When he first came to India in 1972, a gathering of relatives, friends, and his admirers was present at the small railway station in Amroha to welcome him. He had migrated to Pakistan at a very young age. Eventually however, her struggle with herself did end, allegedly at her own hands." -from the web *** Another version by Sascha Aurora Akhtar HOW SOLITARY IS THE MOON The shadow of a cage is too an imprisonment I continue to become the shadow of my clothing My hands become a part of others The mud is now lorn Why did the river travel on its own to the sea? How solitary, the act of choice Severed, I am severed from those who die And I wake arising in the fires I am reverberating in the stones I am drowning in the mud, wondering which tree ahead lies My sorrows thy name is child In my hands, toys in pieces In my eyes, humanity A multitude of bodies are asking me for eyes I do not know where my own beginning is The skies are younger than I Flight does not require a landing Whose voice do hands represent? You will have to live with my lies When you enter the jungle and free the birds The lantern gets a taste of fire I hang clothes out to dry on the roof of my person Within my distance lies an eye I dress myself in my pain I, she who dresses herself in garb of fire Should I tell you the name of my shade? To you I give the moons of every single night.Jaun Eliya adored his native land Amroha.
Shagufta had tried to take her own life on several occasions, but was saved by timely medical help. It is said she was constantly in and out of mental asylums, but continued to write poetry. However, what is known is that she started writing poetry after losing her baby and being deeply struck by the callous attitude of her husband towards this tragedy in her life. There are conflicting and controversial stories surrounding both her life and her death. "Sara Shagufta (Pakistan,1954-1984) Sara Shagufta is an enigmatic character in Pakistani literary history. See the original urdu poem attached here as an image. Still you want to know what I call my shade? I offer to you the moons of all my nights. On the mound of my womanhood I hang my clothes to dry. When you free the birds from the jungle the flame of the lamp flutters.
My hands follow someone's else commands Please be ready to bear with my lies. The skies haven't lived long as I I need no landing when in flight. I don't know when to set foot on my new journey. I mourn my child In my hands are his torn toys. I don't know what tree is ahead to lean onto.
My echoes come from the hearts of stones. I sulk among the mortals and wake up when the flames are to devour me. Why did the solitary river flow into the sea? A resolve it made in its loneliness. My hands serve others And I feel like alien dust. Even the shadow of the cage is an imprisonment and I am becoming a shadow of the dress I put on.
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