1978. Bhutto has been ousted. Zia-ul-Haq has taken over. Faiz is in exile again. And there is a Ghalib sh’r too, towards the end:
kahūñ kis se maiñ kih kyā hai shab-e ġham burī balā hai
mujhe kyā burā thā marnā agar ek bār hotā
mire dil, mire musāfir
huā phir se hukm sādir
ki vatan-badar hoñ ham tum
deñ galī galī sadā.eñ
kareñ ruḳh nagar nagar, kā
ki surāġh koī paa.eñ
kisī yār-e-nāma-bar kā
har ik ajnabī se pūchheñ
jo patā thā apne ghar kā
sar-e-kū-e-nā-shanāyāñ
hameñ din se raat karnā
kabhī is se baat karnā
kabhī us se baat karnā
tumheñ kyā kahūñ ki kyā hai
shab-e-ġham burī balā hai
hameñ ye bhī thā ġhanīmat
jo koī shumār hotā
hameñ kyā burā thā marnā
agar ek baar hotā
My heart, my fellow traveller
It has been decreed again
That you and I be exiled,
go calling out in every street,
turn to every town.
To search for a clue
of a messenger from our Beloved.
To ask every stranger
the way back to our home.
In this town of unfamiliar folk
we drudge the day into the night
Talk to this stranger at times,
to that one at others.
How can I convey to you, my friend
how horrible is a night of lonliness *
It would suffice to me
if there were just some count
I would gladly welcome death
if it were to come but once.
Satendra Nandan.
Juvenilia 