पुढला पाऊस

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वाटतं की उघडून द्यावीत मनाची कवाडे, घ्यावा थोडा मोकळा श्वास,
पण लगेच मन आवरतं घेतो, कारण सोबत तुझी आठवण येईल खास.
कितीदा वाटतं द्यावीत झटकून जाळी जळमटं, झाडावा पाचोळा,
पण नजर पडते पाचोळ्यातून फुललेल्या सोनचाफ्यावर आणि आठवतो या चाफ्याच्या जन्माचा सोहळा,
खरंच, हे असे अनेक सोहळे डोळे भरून पाहिलेत आपण जोडीनं,
चाफ्याचा जन्म, गुलाबाची पहिली कळी, जाईच्या वेलाने पकडलेलं चढावाचं पाहिलं बोट, एक न अनेक.
परवाच बाहेर पडलो होतो अंगणात, काठी टेकत टेकत दोन चार महिन्यांनी,
माजलय आता चहूकडे गवत, चांगलं वीतभर झालंय,
असतीस न आत्ता इथे, तर बाजूची जागा मोकळी केली असतीस कापत्या हातांनी, बसल्या बसल्या.
मी मात्र वाढू देतोय त्याला, त्याची पातीही आणतात परत अंगणात तुझ्या आठवणींना.
पाऊस सरेलच आता, गवतही पिवळं पडेल, उन्हात पुढे करपूनदेखील जाईल.
पुढल्या पावसात कुठून परत येईल देव जाणे, पण…
पण यंदाच्या पावसात बरीच पडझड होईल घराची, पुढचा पाऊस बघेलस वाटत नाही, घर आणि मीही…

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Phonetics in Roman Script

Vāṭataṁ kī ughaḍūna dyāvīta manāchī kavāḍē, ghyāvā thōḍā mōkaḷā śvāsa, 
paṇa lagēcha mana āvarataṁ ghētō, kāraṇa sōbata tujhī āṭhavaṇa yē'īla khāsa.
Kitīdā vāṭataṁ dyāvīta jhaṭakūna jāḷī jaḷamaṭaṁ, jhāḍāvā pāchōḷā,
paṇa najara paḍatē pāchōḷyātūna phulalēlyā sōnachāphyāvara āṇi 
āṭhavatō yā chāphyācyā janmācā sōhaḷā,
kharan̄cha, hē asē anēka sōhaḷē ḍōḷē bharūna pāhilēta āpaṇa jōḍīnaṁ,
Chāphyācā janma, gulābāchī pahilī kaḷī, jā'īchyā vēlānē pakaḍalēlaṁ 
chaḍhāvāchaṁ pāhilaṁ bōṭa, ēka na anēka. 
Paravācha bāhēra paḍalō hōtō aṅgaṇāta, kāṭhī ṭēkata ṭēkata dōna chāra 
mahin'yānnī, 
mājalaya ātā chahūkaḍē gavata, chāṅgalaṁ vītabhara jhālanya, 
asatīsa na āttā ithē, tara bājūchī jāgā mōkaḷī kēlī asatīsa kāpatyā hātānnī,
basalyā basalyā. 
Mī mātra vāḍhū dētōya tyālā, tyāchī pātīhī āṇatāta parata aṅgaṇāta 
tujhyā āṭhavaṇīnnā.
Pā'ūsa sarēlaca ātā, gavatahī pivaḷaṁ paḍēla, 
unhāta puḍhē karapūnadēkhīla jā'īla. 
Puḍhalyā pāvasāta kuṭhūna parata yē'īla dēva jāṇē, paṇa... 
Paṇa yandācyā pāvasāta barīca paḍajhaḍa hō'īla gharāchī, 
puḍhachā pā'ūsa baghēlasa vāṭata nāhī, ghara āṇi mīhī...

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Poem recited by Aditya Sathe

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Rough English Translation (non-poetic)

So many times, I think of opening all the windows of my mind, to breath the fresh air,
but I stop myself because that freshness will bring back your memories for sure.
I feel like cleaning the cobwebs and sweep the fallen leaves,
But at the same time, I see the “Chaafa” tree blossomed through those dry leaves, and remember the celebration of its birth.
(Do you) remember? Many such celebrations we witnessed together.
Chaafa’s birth, first bud of our Gulab, first twine of Jaai which caught the line. And many more.
Just a few days before, I walked out into our courtyard, slowly with the help of my walking stick. Must be three-four months since my last visit.
There are weeds and grass has taken over. Even grown above handspan.
Even though your hands shake, you would have cleared the area around you by now if you were here.
But I am letting it grow, at least with them, your memories flourish in our courtyard.
But now, rain will reside, grass will turn yellow, might even get burnt in the scorching heat later. But god knows how it will return in the next rain.
But much more will collapse of this home. There won’t be the next monsoon to look at, for this home, and for me too…

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