Land of my Childhood :: Khyber.ORG

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Land of my Childhood, Musafar
Published in Khyber.ORG on Friday, July 6 2012 (http://www.khyber.org)


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په مکه معظمه کښ مسجد الحرام
وګورئي داسې نوره انځورونه (اوله پاڼه) . . . نور


په خواشينۍ مو خبر تر لاسه کړ چې د افغانستان نامتو ليکوال او شاعر محمد هاشم زماني د غبرگولي په 19 نيټه د امريکې په کليفورنيا کي وفات شو. ښاغلى محمد هاشم زمانی په 1308 کال د استقلال دڅلورمې جبهې(چترال) د فاتح(لوى خان غازي مير زمان خان) کره زيزيدلى وو. . . . نور


په کراچۍ کې يؤ ځل د خوشحال خان خټک په ياد کې ادبي دستوره وه چې يؤ شمېر د اردو ژبې ليکوالو هم پکې ګډون درلود. په غونډه کې چې ګڼ شمېر پښتنو اؤ سندهيانو پکې ګډون کړى و يوې اردو ژبي پېغلې ته هم د وېنا کولو بلنه ورکړاى شوه چې هغې په خورا ادا او ناز سره وېنا پېل کړه او بيا يې . . . نور

The Marwats , Sher Muhammad Mohmand

A 150 page reference book on the "Marwat" tribe, written by Sher Muhammad Mohmand has been uploaded. The book was first published in July of 1999 whence the author was serving as a Deputy Commissioner of Chitral. It also contains a foreword by Rustam Shah Mohmand, then Chief-Secretary, Govt. of N-W.F.P, and prologue by Abdur Rahim Majzoob . . . Read More


سعدالله خان د بچکڼ احمد زئي لکي مروت اوسېدونکې دې۔ خپل ډېر ژوند ئې د اېف سي مليشه کښې نوکري کړې ده خو اوس رېټائر دې او په کلي ژوند تېروي او د علاقې ودونو، حجرو، او چوکونو کښې خلقو د خوشالتيا سبب جوړېږي۔ . . . نور


Uchh is an ancient historic village of Dir District, situated about ten kilometers from Chakdara towards Timergara. A unique feature of the town is the existence of Noor Mahal here. This is actually a sort of mini museum. Located in the famous mosque of the town. About two hundred years back Maulana Muhammad Nasim Siddiqui (RA) brought many relics and about five hundred rare manuscripts of books with him from Delhi on camels. The relics are the sacred hair of the Holy Prophet Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) and items belonging to Hazrat Ali (RA), Hazrat Imam Hussain. . . . Read More

Land of my Childhood

Musafar

Publishing Date: Friday, July 6 2012

Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you,
Your children so fair, maids as pretty as flowers,
Handsome, stalwart sons brandishing guns as adornment,
With gazes averted from our mothers and sisters,
And your men courteous and true to their word,
Your cities were the praise and envy of people from lands afar,
Yea, they were called the Cities of Flowers,
O where, o where, have you gone,
Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.

The kehwa-khanas of Qissa-Khwani in Kabalae Darwaza,
The seekh kababs of Sabiri astride the ganda nallah,
The aroma of tikkae mingling with the dust and smoke,
Roganae, kulchae, amrasae and zalobae to make you drool,
Ucha mewa, sheer chai, and the chugha besides a winter log fire,
The sitar to draw a chord and mangae with accompanying beat,
O where, o where have you gone,

Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.
The citadel of Bala Hissar of my distant memory,
With crumbling walls yet majestic and intimidating,
The Chauk Yadgar, a confluence spot of yore for the mazdur,
The Ghanta Ghar clad in its brick elegance striking the hour,
The glory of Sethi Mohalla, a pearl set in an oyster,
The masjids of Qasim Ali Khan and Mahabat Khan,
The Samdo ki Gali of Kohati Darwaza,
O where, o where have you gone,

Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.
The plaintive cry of the mashki filling mangee door to door,
Sprinkling the parched earth on a hot torrid afternoon,
The rich age of craftsmen priding themselves in their wares,
A rich time when there was respect between the old and young,
A rich time when one's word was an irrevocable bond,
The reverence and awe of the passing Moharram procession,
The human sound of the azaan floating over the air waves,
The clip clop of a horse drawn tonga a melodious beat,
O where, o where have you gone,

Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.
But nay, tarry a while and ponder,
How could you go away, it was I who abandoned you.
Why didn't you beckon me to stay and grow in your shade,
Why didn't you enfold me to your bosom from distant places,
Why didn't you reach out to me then, as I reach out to you now,
Why didn't you plead with me, not to forsake you to the wolves,
O why, o why did I go and forsake you my beloved.

Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.
I berate myself for returning so late in the day,
But I perceive a silver lining in the resilience of your being,
May the Almighty cleanse your soul and restore your dignity,
I shall cherish the day when, by His will, you shall rise from the ashes like the Pheonix.
Land of my childhood, how I yearn for you.


Poetry by Lt Col Liaquat Shah (Retd) who has adopted 'Musafar' as his pen name

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Land of my Childhood, Musafar
Published in Khyber.ORG on Friday, July 6 2012 (http://www.khyber.org)