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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Cotton and wool are the main material used in clothes and these are woven and dyed and made into garments by each family or group. Women wear the Chadri or Burqa, which covers a woman from head to foot with a latticed slit for the eyes, is made of cotton in shades of blue, brown, black. In the rural . . . Read More

لوئ فتنه خبرداري ، ليک :: مولانه منظور احمد نعماني

ترجمه:: دحضرت على مرتضى رضى الله عنه نه روايت دے چې مادرسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم نه اوريدلى دى هغه يوه ورځ وفرمائيل خبر دارشئ يوه لويه فتنه راتلونکې ده ماورته عرض وکړو يارسول الله ددې فتنې دشرنه دبچ کيدو اودنجات موندلو ذريعه څه ده ؟ . . . نور

بې نومه بې نښانه ، ليک: راحت محتاج

او چې ما به دخلقو نه اوريدل چې هغوى ددې خاورې دپاره ډيرې قربانۍ ورکړې دى ددې وطن دازادۍ او دوګړو دسوکالۍ دپاره ئې دظالم حکمران سره په توره او قلم جنګونه کړى وؤ ددې خاورې او وطن دازادۍ لۀ خاطره ئې دظالم سامراج دقيدوبند سختې برداشت کړې وې نو زما زړۀ کښې به ډير ارمان ؤ چې زۀ . . . نور

افغانستان مو خپل کور دې ، ذبيح الله شريفی

. . . نور


یو شمېر انسانان د زړه د حملې، چې د قلب سکته هم ورته ویل کېږي په اثر کې مري چې علت یې د زړه ناڅاپه درېدل دي او دا مرګ زیاتره وخت په ناڅاپي توګه په هر عمر کې رامنځته کېږي. د زړه د درېدو پر مهال انسان خپل شعور له لاسه ورکوي، نو که احیاناٌ په یوه چا د زړه حمله راشي نو . . . نور


It was in the late seventies when I first happened to see a middle aged teacher standing in front of a huge laughing audience of teachers and students. Some of his humorous, meaningful QITAAT are popular since fifties but their architect is known to very few of us. Zamaa Koat was his very popular poem in seventies and is still remembered as a masterpiece of humorous Pukhto poetry. . . . 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)