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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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حمزه پښتو ادب کښې ديو سړى يا ديو ليکوال نوم نۀ دے. داخو ديو روغ دور او زمانې نوم دے هغه تش يو اديب او يو شاعر يا ليکوال نۀ ؤ هغه د يو داسې بارانى چينې نوم ؤ چې دپښتو ادب للمه ئې په نظم او نثر، فلسفه او ګڼو نورو دادب په اصنافو خيرازه کړله. هغه دادب يوه ځانله مدرسه او سکول اف تهاټس ؤ هغه يو داسې رنګينه دبوډۍ ټال ؤ چې هر چا ترې تر خپله وسه رنګ اخستے دے ګنې هغه خو دلواړګى په سوراړۀ غرونو کښې زيږيدلے . . . نور


Graduated from Polytechnic High school in Kabul and Air force Academy. Served as Colonel in Afghan Air force; Currently Lives in Stuttgart, Germany as a Political Refugee. . . . Read More


The single most important event of the first Afghan War (1838-42) is the virtual destruction of the British Army in the wintry mountainous terrain between Kabul and Jalalabad in 1842. Only one man survived to write an account of this terrible ordeal, and all subsequent retellings are based upon this report. Yet the document itself remains unknown . . . Read More

The State of Dir , Simon Gillett

Throughout the 19th century the Khans of Dir effectively controlled only upper Dir and their attempts to dominate lower Dir and even lower Swat were strongly resisted. A notable opponent was the famous Umra Khan of Jandool, a bitter enemy of British hegemony. . . . Read More

Mohiudin Mahsud - Powenda Mullah , Muhammad Shafi Sabir

Mahsud tribe is that tribe who can never even think of submitting to a foreign power that stepped on their land. These are the words of Sir Olaf Caroe who acted as the former governor general of the Frontier. From 1860 to 1937, the English forces constantly attacked Mahsood positions in order to subdue them but never got a foothold in the area. It was 1860 when 3000 Mahsud tribesmen attacked the British regiment base in Tank (Present South Waziristan). The British had a tough time handling them. . . . Read More


د چارسدې ميراوس او د لکي مروت امين خان مروت چه کله يو ځائې شي نو ۔۔۔ . . . نور

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)