by Javed Qazi, Karachi, Sindh, Pakistan
The writer can be reached at: firstname.lastname@example.org
I don’t know, whether I say Tajal has died or he hasn’t. I don’t think a poet die. They just transform. He however has ceased to do poetry. Yes he had only one pen as he has said in his most famous poem. And that pen’s ink is over. His blood from the veins and his body which his beautiful mind used to necessarily have to call himself an existence, which used to let him cook prose and poetry for the land and aesthetic in a most beautiful language on earth, in a language my mother used to give me lullaby in nights.
Only a selfish die, not the one who is spacious. He who is altruist. He who thinks his existence is for the people, for the change, for downtrodden. Tajal was not Pir, Wadera or Syed. He was ” Baiwas” which was his poetry title and that means “Humble”, that means “nothingness”. Since he was all reflection of his existence, how can he die? Language is there, history is there, and his dreams are yet to come true. The dreams, the movements for the people he was encouraging in his mother tongue are there. He gave grammar to the language. As I believe the poets are true grammarians of any language. They just form the language and we follow it.
On the eve of 2008 we lost a poet. We can pay him a tribute. We can make our caps off in his honor. We not bad if the two three tears roll down on our cheek. On every eve we loose our leaders. It was this December we lost Ayaz ten years back. We had lost Benazir last year in the same December.
But yet again they are with us, since they were fragrance. They are living in us. they were not the selfish. They had pledged their lives for the change, for the people and they have just transform. And they will come back when the flowers will bloom.
“Tajal Baiwas. You don’t hear me I know, but I can hear you. Your every prose and poem comes fresh in my mind. Good bye commerade”