dublinka

It makes your heart heavy and sad, when you realise that people are still being murdered for composing poetry. One such poet, the Afghan Nadia Anjuman, has left a small body of work, which is now being whispered and sung around the internet. When you recognise a trembling line like the following you have the sense that the world is now missing someone special:
Even though I am the daughter of poem and songs
My poem was novice and broken
My autonomous twig did not recognize the hand of the gardener

Most likely, given the similar levels of 'domestic' violence suffered by other Afghan women, she will remembered for the following short lines:


I am caged in this corner
full of melancholy and sorrow ...
my wings are closed and I cannot fly ...
I am an Afghan woman and so must wail.
--Nadia Anjuman


You can find more translations of her work here.

I particularly like, Ghazal:


Ghazal by Nadia Anjuman
Translated by Khizra Aslam

It is night and these words come to me
By the call of my voice words come to me

What fire blazes in me, what water do I get?
From my body, the fragrance of my soul comes to me

I do not know from where these great words come
The fresh breeze takes loneliness away from me

That from the clouds of light comes this light
That there is no other wish that comes to me

The cry of my heart sparkles like a star
And the bird of my flight touches the sky

My madness can be found in his book
O do not say no, my master, O look once at me

It is like the day of judgment
Like doomsday my silence comes at me

I am happy that the giver gives me silk
And all night, all along these verses come to me