Sharing a screen grab from the last page of my book From the Ashes of 1947. Balraj Sahni captured the human tragedy of Partition in this poem, the spectre of which still continues to haunt us everyday. We seem to be unable to be human first.
Habib Jalib was born in 1928 in Hoshiarpur, East Punjab. He migrated to Pakistan after partition and worked as a proof reader in Daily Imroze, Karachi. Read further about him: https://www.letsstartthinking.org/Pakistan/personalities/habib-jalib.php. All his poetry is available via Rekhta. Below is the poem Bagiya Lahoo Luhan-The Garden Is A Bloody Mess. The poem is about the oppression in East Pakistan in 1971 but unfortunately it continues to resonate, even today.
Bagiya Lahoo Luhan Haryali ko aankhen tarsen bagiya lahoo luhan Pyar ke geet sunaoon kis ko shehar hue weeran Bagiya lahoo luhan Dasti hain suraj ki kirnen chand jalaye jaan Pag pag maut ke gehre saye jeewan maut saman Charon ore hawa phirti hai le kar teer Kaman Bagiya lahoo luhan Chhalni hain kaliyon ke seeney khoon mein lat paat Aur nahjaney kab tak hogi ashkon ki barsaat Dunya walon kab beeteinge dukh ke yeh din raat Khoon se holi khel rahe hain dharti ke balwan Bagiya lahoo luhan
The Garden Is A Bloody Mess Our eyes yearn for greenery The garden is a bloody mess For whom should I sing my songs of love The cities are all a wilderness The garden is a bloody mess The rays of the sun, they sting Moonbeams are a killing field, no less Deep shadows of death hover at every step Life wears a skull and bone dress All around the air is on prowl With bows and arrows, in full harness The garden is a bloody mess The battered buds are like a sieve The leaves drenched in blood smears Who knows, for how long We’ll have this rain of tears People how long do we have to bear These days and nights of sorrow and distress This oppressor’s blood bath is a frolicsome play For the mighty of the world, a mark of their prowess The garden is a bloody mess Source: Revolutionary Democracy
“In 1949, while in Lahore, Sahir Ludhianvi wrote a revolutionary poem, ‘Avaaz-e-Adam’ (The Voice of Man), in which ‘hum bhi dekhenge’ remains a memorable phrase. It ended on the optimistic – and one could say provocative – assertion that the red flag of communism would fly high. Pakistan had already decided to become a frontline state in Western attempts to contain Soviet Communism. It was trying desperately to convince the US that it could be a strong ally in its anti-Communism policy. Pakistan also wanted to portray itself as a trusted ally for the West, not just in South Asia but also in the Middle East. But after the poem was published, Sahir was threatened by intelligence agencies and he migrated to India. In effect, ‘hum bhi dekhenge’ came to symbolise Sahir’s farewell to Pakistan, which he felt would be a puppet of the West, and his search for sanctuary in Nehru’s India.” Source: The Wire.
aavaaz-e-aadam Dabegi kab talak aavaaz-e-Aadam hum bhi dekhenge rukenge kab talak jazbaat-e-barham hum bhi dekhenge chalo yoonhi sahi ye jaur-e-paiham hum bhi dekhenge dar-e-zindaan se dekhen ya urooj-e-daar se dekhen tumhen rusva sar-e-bazaar-e-aalam hum bhi dekhenge zara dam lo maal-e-shaukat-e-jam hum bhi dekhenge ye zoam-e-quvvat-e-faulaad-o-aahan dekh lo tum bhi ba-faiz-e-jazba-e-imaan-e-mohkam hum bhi dekhenge jabeen-e-kaj-kulaahi ḳhaak par ḳham hum bhi dekhenge mukaafaat-e-amal tareeḳh-e-insaan ki rivaayat hai karoge kab talak naavak faraaham hum bhi dekhenge kahaan tak hai tumhaare zulm mein dam hum bhi dekhenge ye hangaam-e-vidaa-e-shab hai ai zulmat ke farzando sahar ke dosh par gulnaar parcham hum bhi dekhenge tumhen bhi dekhna hoga ye aalam hum bhi dekhenge
The Voice of Man We too shall see till when one can suppress the voice of Adam We too shall see till when can be stopped the angry emotion(s) We too shall see, sure, just like this, the constant oppression. Whether we view from the door of the dungeon or the elevation of the scaffold We too shall see you dishonoured in the marketplace of the world Just take a moment’s breath, we too shall see the consequences of the grandeur of Jamshed. You too behold this vanity of power We too shall see this by the kindness of the firm belief’s fervour We too shall see a bend upon the dusty face that wears the jaunty headgear. Retribution is a tradition of human history Till when will you amass the arrows, we too shall see We too shall see how far will you persist with your tyranny. O sons of darkness this is the time for departure We too shall see the morning shoulder the flag of red colour We too shall see, you too shall have to see this clamour. Source: ‘We Too Shall See, You Too Will Have to See This Clamour’: A Tribute To Sahir Ludhianvi by Raza Naeem, NayaDaur
Read/listen to Sahir on Rekhta
Sahir Ludhianvi – Making of Dreamer – Freudian Poet of the Indian Cinema by Anil Pundlik Gokhale. CounterCurrents.org
Cherry Blossom
Pink Cherry blossom falling,
I often wonder why,
a beauty slowly taken
like branches now forsaken
I am the tree
that learned to cry.
Farewell my love,
to fallen love,
the wind became
your words,
the emptiness
between us,
the silent petals
upon the earth.
By Michael Faudet
Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.
Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine that flows not from its own wine-press.
Pity the nation that acclaims the bully as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.
Pity the nation that despises a passion in its dream, yet submits in its awakening.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice save when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except among its ruins, and will rebel not save when its neck is laid between the sword and the block.
Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking.
Pity the nation that welcomes it new ruler with trumpetings, and farewells with him with hootings, only to welcome another with trumpetings again.
Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the cradle.
Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.
My Bagichablog would be incomplete without the abundance of blooms this year.
That distant peck on the lips. Which takes me away from you
That growing tide between us. When will it settle to reveal us?
That lost dream of love. Will it ever be retrieved?
That pinning of warmth. When will the sun rise again?
That distant peck on the lips. How I wish it was closer.
By Anonymous.
I shared this picture yesterday with friends and I got this beautiful poetry in return:
I know, you are silent sage tree, more than a human being.
I know your are, like Buddha, meditating while planting your self in freezing snowy mountains.
I salute to your benign and humble posture.
I recognise the ‘firm’ within your green leaves, though you appear to be in a tilted posture.
This is your humility, for you are laden with love and humanity.
Thank you Prof Iswhar Dayal Gaur for writing this.
at every step
she is stricken with anguish and suffering
with the solitude of the victim
weeping and sobbing
she returns to her den
to say farewell
to trees and flowers
to say farewell
to the deep, slow moving river of solitude
to say farewell
to the fast fading shadows
of the helpless wilderness !
Translation of poetry from Harjeet Singh Gill, Sufi Rhythms. Interpreted in free verse (Patiala: Punjabi University, 2007), p 153.
Read about Laeeq Babree: https://www.dawn.com/news/112054
BAGICHA 