Photo by Girijaa Upadhyay
Sajida Zaidi
(Translated from Urdu by Riyaz Latif)
Sorrow’s Sermon
from dawn’s visage was rinsed again
the intoxication of dream-‐defiled moments
dusk’s kohl
disappeared in thick darkness –
night’s enchantment waned again
stars’ arcs shattered vanished
mist’s spread turned spacious
and horizon to horizon
the world of silences
began to impart the sermon of sorrow
Original Poem: “Dars-‐e-‐Gham” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal (Aligarh: Educational Publishing House, 1985), p. 39.
Singularity
wind’s benevolent hand
scattering all around
has turned me
to dispersion’s smoke
body’s each grain
as if an eye alive
embraced the body-‐cosmos
I, towing an atom-‐fragment body,
became a singularity of wonder
Original Poem: “Ikaaii” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal (Aligarh: Educational Publishing House, 1985), p. 141.
A Brief Poem
narrow – the expanse of the two worlds
from the frontier of conscious contemplation
to the occult secret of the heart
a stretch of the empty
in the cup of existence – sorrow’s dew
Original Poem: “Ek Mukhtasar Nazm” in Aatish-‐e Zer-‐e-‐Paa, p. 57.
Behind the Curtain
deep slumber
static
cryptic —
in the depths of lakes
these rushing waters that froth
in dark rainy nights
in autumn’s sadness — brimming with colors
in winter’s silent dispositions
in dust-‐clouds of a burning afternoon
in each unfazed instant,
in each voiceless moment,
who — entombing them underneath the earth,
lodged on the shores of
secret-‐laden
still lakes
slumbers —?
Original Poem: “Pas-‐e-‐Pardah” in Sail-‐e-‐Wujood, p. 135.
Liquid Fire
around me breathe
icy strata of loneliness
in my bosom glows the fire
which is the fate of each live truth
it is that liquid fire
in whose shoreless seas
centuries submerge.
eons are melded.
and the continual chain of moments breaks
I am the creator of this conflagration.
the furnace of my feeling,
the brazier of my emotions
the flames of my ruminations
have forged this fire
this conflagration is my creator
for it has,
razing the sandy walls
of death and existence,
non-‐self and selfhood,
has revealed a bewitching vista of boundless voids
has taught me,
while lodged in life,
the absolute art of bearing
the heft of nonexistence
Original Poem: “Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal, p. 28-‐29.
Journey of Circles
mist
earth-‐hued milieu
silhouettes
in mist’s lap
undulating dancing
circles…
circles…
in time’s heady mire
forming, being effaced, scattering,
weight-‐laden moments
unmarked circles…
mute circles…
in the ashes of time’s inferno
conflagration sans repose
circles of restless lightning
circles of fire without refuge
in time’s wastelands
strewn everywhere
circles of voiceless mute words…
circles of visionless haze…
circles of thirst…
tough stones
of time’s solid cliff
brickbats in the path — flint-‐stones
each shying away,
suppressing their hidden sparks,
in the firm bosom
successions of sorrow congealed
circles of feeling, icy…
circles…
Original Poem: “DayroN ka Safar” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal, p. 148-‐149.
Those Dreams Have Become Extinct
vision’s world was grander
desire’s paths were exquisite
dreams’ milky way was life’s insignia
marvels — fidelities — were provisions for the path
quavering feelings
shuddering intellect
restive looks
due to the flame of anxiety for future……
those interludes of colors and voices and sounds
those sagas of body and life
exhilarating panoramas of heart and soul
all that were the gains of a lifetime
how are they now cloaked in a shoreless mist?
the dreams which — wonders — fidelities
had sown in the heart’s field
how they turned into an extinct word?
Original Poem: “Wo Khwaab M‘adoom Ho Gaye HeiN” in Aatish-‐e-‐Zer-‐e-‐Paa, p. 77.
The Unconcluded Dance
body’s desert
whirlwinds of glances
heart’s glow
on which three intersections,
in the seared afternoon,
has halted life’s whole dance?
who was my fellow-‐traveler;
who shall I call?
to whom shall I say aggravated,
“you too, bring them here
your mind’s marshes,
the wrinkles on the forehead,
deluges of discourse condensed on lips
and some paths -‐ make them disappear in these very roads
then maybe
time’s numb feet might rise,
or some moment
that has broken away from
the iron shackles of days and nights
might be immersed in dance.”
Original Poem: “Raqs-‐e-‐na-‐Tamaam” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal, p. 90-‐91.
For the Palestinian Freedom-‐Fighters
O! sentinels of tyranny!
do not presume that this strife of spirit is fruitless
O! sovereigns of oppression!
these droplets of blood
will make holes in the heart of rocks -‐
the will of the old and the children and the young
will turn the tide of harmful intents
all these mortal wounds shall blossom
on nullity’s bosom
shall plant the headstrong standard of martyrs’ blood
this youthful resolve
that is, the preamble to the freedom of body and life
this precious asset of oppressed humanity
the radiance of future’s dreams in these blood-‐emitting days
the galaxy of hope
this struggle for survival…….
in the rush of darkness, is a succession of resplendence
it is their safe-‐kept deposit
the ones who, with shrouds on their heads,
are with shields on their chests
are agile — are fearless
these refuge-‐less old mothers’ hands raised in supplication
are boundless…….
these hands raised in supplication
shall bring back the mantle of righteousness from the skies –
these tears of blood
shall triumph…….
these flames blazing in hearts
are the recited word
for the refutation of devotion to terror
Original Poem: “Filistini MujahidoN ke Naam” in Aatish-‐e-‐Zer-‐e-‐Paa, pp. 107-‐108.
Mysteries of Sorrow Shall Turn into a Mirror
across horizons, in a pallid barrenness,
the entire landscape is attired in such a way as if
it is about to submerge in some mystery’s depths
this weary moment refuge-‐less
who, even being the sole soulmate
of this icy loneliness, cannot journey to the heart;
cannot seize the hem of the conflagration of life’s voice –
where in this heady annoyance — might one unbolt the portals of the past
where, in boiling muteness, might one look for sound’s script
how, in this cold barrenness, might one summon a vigilant time,
open perplexed eyes in the seven-‐hued twilight of memories,
with sorrow’s plectrum pluck the strings of being….
this swollen cloud of tumbling sinking feelings
which cannot pour with abandon on the thirsting soil of the heart –
these dark shadows of shoreless azure melancholy
sieved from whom resplendent rays cannot emanate towards being,
cannot even attain the shores of some weariness –
from this very insipidity of feeling, maybe someday — the riddle of existence
shall be manifest from eyes wondrous –
mysteries of sorrow shall turn into a mirror,
shall be the immortal reflection of possibility’s visage
shall be the shuddering sail of sounds’ ark –
they just they shall be the language of the poet’s heart
Original Poem: “Rumooz-‐e-‐Dard Aainah BaneNge” in Aatish-‐e-‐Zer-‐e-‐Paa, pp. 73-‐74.
Wandering Spirit
it has been a long time -‐
from a half-‐dying, subdued ember, we too
had lighted a blazing, glowing, strange fire –
that through its heat, stones, turning to hearts, used to melt;
whose flame used to scorch the dark spread of nights
whose ocean of fiery fire,
even in ice-‐covered airs,
used to remain tempestuous…….
that fire died long ago –
its ashes too now,
strewn in the specks of the roads, must have vanished,
but…….
that ember, we have heard,
still in the ruins of time
sometimes begins to flicker in the blackness of the nights
as if a wandering spirit roving since ages
Original Poem: “BhaTakti Rooh” in Aatish-‐e-‐Sayyal, pp. 53-‐54.
Mirror
soaring clouds
shifting enchanting forms,
rumble thunder
descending in soft droplets,
in the womb of dried earth
kernels of creation being reared,
valleys adorned in green
(a beckoning of an impassioned glance)
rushing brooks, the body of the surge
and the flowing Nile of movement and dance,
the mystery of expression, restless and self-‐aware —
the one shrunk in the prison of one’s own frames
is cloaked in the veil of desires
dowsing the flames of sounds rising from his chest,
is deprived of the relish of being euphoric and anguished
unaware of his own existence
from the boundaries of his potentialities
he is far….
someone say to him:
image within image
each vista is a mirror
Original Poem: “Aainah” in Sail-‐e-‐Wujood, pp. 53-‐54.
Creation of Verse
since long vision’s thoroughfare was sorrowful
horizon’s paths lay in slumber
for, in heart’s assembly,
a strange tumult of
song and lament and sound had not risen…….
looking up……far in the nebulous expanses
was visible a circle of radiance
as the heart shuddered and steadied…….
imagination spread its wings in the skies….
as if…….
if a folio of soaring unfolded,
mysteries of the blue skies would come alive
as if…….
someone would show the path to the dominion of moon and stars….
someone would lift the veils from the landscape
as if…….
in a shoreless desert
a wrinkle of shifting sands would make fresh marks…….
as if……. a bird, on the tides of the wind, with a flutter of the wing,
would inscribe the chronicle of existence……
as if…….
in dark night’s lap
nature’s hands, suddenly, were to light heart’s lantern….
Original Poem: “Takhleeq-‐e-‐Sh‘er” in Pardah Hai Saaz Ka, pp. 63-‐64.
Life is But a Chain of Questions
but this desire….?
in the deep sea of sorrows
just a ship without sails…….
but this river of passionate love….?
soul’s ark,
beyond river’s swell…….
but this bond of empathy….?
desire’s retribution –
but this sorrow……. this sorrow’s toxin….?
a song of
passing seasons’ sorrow -‐
but this sound of dying footsteps…….?
a sign of that moment returning
but this quivering reflection….?
that fragmentary mark
strewn on the parchment of existence…….
but these shadows crawling on walls….?
a dream evasive
roving in possibility’s path…….
but this heart’s anguish…. this remoteness of the destination….?
a road for passing
non-‐covetously through each apex…….
but this agony and ecstasy of life…….?
in Time’s vastness
a metaphor of exalted existence…….
but this season of falling leaves….?
all those lost moments
which would not gather in the mantle
but these rays of the fading sun…….?
the incompleteness of the journey….and on top of it
twilight’s merry countenance…….
but the command to journey…….and with it these shackle-‐chains….?
these irons…….an equivocal gesture
to set afire through heart’s inferno…….
but the futility of feelings….and the heart perplexed….?
this distress useless……. a pretext to subsist
in the desert of the unbound…….
but this rose-‐bough…….and the nightingale’s song…….?
the soft-‐footed arrival of someone’s memory
in a deserted house…….
but this dusk of loneliness…….?
a world-‐encompassing moment of
coming face-‐to-‐face with the Almighty eternal…….
Original Poem: “Zindagi To SavaaloN ki Zanjeer Hai” in Pardah Hai Saaz Ka, pp. 60-‐62.
What Shall I Write, What Not
since long the quill-‐pen has been quivering in my hands
I, a captive of the sorcery of your lips and eloquence
you, adrift in the flower-‐bed of my imagination’s beauty…….
all evening, we, with the saga of the sorrow of the times with us,
kept flowing in the delicate radiance of unison
kept recounting the epic of the world
we had thought……through the rush of these words
the world’s destiny would change
or dawn, resplendence in hand, would arise
secrets of Time would be revealed to us…….
but in the dewy hazy light of dusk
a specter would ripple on the goblet’s rim
……. (as lips quiver during the instant of separation)
you had wished to make my privy to the mystery
be it at the moment of parting
reveal the state of the afflicted heart….
or commit to one more rendezvous
you too kept quiet
I too was silent
in emotions’ soiree, we kept musing about past sorrows –
it was but a winged moment
it came and vanished
left behind a spell of unexpressed words…….
Time’s gushing deluge
in its rushing waves washes away
many intervals of existence
wet eyes began to dry
there are no dreams now in these eyes’ openings
neither the pricking of a hushed melody nor pain’s restiveness
are moments scattered fragments
or fallen leaves
that a motion of epochs keeps wafting them somewhere
the course is just not set…….
enigmatic motion what assertion is this
that silver-‐like whiteness has descended even on hair
in the blood-‐coursing heart
there is the tumult of time bygone,
a story pilfered –
neither any remorse for dawn’s splendor
nor is there a measure for pain
a futility drips from my quill-‐pen……
you left this abode of suffering
(though the quill-‐pen did not quit your hand even at your last breath)
the quill-‐pen even now is quivering in your hands
what shall I write…….and what not…….??
Original Poem: “Kya LikhuN Kya Na LikhuN” in Pardah Hai Saaz Ka, pp. 84-‐86.
*******
Sajida Zaidi was born in 1926 in Meerut, India. After completing her higher education at Aligarh Muslim University she went to London where she received her MPhil degree, joining the Department of Education at the AMU on her return. She held several important positions till her retirement as Professor in 1986.
A writer, poet, dramatist, critic and translator, both in Urdu and English languages, Sajida Zaidi’s debut poetry collection, Joo-e-Naghma, was published in 1962. Her other well-known writings include Aaatish-e-Sayyal, 1972, Sail-e-Wajood, 1979, Sarhad Koi Nahin, 1991, Talaash-e-Baseerat, 1991, Aatish-e-Zere-e-Pa, 1995, Mitti ke Haram, 2000, Parda hai Saaz ka, 2007 and others.
Her writing was influenced by Friedrich Nietzsche, Carl Jung, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Franz Kafka. For her literary contribution to Urdu language and poetry, Zaidi received many awards; among others, Ghalib 'Ham Sab' Award for Drama, several Uttar Pradesh Urdu Academy Awards, the All-India Bihar Urdu Academy Award for 'Sarhad Koi Naheen', and, the Sydney Literary Society Award, and the Canberra Literary Society Award.
Sajida Zaidi passed away in Dubai on 11 March 2011 at the age of 84.
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