Taufiq
Taufiq
Taufiq
The ducks, bent like a boomerang, And the head for the tall grass
Huttle across the sky hiding us.
To a swampy exile in Pakistan; We carefully place our shots
And like a boomerang they return Among the confusion of brahimani, teal,
When winter is over Pintail and mallard.
To the dark recesses of Siberia. Five birds turn suddenly limp,
There they sit, running themselves, And are lowered by an invisible rope
On bare little islands – in the river. Straight down to the guarded river.
With heads tucked inside their wings, The survivors wheel sharply left
As if nothing mattered. (we guessed they would)
The hired man floats downstream pushing Making a bee-line for the sights
An empty boat is in front of him, Of the second party behind the ridge
And is now quite close. We lean back in contentment to see
At the right moment he shows himself. Two, three, four brahmani dangle
The birds rise noisily in panic From the unceremonious sky.
Summary:
During the winter the Siberia, the ducks head towards the Pakistan which feels like exile to them for a while. These ducks are
always in the shape of boomerang wherever they go, they enjoy the warm moderate evening of the Pakistan. Since these ducks
are very beautiful and foreign to Pakistan, they are such a pretty sight that they are looked at awe. They tuck their heads inside
their wings and roam around carefree. Sometimes, ducks while enjoying the warmth, do not realize the impending danger and
they cannot see the boat man waiting to catch them. There are hired people to catch these ducks. There are many kinds of
ducks, brahmani, teal, mallard and pintail, they stay altogether but when boat man appears to trap them, ducks react so
violently in confusion. Some of the birds become limp in struggle, while some are caught with rope. The rest which could not
get into the trap wither around to save themselves. As soon as the boatman disappear, the dangling limping ducks try to fly
back in the unceremonious and unwelcoming sky.
Themes:
Unwelcomed migrants
Temperate region of Pakistan
Pakistan is a blessed country but people of Pakistan need to be polite and ethically sound.
The author symbolizes blade of grass with his own personality, grass is breaking the silence in the wind though it is six feet
under the mud similarly author believes his personality is vibrant, braking silence even if it is hidden from visible eye. The
blades of grass are rough, the edges are sharp and those people who are in hurry or hasty, they try to pull the blades out of
mud with force but it hurts their own hands. The blade of grass, during torrents, is pious, patient, tolerant, stable, unwavering,
like a dervish, a blessed man of God and just the way the grass is grown in the courtyards for the beauty and greenery on the
doorstep of the house, it brings joy to the owner as it is a beautiful sight to look at, similarly, the grass feels happiness if it is
sown and grown and not mowed by its owner, gives beauty and delight to these soft blades of grass.
1
The Stone-Chat By Taufiq Rafat To be of value, yet somehow lingering the slope,
The beautiful is beautiful anyway, on, Held in place by a slab of sunlight,
So why embellish it with words. Still spitting out the occasional proverb. To a ridiculous terrace of wheat
The eye, too long used to green Surfeit has cloyed my vision. To Which does not seem worth the tending.
And fruitful movement, is parched understand Once there, to burst into song. Never
For a desert beneficence, seeking This waste, I must try and know myself Was anything so eager to survive!
Subtleties where none seem to exist. As I must once have been, and become, Intolerant of excuse, he calls
For instance, in Jhelum’s eroded hills And become, why even be…even This place home, has learnt to
Where we have stopped for a moment If I have to become …that, that stone- distinguish
to chat there, Between the various shades of grey
Relieve ourselves. They always remind Almost lost against the no-color Till the neighborhood is a riot of color,
me background. And a ragged patch of wheat sufficient
Of a village crone, too seamed and I would have missed him, but for his tail Cause to be mellifluous about.
bedridden Vibrating with excitement. He hops up