Hidden inside me lives this - delicate girl
Strange aspects, strange passions she has, this girl.
I an tell you why my hands bleed so
Bare hands chiselled her from stone, this girl.
Again in the pagan temple of thought she stands
With her wounded hands - she must be Aazar's girl.
She died of grief, when they stole her dignity
So tender was the girl who lived inside this girl.
Why should you blame me for this art-
I am not the artist, not am I Aazar's girl.
Though she scatters into myriad crystals
She curls into the apparition of a flower, this girl.
The owners of the haveli really wanted
To keep within the family their own girl.
[Translated by Rukhsana Ahmad]
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Comments about this poem (Ghazal (3) by Ishrat Afreen )
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