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Everything promised him to me:
the fading amber edge of the sky,
and the sweet dreams of Christmas,
and the wind at Easter, loud with bells,
and the red shoots of the grapevine,
and the waterfalls in the park,
and two large dragonflies
on the rusty iron fencepost.
And I could only believe
that he would be mine
as I walked along the high slopes,
the path of burning stones.
1916
Dec 7, 2023
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Parvin Shakir is in a league of her own. A juggernaut of Urdu poetry. It makes me sad that tons of her stuff sits in a single language untranslated.
I suppose that's for a reason, reading translated poetry is like taking a shower with a raincoat on.
But still, here's a piece of hers I translated.
وہ باغ میں میرا منتظر تھا اور چاند طلوع ہو رہا تھا، زلف شب وصل کھل رہی تھی، خوشبو سانسوں میں گھل رہی تھی۔ آئی تھی میں اپنے پی سے ملنے، جیسے کوئی گل ہوا سے کھلنے۔ اک عمر کے بعد میں ہنسی تھی اور خود پر کتنی توجہ دی تھی!
پہنا گہرا بسنتی جوڑا اور عطر سہاگ میں بسایا۔ آئینے میں خود کو پھر کئی بار اس کی نظروں سے میں نے دیکھا۔ صندل سے چمک رہا تھا ماتھا، چندن سے بدن مہک رہا تھا۔ ہونٹوں پہ بہت شریر لالی اور گالوں پہ گلال کھیلتا تھا۔
بالوں میں پروئے اتنے موتی کہ تاروں کا گمان ہو رہا تھا۔ افشاں کی لکیر مانگ میں تھی اور کاجل آنکھوں میں ہنس رہا تھا۔ کانوں میں مچل رہی تھی بالی اور بانہوں سے لپٹ رہا تھا گجرا، اور سارے بدن سے پھوٹتا تھا اس کے لیے گیت جو لکھا تھا!
ہاتھوں میں لیے دئیے کی تھالی، اس کے قدموں میں جا کے بیٹھی۔ آئی تھی کہ آرتی اتاروں اور سارے جیون کو دان کر دوں!
دیکھا مرے دیوتا نے مجھ کو، بعد اس کے ذرا سا مسکرایا۔ پھر میرے سنہرے تھال پر ہاتھ رکھا بھی تو اک دیا اٹھایا، اور میری تمام زندگی سے مانگی بھی تو ایک شام مانگی۔
He was waiting for me in the garden – And the moon was in its naissance – The braids of the night of our union were being let loose – Scented air mixing with my breath – I came to meet my beloved – A flower opened by the breeze – I laughed at myself after an age – To myself I had assigned so much attention –
I donned a deep yellow dress – Within it etched the perfume of our first night – I saw myself in the mirror, through his eyes multiple times – My forehead glowing with sandal oil – My body perfumed with sandalwood – My lips tinted with a mischievous red – A flowery blush on the cheeks –
My hair was sewn with pearls like stars had been woven within – A line of glitter between the hairs parting – Khol laughing in the eyes – An earpiece twirling upon the ear – flower-garlands coiled around my arms – The melody I composed for him ringing from my body –
In my hands – I hold for him my offerings – I sat at his feet – I did so, to perform the worship ritual, to offer up my entire life –
My Divine looked at me – He smiled, mildly – He placed a hand on my golden offering tray – And picked up single a prayer lamp – And if he took anything from my entire life I offered – Then it was only a mere evening –
Jan 5, 2025
Feb 11, 2024
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you know,
all i like to write about is love.
writing is easier when it’s about your own personal experiences of grief, of pain
but love is the beautiful dove of the two
released at a funeral, released at a wedding.
,
because the definition is different for everybody.
—
the trees rustle again tonight, and the wind gently taps on the windowpane, begging again to be let in
and my thoughts race farther and faster in the night than a pure-bred, hot-blooded racehorse, bucking wild for the first time
my mind buzzes, stricken like a gong, reverberating in the quietness of tonight
as i drag myself closer to you,
you reach out for me, an unspoken, gentle and devout prayer, asking for me in the unspeakable words conveyed in a whisper through actions
–
i promised you a fantastical world of your own, where you are safe, through my own creation.
i have created for you in the heart of my own somewhere for me to love you,
fully and infinitely with all of myself.
if this is not where you are safe, then there is nothing else.
–
word by word and sentence by sentence
i create dreams i would never tell anybody
not even under the skies of a cloudless night.
when i sleep, i tuck my hopes and sadness under my pillow
and hope a fairy will kidnap it and place in that spot
something i should need more.
but night after night, my dreams just macerate in the container of my heart.
soon, i will drink them like an elixir of truth
and what i am afraid of will come
3d ago
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enhances cognitive function by 200% and a glorious palette cleanser to take on your workday. symphony no.7 in A major, op 92: II. allegretto an absolute banger. avoid contemporary music in the morning. chants or hymns also induce a lovely trance but i would reserve that for days of rest.
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