Jo beet gayi so baat gayi

Jeevan Main Ek Sitara Tha
Maana Vah Behad Pyara Tha
Vah Doob Gaya To Doob Gaya
Ambar Kay Aanan Ko Dekho
Kitne Iskay Taare Toote
Kitne Iskay Pyare Choote
Jo Choot Gaye Fir Kahan Mile
Par Bolo Toote Taaron Par
Kab Ambar Shok Manata Hai
Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi

Jeevan Main Vah Tha Ek Kusum
They Us Par Nitya Nichavar Tum
Vah Sookh Gaya TO Sookh Gaya
Madhuvan Ki Chaati Ko Dekho
Sookhi Kitni Iski Kaliyan
Murjhaayi Kitni ballriyan
Jo Murjhayi Woh Fir Kahan Khili
Par Bolo Sookhe Phoolon Par
Kab Madhuban Shor Machata hai
Jo Beet Gayi So Bat Gayi

jeevan Main Madhu Ka Pyala Tha
Tumnay Tan Man De Daala Tha
Wah Toot Gaya To Toot Gaya
Madiralya Kay Aangan Ko Dekho
Kitne Pyale Hil Jaate Hain
Gir Mitti Main Mil Jaate Hain
Jo Girte Hain Kab Uthte Hain
Par Bolo Toote Pyalo Par
Kab Madiralaya Pachtata Hai
Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi

Mridu Mitti Kay Hain Bane Hue
Madhu Ghoot Phoota Hi Kartay Hain
Laghu Jeevan Lekar Aaye Hain
Pyale Toota Hi Karte Hain
Fir Bhi Madiralaya Kay Andar
Madhu Kay Ghat Hai Madhu Pyale Hain
Jo Madakta Kay Maare Hain
Vey Madhu Loota Hi Kartay Hain
Va Kachcha Peene Wala Hai
Jiski Mamta Ghat Pyalon Par
Jo Sachchey Madhu Sey Jala Hua
Kab Rota Hai Chillata Hai
Jo Beet Gayi So Baat Gayi

Harivansh Rai Bachchan

Translation:

There was a star in life
agreed, it was much loved
when it sank, it did sink.
Look at the sky’s vastness,
so many stars have broken away
so many loved ones it has lost
the lost ones, were they ever found?
But tell me, for the broken stars
does the sky ever grieve?
That which is past, is gone.

There was a flower in life
which, I doted everyday on
when it dried, it dried away.
Look at the garden’s breast,
dried, many of its saplings have
welted, many of its flowers have
that which welted, did it ever bloom?
But tell me, for dried flowers
does the garden create an uproar?
That which is past, is gone.

There was a cup of wine in life
which, you gave your heart and soul for
when it broke, it did break.
Look at the winehouse’s courtyard
shaken, where many cups are
fall, and merge with the ground
that which fall, do they ever rise?
But tell me, for broken cups
does the winehouse ever regret?
That which is past, is gone.

Soft mud, we are made of,
wine drops do tend to fall.
A short life, we have come with,
winecups do tend to break.
Yet, inside the winehouse
there is a winepot, there are winecups.
Those, struck by intoxication
do splurge away on the wine.
He’s a raw drinker,
whose affection escapes no cup,
one who has burnt from true wine
does he ever shout, or scream?
That which is past, is gone.

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