I was saved, Mother, I was saved, The henna of your unripe blood has seeped into every pore of my being.
Had my features formed, they too would have filled with blood. Had my eyes learnt to see, they would have been rimmed with the kohl of acid. I would have been bartered in satta-vatta or used up in kari.Every dream I dreamt would have remained unfulfilled. Had I gained a little height, my father would have lost a few inches, Had my veil slipped from my head, my brother’s turban would have fallen. Mother, before I could hear your lullaby, I’ve slipped into a sleep of my own. I came from a strange land; I have gone away to a strange land.
I was saved, Mother, I was saved, The henna of your unripe blood has seeped into every pore of my being.
It is as though someone has said, “STOP”, and halted the river of Time; It is only now that I have fully understood the magical properties of this word. Each moment, flowing in its own orderly row, has stopped. All my friends and all my enemies gaze at me, as though turned to stone. How strange it seems. Even though, since the day this benighted city was built I’ve been scared of precisely such a thing.
Someone would fling a morsel before me: That is how I crawled through life for countless mornings and evenings. I would carry those morsels on my frail body And, creeping and crawling, return to my hole. Till one day the sun made me realise: If you want, you can bring strength to these legs. And the winds too stopped to whisper: Come out of your hole, look at the world! I was afraid of standing on my own. I tottered and fell, got up and swayed unsteadily, Till, suddenly, someone came to steady me. My chest used to hug the ground; Now my head rests against someone’s shoulder.
Let us see how long the goblets and glasses circulateLet us see how long [the wine] will be forbidden to us
Let us see how long your tyranny will remain our lotLet us see if your name survives the bitterness of this age
Darkness has spread, prudence is lostLet us see how long the promise of a meeting remains
Men of wisdom are slow, the zealous are swiftLet us see how long the arrangements of passion will last
Let us see how long it takes for dawn to breakLet us see how long the afterglow lasts
Written by my life, Placed in the niche of my heart, That book is still waiting, The book I’ve never read.
All those chapters, all those pages Are still stuck together, still unopened. My reading eye Has not yet given them the separation That is the spirit of any book.
I fear in that book All the troubles of my nights and days All the regrets and reproaches Might be marked in the margins somewhere. I, who am deceived by my sense of superiority I, who am a captive in my circle of cowardice –How will I ever read that book?
Excerpted with permission from The Story of Eve: Selected Poems, Zehra Nigah, translated from the Urdu by Rakhshanda Jalil, Speaking Tiger Books.