Translated from the Urdu by Anam Kazmi
Jane Austen
Jane Austen
you said
that we may choose the path of madness
as long as we don’t lose all our senses and fall down
Jane Austen
why did you make me hold this weighing scale of choice and coercion?
Jane Austen
you knew that the hands of the person who tries to balance such a scale tremble
you knew that even when the two scales may appear to be equal
in reality, they are not the same
in my attempt at balancing both the scales I have lost my breath
and in the fleeting moments of sense that I have in this state of unconsciousness
I want to say a few things to you
Jane Austen
all the people visibly present here
are dead to me
Who Am I?
A sock-selling woman is not my name
I am the one whom you caged in walls and became fearless as the wind
not realizing that the stone cannot silence a voice
I am the one whom you hid underneath the weight of customs and traditions
not realizing that light can never be scared of abject darkness
I am the one from whose lap you snatched away flowers only to replace them with embers and thorns
not realizing that chains cannot mask the fragrance of flowers
I am the one whom you bought and sold, in the name of protecting my virtue
not realizing that Soni did not die just because she swam atop a raw earthen pot
I am the one whom you thrust into a palanquin and unburdened yourself of the weight
not realizing that as long as people’s mind remains enslaved, a community cannot flourish
First, in the name of shame and modesty,
you did a lot of buying and selling
then, in the name of my motherly love and loyalty
you did a lot of buying and selling
now, it is the season for flowers to bloom in laps and in minds
A half-naked woman selling socks and shoes
is not my name
Auction House
The flavour of death
in the shape of words
drips down from his lips
He, giving the colour of kisses to hate
putting blue stains on my cheeks
He wants to tell me
that he has every right to use my body the way he wants to
this ‘right’ is so peculiar
and the desire to exercise this right
fashions its rule with the support of those who are ruled over
the desire to exercise this right
every act of lying and cheating
is covered under the veil of the promise of love
but the face underneath that veil
has become crystal clear now
temptation and humiliation come together to form a couple
by dripping one’s feet in the river of hatred
one cannot wipe away the ink of shame on one’s forehead
Yes, the muddy layer of sadness from the journey is washed away
in the way that fluffed up rotis come out of scorching hot ovens
the marks of your fingerprints after you slap my face are left behind
just like the fluffed up rotis
making the balloons of a hundred colours grow on my face
You are the ‘rightful’ ones
In exchange for mehr,
You have won the right to exercise power over me
Kishwar Naheed [born 1940] is a feminist Urdu poet and writer from Pakistan. She has written several poetry books. She has also received awards including Sitara-e-Imtiaz for her literary contribution to Urdu literature. She was Director General of Pakistan National Council of the Arts before her retirement. She also edited a prestigious literary magazine Mahe Naw and founded an organisation Hawwa (Eve) whose goal is to help women without an independent income become financially independent through cottage industries and selling handicrafts.
Anam Kazmi is a writer and editor based in New Delhi. She has a postgraduate degree in English literature from the University of Delhi, and has worked as an editor for reputed publishing houses such as Rupa Publications and Viva Books and as a content writer for online education platforms and academic journals. She likes to read and write poetry across languages, is passionate about bridging the gap between English and Urdu and wants make content in Urdu accessible to a wide audience. Her articles and poems have previously been published in newspapers, magazines and on websites such as Hindustan Times, The Quint, Poems India, Delhi Poetry Slam and Writing Women.