A caged bird, deprived of flight

Nadia Anjuman Herawi (Nadja Anjoman)

Nadia Anjuman was born in Herat, Afghanistan, in 1980. She graduated from Mehboobe-e Herawi high school and was in her third year at Herat University studying Literature and Humane Science at the time of her death.

In 2005 Anjuman published her first book of poetry, Gul-e-dodi ("Dark Red Flower"), and it quickly became popular in Afghanistan and neighboring Iran.

In the eyes of my book if you read the stars
It is just a tale from my endless dreams
--Nadia Anjuman, "Strands of Steel"

Shortly thereafter, on November 4, 2005, she was found dead at her home in Herat. Nisar Ahmad Paikar, chief of the Herat police crime unit, stated that her husband, Farid Ahmad Majid Mia [or Nia], a literature graduate, lecturer in philology and administrator on the Herat University faculty, had confessed to slapping her, but not to killing her, and was claiming that she committed suicide. Anjuman's husband and perhaps her mother or stepmother have been arrested (the report of her mother's arrest by major wire services has been refuted by Kalil Jalili, who knows members of Anjuman's family and has spoken to them; it seems more likely that her stepmother may have been arrested, and this seems to be confirmed by Institute for War and Peace Reporting/Afghan Recovery Report accounts to follow). At the time this article was written it was not clear that any charges had been filed, or would be filed, as the family (presumably the husband's) seemed unwilling to allow an autopsy.

And while it may not be possible to say Anjuman's position and stature as an acclaimed female Muslim poet directly, or even indirectly, brought about her death, the mere fact that such an eventuality seems plausible should give the world immediate pause, as in--stop and see where the hell we're heading! To make matters worse, if such a thing is possible, the same Nadia Anjuman who survived the nightmare regime of the Taliban may have died by the hand of her own husband, himself a scholar and writer ...

Which plunderer’s hand ransacked the pure gold statute of your dreams
In this horrendous storm?
--Nadia Anjuman, "Strands of Steel"

Of all the alarming things that appear herein, what alarms me most is something reported by Christina Lamb, an award-winning journalist/writer and expert on "things Afghanistani," who wrote a book about the celebrated Sewing Circles of Herat to which Anjuman belonged. Lamb, whose credentials are impeccable, reports: "Friends say her family was furious, believing that the publication of poetry by a woman about love and beauty had brought shame on it."

Do not question love as it is the inspiration of your pen
My loving words had in mind death
--Nadia Anjuman, "Strands of Steel"

Nadia Anjuman was a poet whose words may have been her downfall. Her own family, which should have tended and cherished her gift, somehow saw only shame in the love and beauty she brought to the world.

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
--Nadia Anjuman, "Strands of Steel"

A poet like Nadia Anjuman can be likened to a caged bird, deprived of flight, who somehow finds it within herself to sing of love and beauty. But when the world finally robs her of both flight and song, what is left for her but to leave the world, thus bereaving the world of herself, her song, and the flights of awe they might have taken together?

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

For Nadia Anjuman, there may have been a fate worse than death: not to be free to act, not to be free to speak, not to be free to write poetry. But for every constraining band of steel meant to cage, bind and ultimately silence her, she has left enduring words of steel. Truly, she has left her mark.

Do not ask of my blooms great looks
On hands, feet, and tongue strands of steel
on the tablet of time, this will be my mark
--Nadia Anjuman, "Strands of Steel"

I was discarded everywhere, the poetic whisper in my soul died.
Do not search for the meaning of joy in me, all the joy in my heart died.
If you are looking for stars in my eyes, that is a tale that does not exist.
--Nadia Anjuman

Ghazal by Nadia Anjuman
Translated by Khizra Aslam

From this cup of my lips comes a song;
It captures my singing soul, my song.

That in my words is the meaning of ecstasy,
That dies my happiness into grief, my song.

If you see that my eyes say a word,
Then take it as my forgetfulness, my song.

Do not ask of love, O it tells me of you;
My words of love speak of death, my song.

His hope, like flowers, I desire.
No drop of my eyes is enough, my song.

The daughter of this place sings qasida, a ghazal,
But what spoils her strange verses, my song?

O the gardener does not understand my happiness;
O do not ask for many looks of my youth, my song.

From this hands, these feet and words, it looks strange
That my name is written on the slate of this age, my song.

A poem by Nadia Anjoman
Translated by Mahnaz Badihian

No desire to open my mouth
What should I sing of...?
I, who am hated by life.
No difference to sing or not to sing.
Why should I talk of sweetness,
When I feel bitterness?
Oh, the oppressor's feast
Knocked my mouth.
I have no companion in life
Who can I be sweet for?
No difference to speak, to laugh,
To die, to be.
Me and my strained solitude.
With sorrow and sadness.
I was borne for nothingness.
My mouth should be sealed.
Oh my heart, you know it is spring
And time to celebrate.
What should I do with a trapped wing,
Which does not let me fly?
I have been silent too long,
But I never forget the melody,
Since every moment I whisper
The songs from my heart,
Reminding myself of
The day I will break this cage,
Fly from this solitude
And sing like a melancholic.
I am not a weak poplar tree
To be shaken by any wind.
I am an Afghan woman,
It only makes sense to moan

Ghazal by Nadia Anjuman
Translated by Khizra Aslam

There is no desire to speak again; whom to ask, what to say?
I, who was treated ill, what should I not read, what not to say?

What should I tell that honey for me is like poison!
I cry; the fist of the cruel! It teases. Would I not say?

There is no one who knows my affliction, none I trust;
For what should I cry, laugh, die, and live today?

I and this faith; the grief of my failure, and this wishfulness;
I cannot do anything; and the words of affection, if only I could say.

O my heart, there was spring and there was this season of comfort.
But I cannot fly anymore. I want to know to whom should I say ...

Though I am quiet and cannot remember any song,
Yet all the time, something stirs in my heart that I should say.

Ah, remember the good day when this cage was broken;
That loneliness is gone, my delight, I sing the cares away.

I am a frail stick that trembles in air each time;
An Afghan daughter who can say wherever she needs to say.

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

Nazm by Nadia Anjuman
Translated by Khizra Aslam

O the one who hides in the mountain of unfamiliarity!
O you that sleep in the quietness of the pearl.
O who remains in the memories!
Bring the memories of transparent water.
In a river like forgetfulness, my mind is full of dust.
The voice that comes from the mountain makes me think
That from the one who destroys, how can you get your golden string?
That the storm of cruelty affects the faith.
How can you get the comfort of a moon from a silver leaf?
There is no death after this!
If the river stops to flow,
And if the clouds open a way to your heart,
And yes, if the daughter of the moon blesses you with her smiles.
If the mountains become soft, greenery grows,
Fruit grows.
And one was kind, from all the unkind.
Will the sun rise?
Will the memories rise with it too?
Those memories that are hidden from our eyes
And while frightened from the flood and the rain of cruelness
Will the light of hope appear?

Memories of light blue by Nadia Anjuman
Translated by David Tayyari

You, exiles of the mountains of oblivion
You, diamonds of your names sleeping in quagmire of silence
You the ones your memories faded, memories of light blue
In the mind of muddy waves of forgotten sea
Where are your clear flowing thoughts?
Where did your peace-marked silver boat moon craft go?
After this death-giving freeze, the sea clams
The clouds, if they clear heart from bitterness
If daughter of moonlight brings kindness, induces smiles
If the mountain softens heart, grows green and
Turns fruitful
One of your names, above the mountain peaks
Will become the sun?
Sunrise of your memories
Memories of light blue
In the eyes of tired-of-flood-water fish and
Scared of rain of darkness
Will it become a sight of hope?

(Translator's Note: "light blue" = "great hopes")