main ruk jaaun,
toh kya koi mere saath rukega?
Agar main kamzor pad jaaun,
toh kya mujhe bhi utna hi haqdaar samjha jaayega
jitna mazboot rehne par samjha jaata hoon?
Kya meri khamoshi raza hai
ya bas aadat?
Kya meri muskurahat sach hai
ya sirf ek zarurat?
Mujh se kisi ne poocha nahin
main kya chahta hoon—
shayad is liye
kyunki sab ko yeh lagta hai
ke mujhe bas sab kuchh theek rakhna aata hai.
Lekin agar kabhi koi pooch le—
toh kya woh sun paayega
woh jawaab
jo main khud se bhi darte hue chhupaata hoon?
A modest endeavour of mine: an English rendering of my Urdu poem, offered with all due humility.
NO ONE EVER ASKED ME
what I want.
They told me instead
what I should become,
how a life ought to be lived,
at which moments I must smile,
and for whose comfort.
No one ever asked—
when I am alone,
what shape my fear takes,
what hush I walk through
each day, unlit and unnamed.
No one ever asked me
what exhausts me.
What weight I shoulder
without protest,
or which hope I set down quietly
because wanting it
was never permitted.
They saw that I gathered myself,
time and again,
mistook the act for wholeness.
No one ever asked—
afterward,
what splintered out of sight.
No one ever asked me
if I stopped,
would anyone pause beside me.
If I faltered,
would I still be counted worthy,
or only praised
for remaining unbroken.
Is my silence agreement,
or merely rehearsal?
Is my smile sincerity,
or survival?
No one ever asked me
what I want—
perhaps because
those who hold things together
are assumed
not to need holding.
And if someone ever does ask,
will they listen closely enough
to hear the answer
I keep buried,
even from myself,
for fear it might be real.
