105 PREFACE TO FAIZ

RREFACE

Faiz was born to Sultan Mohammad Khan and his youngest wife Fatima in Sialkot, Pakistan on February 13, 1911 as Faiz Ahmad. Later in life, he adopted FAIZ also as his pen name and was, therefore, came to be known as Faiz Ahmad Faiz.  In 1930 he married a British lady, Alys who gave him two daughters.

He was schooled in Sialkot and later in Lahore, Pakistan where he did his masters in Arabic and English. He taught for a while but later joined the army and left it as a Lieutenant Colonel in 1947. He then became a journalist and was appointed as editor-in-chief of Civil and Military Gazette and later of Pakistan Times, both renowned English dailies of Pakistan.

Faiz was active in left wing politics. Accused of conspiracy to overthrow the government he was jailed for four years in 1951. After his release he lived in and out of Pakistan depending on the idiosyncrasies of the rulers of the day. He, however, kept on writing poetry until he died on November 20, 1984 at the age of seventy three in Lahore, Pakistan

Faiz was, as I choose to call him, a wailing nightingale. He was a tortured man, tortured because he loved beauty and wanted to sing and dance but could not, because he found himself surrounded by so much ugliness – the pain, the sorrow, the poverty, the need, the blood, and the tears – which was and still is so typical of Pakistan, a country where people overbreed and underperform. He tried to do something about it but failed and realized that nothing short of a magical wand would do the trick. And since he did not have the wand, he wailed and wailed  until he died.

In his love of beauty, especially feminine beauty, he was a typical Eastern poet. He sang:

O it’s a pleasure to see a face
A face that has such divine grace
And the lovely, sleepy, dreamy eyes
That charm and enchant and mesmerize
And a shapely body with bursting youth
And graceful elegance, a tad uncouth
And a leisurely walk and a happy stroll
That is better than any rock and roll
And the silken, curly, golden hair
In moonlit night when it flies in the air
And the bow-like brow that quickly slays
But was made not in six but sixty days
And a beautiful mouth with red, red lips
From which every word like honey drips

But when I am lonely in the saloon
At night I go and look at the moon
In it I see your gorgeous face
Your dazzling beauty, your charm and grace
I see your lips, your mouth, your chin
Your luring smile, your charming grin
Your bulging bosom under the shirt
Your narrow waist, your tight skirt

But then he saw the ugly side and was revolted by it:

But life has also an ugly side
Which we cannot cover or hide
Where there’s hunger, and need, and want
All over the city and the countryside

Where under the shadow of the castle wall
The sick and hungry do meekly crawl
Where dreams are shattered and wishes die
And one by one in the moat they fall

The gallows and crosses are everywhere
To make the wretched slaves aware
That if they defied their feudal lords
This is the punishment they’ll have to bear

And when they hang or go to the cross
There’re many and many who mourn their loss
And the moon and the stars up high in the sky
Behind the clouds, they start to cry

And then he had second thoughts:

I thought if only you could be mine
Things in my life will all be fine
Only to learn that it wasn’t so
You cannot have joy without the woe
And the spring is followed by winter’s snow

So when the spell did finally break
I felt the pain, and sorrow, and ache
I saw the slaves all drenched in blood
And the peace and justice appeared all fake

But love has also showed me the way
To hear what the poor and the meek do say
And see in their eyes the horrid despair
The fear, the terror, the great dismay

So when I see them selling the slaves
Who are sick and hungry and ready for graves
With all my heart I begin to hate
These hunters and chasers, the horrid knaves

And even if, darling, you could be mine
It would not make this world benign
And there’ll be malice; there’ll be spite
And cruelty in it will not decline

We’ll still have sorrow; we’ll still have pain
And all of it will be in vain
And no matter how much we moan and groan
We’ll always have bondage; we’ll always have chain

I’d tell you about the beautiful girls
With charming eyes and lovely curls
And how a girl, so proud and cold
Does melt in hands that are warm and bold
And how, when she drinks a little bit of wine
She becomes a goddess, so totally divine
And how, when alone under night’s cover
She gives herself to a passionate lover
And so I’ll sing all day, all night
And provide you with a source of delight

But the songs of mine cannot cure
The pain and sorrow that you endure
My song is just a soothing balm
And it can give you ease and calm
But the sores you have are deep and rife
And what they need is a surgeon’s knife
But I’m a preacher, I can only talk
And what you need is a surgical doc
And in the end, it is only you
For what is needed, only you can do


You need a flame; you need a fire
An earnest wish, a burning desire
And then you’ll see the lava flow
With all its shine, and heat, and glow

And then you’ll hear a battle drum
And a fighter brave you’re going to become
And you’ll then enter the Divine city
And usher the reign of love and pity

But when it did not work, he started to wail:

O please my heart, come do not cry
Your cruel fate you cannot defy
It’s no mercy; it’s no pity
And what it does is not very pretty
It now has a rope around your neck

Now there’s no cheer; there’s no hope
With what you have you’ll have to cope
So whether it is sorrow or whether it’s pain
You’ll have to bear it and not complain
And learn to say – O what the heck!

And so he wailed and wailed but at the end of his life he made peace with himself and the world:

O from this world whatever I got
I’m very, very grateful, complain I not
It gave me joy; it gave me pain
But whatever I got was not in vain
I used my verse to light a fire
And my tears to drown a world entire
And where to go when I had to decide
I used my heart as my only guide
So when comes fate to take me away
I’ll follow her readily and not delay
I will not wail; I will not grieve
And I’ll drink and dance while I leave




And then after begging and praying to God he departed:

O You who love a broken heart
I seek your pity, for I’m not smart
A king who’s always seeking more power
When faced with yours, he can only cower
He is always looking for gems and gold
But I your face just want to behold
The sheik is always railing the meek
But I your mercy do so much seek
And I who is only a lump of clay
For pity and mercy I beg and pray
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