Ishrat Afreen’s maiden collection of poetry, Kunj Peele Phoolon Ka was published in 1985. It was well received in literary circles. Soon after, she married and migrated out of the country. She is now settled in New York. After a long interval, her poems have once again started appearing in literary magazines. At the moment her second collection is in the process of publication.

Afreen pens both ghazals and nazms with ease and competence. With a unique diction, her style and content are her very own. Along with poems that involve her deeper self, she is passionately concerned about the downtrodden, especially the deprived women of society. Her poetry is invigorating, refreshing and sombre all at the same time.

The poems selected for translation are from the collection, Kunj Peele Phoolon ka, published by Maktaba-i-Danyal, Karachi.

Words

Words are so tiny,
yet with them
can be built
a small, little house
enough to sustain both of us.

Words are so scattered,
yet they can be
assembled
to make a toy
that can cheer up a
hungry child.

Words are so few,
yet they can be grouped and arranged
to buy a small piece of tillable land,
to cultivate and grow
gold-coloured dreams.

Words cost so much,
yet they can be
shredded and ground
to pay off installments

for a musical
instrument.

Words are such a source of blessing,
like evenings at shrines,
like sailors’ songs,
like farmers’ hands,
like warm supplications of a mother,
like children’s voices.

Roses and cotton

Girls working in fields,
the yellow, summer
sunlight
tanning
their golden bodies;
whose nights beget
beds of cold and dew,
days, a scorching sun overhead.

They are far more
beautiful,
so unlike
the sculpted beauties
seated on marble
benches
in lush lawns,
their knotted hair
adorned with
jasmine-buds,
drunk with the scent of roses,
maddened by vibrant colours.

Girls in fields,
harvesting sunlight,
also on the threshold of youth
but evading the sight of mirrors.

Not familiar with fiery
roses and daisies,
unaware of the sensuous air of fragrance,
they only pick flowers,
never wear them.

Their dresses scented
with the sharp smell of mustard flowers,
cotton sparkling in
their eyes.

– Introduced, selected and translated by Yasmeen Hameed