Prelude
Born on 31 October 1954 in the city of Gujranwala, Punjab, Sara Shagufta was raised in poverty in Karachi; her life seemed destined to abuse, first by her father then by a string of husbands and men in her life. Mother of three children, Shagufta battled clinical depression, hospitalisations and shock therapy. But throughout, she wrote poetry, letters and kept journals. Not yet thirty years, she took her own life on June 4 1984.
After her death, two poetry collections, Aankhen (Eyes) and Neend ka Rang (The Color of Sleep), edited by Saeed Ahmed, were published. Her poetic expression, stemming from the dissonances of her life-experiences, often rendered in uncomfortable, fragmented imagery and syntax, imparts to her voice an unsettling valence, and sets her up as a woman-poet of a unique disposition. Author Amrita Pritam wrote two books about her life: Ek Thi Sara (There was a Sara) (1990) and Life and Poetry of Sara Shagufta (1994).
**
Sara Shagufta
(translated from Urdu by Riyaz Latif)
Moon’s Debt
out of our tears eyes were formed
we all tugged strangled our [own] sea-storms
and became our own lamentation
more than the skies the earth hears the call of the stars
I unfurled death’s hair
and sleep stretched on falsehood
kept on playing eyes’ marbles
the evening kept on enduring duplicitous colors
on the skies my moon is a debt
I am a lantern in death’s hands
on the wheel of birth I see death’s chariot
in the earth my human rests buried
raise your head from prostrations
death has left a child at my bosom
“Chand ka Qarz,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 30-31.
Fireplace
from the fireplaces
remove your blazing bosoms
or else on the final day
fire and wood shall be made
the exalted form of creation
“AatishDaan,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), p. 56.
Two Swigs of Thirst More
at the touch of hunger she awakened
at the sound of the snapping of the twigs
two more swigs of thirst
God preserves so many tastes of hunger too
Gardener! that flower is the color of my little doll
and in sunflowers you have sown my tresses
my shoes are like black roses
and this white flower is the color of my roti
“Do Ghoont Pyaas Aur,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), p. 43.
Waters’ Vice
waters’ arches
how they hunt the ocean
moon-full I weep
and next to the hue-creator I sleep
“Paaniyon ki Badi,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), p. 42.
Waters’ Threads
I, standing at the crossroads,
desire to return towards my arch
he, the one ensnared in blood,
wants to live some more…
my shadow as if had merged with some wall
as if eyes’ strands had been set afloat in waters:
you, who robs sunlight from the evening-sun
I, who steals even the night of the morning…
when the weary faded morning star
is solitary in the entire sky
I value that very time…
“Paaniyon ke Dhaage,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 81-82.
The Other Mountain
it was the other mountain
where, in things, were lodged some portions of my being
how disordered had I proceeded from here
and turning my day to dust I was returning
all things pressed me to their bosom
I sold the small shoes to the street-vendor
and placed the coins in the tiny clothes on the hanger
I stood in front of the mirror
and began to count my eyes’ wrinkles
as I began to roast birds on the fire
hunger sprouted from my heel
“Doosra Pahaad,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 83 -84.
Silence of the Shadow
only the earth bears the silence of the shadow
not the hollow tree nor hollow laughter
and then laughed the stranger in his strange laughter
guffaw’s rock was fragmented into stone-shards
the silence of the shadow
new flowers do not endure!
You!
do not arrange the ocean in waves
for you do not know your own order!
You!
What do you know about walking on the earth!
for you do not know how to throb in the beloved-idol’s heart
“Saaye ki Khamoshi,” in Aankhen /i>(Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 184-185.
The Milestone Treads for a Long Time
in sky’s bosom, sorrow turns the spinning-wheel
milestone
treads for a long time and is motionless
the night has risen before me:
the stains on the garment
were my children’s griefs
loneliness is lapping up my blood
I had lifted straw-blades from the city’s ridge
the sun turned them to sufferings
eyes are the stain of my dreams
my grave, hiding, gazes at me
“Sang-Meel Pehron Chalta Hai,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 23- 24.
Crutches
the crutches were afire
who knows – who is alive
the clock or Time
emotions landed on the crutches of bones
and heart’s crutch – which keeps blazing
keeps on frisking and searching anguish
the feelings that are burning on the dirt-filth mound
have forgotten their crutches
and you who bring me into reckoning
are forgetting your crutches
you tied a pledge of crutches with soul’s lassitude
and named me home…
then all the crutches began to stare at me
the crutch that burns in the earth-lamp’s spirit
was my heart
the crutch which is shaped out of a dead tree
what true times it holds…!
“Baisaakhiyan,” in Aankhen span style=”font-weight: 400;”>(Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 71-72.
How Lonely is the Moon!
even a cage’s silhouette is captivity
attire’s shadow, I am becoming one
my hands reside in others:
the soil has become solitary
why did the river go to the ocean alone?
how lonely is the verdict!
I sulk, take offence, at the dead
and come alive in fire
am resounding in stone
am submerged…
in earth which tree shall grow?
the name of my sorrows is child
in my hands are broken toys
and there is Man in my eyes
innumerable bodies are asking for eyes from me
from where do I commence myself?
the age of the skies is younger than mine
soaring does not harbor lands
whose voice are hands?
please endure my falsehoods
when you free the birds from the woods
the fire tastes the lamp
I dry out clothes on the ridge-wall of being
there is eye in my expanse
my garments are my sorrows
I, the wearer of fire’s robe,
reveal the name of my shade
I bequeath to you the moons of all the nights
“Chand Kitna Tanha Hai,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 68-70.
Woman and Salt
numerous kinds of honor there are
veil, stone, wheat
nails of incarceration have been hammered onto honor’s coffin
neither the house nor the footpath is ours
honor is a matter of our subsistence
with honor’s lance we are speared
honor’s speck originates from our tongue
if some night tastes our salt
we are branded bland roti for a lifespan
what kind of a bazaar is this
that the hue-maker himself lays sallow
kites are perishing on the palm of voids
I give birth to children in detention
for lawful offspring the ground should be playful
you bear children in fear thus you have no progeny today
you keep on calling from one embankment of the body
in your stature, a gait has been placed
a beautiful gait
a fake smile has been chiseled on your lips
you haven’t cried since ages
Is a mother like this?
why are your children lying pallid?
which kin’s mother are you?
of rape – of incarceration – of a body riven
or of daughters walled in bricks
your daughters, in bazaars,
knead hunger with their blood
and consume their own flesh
which eyes of yours are these?
what raising of the wall of your house is this?
you placed acquaintance in my laughter
and named your son a coin currently in force
today your daughter tells her daughters
I shall spike my daughter’s tongue
a blood-spitting woman is not a metal-ore
is not a bracelet-thief
the sprawling field is my courage
the ember my desire
we have been born with shrouds tied to our heads
not with rings on our fingers
that you will steal
“Aurat aur Namak,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 50-53.
It’s Half-Raining Outside
do not account for the mirror
it cannot tread a single step
the relation between the footstep and the mirror
if you wanted to peek you could have peeked through eyes
what day is it outside the room
outside is the sneer of lush green mountains
outside it is half-raining
no knot remains in the hair
time remains
what day is it in the room
adding your voice, do not call out
if there is thieving on the walls
it means
we both are not secure
winds are combing the earth
“Baahar Aadhi Baarish Ho Rahi Hai,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 59-60.
See Me Through Stone’s Eye
two voices
one is stealing the earth, and the other, Man.
and I, my eye is stealing me
I am dying
Man walled in whispers
shackles his moment
and quilts his heart’s knot
all parapets
are eyes in debt
all climes begin with me
spectators!
see me through stone’s eye
“Mujhe Patthar ki Aankh se Dekhna,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 61-62.
Debt
my father was naked
I took off my clothes and gave them to him
the earth too was naked
I stained it
with my house
shame too was naked I gave it eyes
gave caresses to thirst
and in the garden-bed of lips
I sowed the one who left
the season, moon in tow, was wandering
giving the season a blot I liberated the moon
from the smoke of the pyre I made Man
and placed my soul in front of him
his word which he chose at his birth
and spoke:
I see wonder in your womb
when fire stood afar from my body
I warmed my iniquities
even after motherhood I am a virgin
and my mother too became a virgin
you are now the wonder of a virgin mother
I shall burn away all the seasons on the pyre
I breathed the spirit in you
in your climes I am going to snap my fingers
what shall the earth think?
the earth shall think shade and we shall think the earth
your refusal gives me life
whether we endure the anathemas of trees
or adorn sorrows’ ragged clothes
“Qarz,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 35-37.
All the Three Flowers of Mine are Thirsty
mother’s tears have begun to drop on the ground
and people have begun to laugh
I have seven more days of death
Is farewell like this!
for my hand is going to halt:
fables shall be penned with the fibers of my shirt
do not cry, my blood was very sad
do not replicate the flowers on my epitaph
the eyes that flew away dwell
somewhere or the other
insane was not I but his footstep
which had broken into my blood:
only if I could wrap eyes and hand them to you:
the most prodigal is the eye
……………..
I had distributed a lot of mirth
how did they fall from my lips ………?
who goes hungry after offering the roti of my name
who passes on after lending me a shoulder:
in my garland three flowers are thirsty……
“before I become one with the earth
do me justice” ……
oh! errors of my way, forgive me
for the rope swaying in the well may burn but
cannot slake thirst
on whose all palms shall I put eyes
and who all shall I not bid adieu
“Mere Teeno Phool Pyaase Hein,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 73- 75.
Who Is It That Dies Everyday
by dawn I have squandered the wrecked moon
this night some black flower will bud
I have gushed forth from countless eyes
my blood turned to pebble-shards
the desire of my first footstep is not the second footstep
my desire to turn to dust has not been effaced
oh! my sustainer God…?
it is not sleep that is my sorrow it is your waking up
who laments for my silence
who gathers the tiny pebbles of my happiness?
who is it that dies each day, everyday
rise! Lord of handicapped children
for my eyes have attained youth
night hisses over the sleeve of intent
on the cage-bars of Time
human-lamps are lighted
if I had gathered my emotions with my blood
my hands would have been scorched
now look at
hunger’s disavowal with my children
“Ye Roz Kaun Mar Jaataa Hai,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985), pp. 88- 89
My Lips Mendicants
the land is even smaller than my weariness
the rein exceeds the journey
and thus, without intent,
I wish to laugh a lot
but then my lips might turn untrue
I was terrified precisely then
when my father was immersed in
guffawing with my mother
all footsteps have departed
and all eyes are buzzing
I shatter voice’s body
I was shaped with so many mortars
who excavates away the wells of dread
seeing you I recall my many nadirs
the clay-shard of blood ruins my game
and the sun flies away from shade
it’s my last halt and all are steeped in secrecy
I have already laughed to the absolute
body’s fissure cannot burst open a portal
even till now I have not been able to overturn that teacup
which was brewed out of dead milk
from dawn to dusk birds soar from the body
and slumber in flight all night
the learned divined prophecies for me
and named me a refuge
after each entity the world emerges as the other third
and the second entity disappears
shadows were earth’s creed
and after creating twirls in water
the rope, as mortgage, is left on the ground
before sighting me all these people were crystal-transparent
then I kneaded their essence and asked the salt to savor it
my innumerable lamps were snuffed in the quest for fire
in the lanes of loyalty, the bitch is
less renowned than the dog
let me pass on my footpath-number to the masters
for at the peak of the evening thus sun proceeds in to a refusal
from the rods of my house
are made the chain-leashes for numerous dogs
I shall not include you in my recompense
men do not commit a mistake twice
I restate God again for the third time
the destiny of the toy, at the most, is to break
“Hont Mere Gadaagar,” in Aankhen (Karachi: Tashkeel Publishers, 1985),pp. 38-41.
*******
Riyaz Latif is a bilingual poet and translator. He teaches art history at FLAME University, Pune, India.
Riyaz Latif in The Beacon
Leave a Reply