In the quiet city of Jhelum, where the river hums through centuries of mysticism and folklore, a young boy once watched his father write in silence. That boy — Ghulam Abbas Saghar — would grow up to become one of the most distinctive bilingual voices in contemporary Pakistani literature.
Born on 8 March 1992, Saghar grew up surrounded by the rhythm of the Jhelum River, the fragrance of Sufi shrines, and the storytelling traditions of Punjab. His father, Muhammad Munir Saghar, a poet and thinker, deeply shaped his relationship with words. “My first teacher was not a professor,” he recalls. “It was my father’s silence when he wrote. That taught me how words can exist even before they are spoken.”
From this silence grew a voice that would later bridge two languages and two literary worlds.
The Making of a Poet
Saghar began as an Urdu poet, his verses marked by introspection and emotional restraint. His first collection, Rahguzar (The Pathway), reflected themes of memory and endurance; his second, Sargarda’n (The Wanderer), captured the restlessness of the human spirit.
His imagery is simple yet haunting — quiet rain, empty rooms, letters never sent. Critics praise his poetry for its sincerity and clarity. His words do not dazzle; they stay, softly echoing in the mind long after they’re read.
From Urdu to English
For Saghar, shifting from Urdu poetry to English fiction was not a departure but a
continuation. “Urdu is the language of my emotions,” he says. “English is the language of my thoughts.”
His first English novel, A Heart Remembers, explores love and redemption through the delicate lens of memory. The second, The Line That Divided Worlds, examines faith, identity, and invisible borders within the human spirit. His third, The Shadow of Blood, returns to Punjab — a story of love, pride, and legacy set against the haunting landscape of Jhelum.
Across both languages, Saghar’s work shares a single heartbeat — the search for meaning in silence.
Listening, Not Inventing
For Saghar, writing is not invention but listening. “I don’t chase inspiration,” he says. “I listen for it. I write when a feeling turns into an image.”
He writes late at night when the world is quiet, shaping prose that reads like poetry — measured, rhythmic, and honest. His creative philosophy rests on empathy. “When you write about human pain,” he explains, “you become a witness. And every witness has a duty.”
Beyond the Page
Now living in the United Kingdom, Saghar channels his empathy into community work. He advocates for mental health awareness, migrant welfare, and youth empowerment, believing that art and activism spring from the same source — compassion.
“Both ask you to see the world not as it is, but as it could be,” he says. In talks and workshops, he encourages young writers to observe before they write: “Literature is not about writing. It’s about seeing.”
Looking Ahead
Saghar is currently writing his fourth English novel, a meditation on exile, rebirth, and belonging. He is also preparing a new Urdu prose collection, reflecting on his journey from Jhelum to Britain — and from poetry to fiction.
Selected Works
Urdu Collections
- Rahguzar
- Sargarda’n
English Novels
- A Heart Remembers
- The Line That Divided Worlds
- The Shadow of Blood
A Bridge Between Worlds
Ghulam Abbas Saghar stands among a rare group of writers who write between languages without losing the soul of either. His Urdu preserves the lyricism of tradition; his English brings reflection and restraint.
Through both, he builds bridges between East and West, emotion and thought, silence and expression.
“The world is full of noise,” he says quietly. “The writer’s duty is to find the note that lasts.”
And in that lasting note — poised between Urdu and English, memory and imagination — lives the voice of Ghulam Abbas Saghar, a writer who listens, remembers, and translates silence into art.
