Geeta Chhabra's poems translated by
Dr. Shihab Ghanem and published
in Al Ittihad on 6th May 2010


My Illusions are no traps.
They are my bridges,
My Conveyances of Life.

When I am benighted by ignorance,
Or, coaxed into commotion –
When I stand in reverse,
And there is blackness around;
When every step convolutes
To amputate my stride.
When mergers become motley,
And I am held back
To quiver, and shake
On shaken grounds.

Somewhere, then, my Illusions take over –
As good senators,
To bail me out of my: Doubts.

When I am lowered to crawl,
And bludgeoned – my brisket!
Rattles my strife.
When a state of limbo mutes my soul,
And I have nowhere to start,
Or, finish a point.
When a star splinters, and the moon
Comes crashing down!
When the bouquet elopes with the wind,
And Spring grows nettles to bite.

Verily! Then, my Illusions form
A protective reef, a listening device –
To hear my reliable beliefs: Aloud.

Geeta Chhabra