A Lullaby by Faiz
By Dr Zafar M. Iqbal
TCCI, Chicago
Faiz left Pakistan in the late 1970s, after Gen. Zia-ul Haq’s military rule began, to become the editor of ‘Lotus’, a product of Afro-Asian Writers’ Association, based in Beirut, Lebanon. In those days Beirut was the scene of a vicious conflict between PLO stronghold there and Israel. He wrote two poems on the Palestinians, one titled ‘Palestinian Martyrs in Foreign Lands’, and the other, ‘Lullaby for a Palestinian Child’. Both are included in his book, ‘Mayray Dil, Mayray Musaffir’ (1981), which he dedicated to Yasser Arafat.
This heart-rending ‘Lullaby’ could well have been for ANY child, not just Palestinian. An embodiment of innocence, fragile and precious at the same time, their plight transcends religious, political and geographical boundaries formed, set up and ferociously defended by their elders. Children dragged into conflicts of not their making suffer the consequences. Children are children, in every culture, every country (friend or foe), everywhere in the world. They inherit the world with all its progress and problems that the older generation leaves behind.
Faiz was in a war-torn Beirut when he wrote ‘Lullaby for a Palestinian Child’. I take some liberties with this poem’s title since I suppose Faiz would agree that ANY child in such circumstances needs consolation, regardless. Faiz, who went through such miseries himself in his own country by his own countrymen, could not have been oblivious of how emotionally wrenching this Lullaby is to any family (including his own, long ago), anywhere in the world.
A Lullaby
Don’t cry, baby,
your mummy, just dozed off crying.
Don’t cry, baby,
your daddy left a short while ago,
when grief became too much for him.
Don’t cry, baby,
your brother,
chasing the butterflies of his dreams,
has gone some place far.
Your sister is married off
in a foreign land.
Don’t cry baby,
dead suns washed themselves
in your backyard and left,
moons are buried here.
Don’t cry, baby,
but if you cry
your mummy, daddy, sister, brother
moon and sun
will make you cry more.
If you smile, maybe then
all of them, in their disguise,
will return to play with you.
[Beirut, 1980]
Romanized Urdu Original:
Palestini Buchchay Kay-liyey Lori
Muth ro buchcha,
ro ro kay abi
thayri ammi ki aankh lagi hai.
Muth or buchchay,
kutch hi pehlay
thayray abba nay
upnay gham say rukhsuth li hai.
Muth ro buchchay,
thera bhai
upni khaab ki thith-li peechay
door kahin perdais gaya hai.
Muth ro buchchay,
theyray baji ka
do-la pura-yeydais gaya hai.
Muth ro buchchay,
theray aangun main
murda sooruj nihla ka ga-yey hain
chunderma dufna kay gayey hain.
Muth ro buchchay,
ammi, aba, baaji, bhai
chaand aur sooruj
thoo gur roo-ay ga tho yeh sub
aur bhi thuj ko roo-layain gay
thoo muska-yey ga tho shayed
saaray ek din bhais badul ker
thuj say khail-nay laout a-yain gay.
[Beirut, 1980]
Faiz recites this poem from about 10:30 to 11:52 minute in this long UrduLife YouTube video; you can also see his wife, Alys, speaking in Urdu from 13:49 to 17:30 minute:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=DLJ1ynqX0IY
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