د مور او پلار حق

I love the accessibility of Kabir Stori's writing. I owe him a mention as he remains a modern literary master whose published work range from writings on psychology, philosophy, politics to poetry.

Dr Stori died in 2006, but he is impressioned forever, in many of his verses. His signature trick was to have a little mention of himself somewhere (quite often at the end) of his verses. I like this - it's a clever writing device indeed. In this poem, entitled Haq, حق from his Khwagai Misrai خوږې مسرۍ collection, we are reminded of the importance of our parents. Next to our duty of faith and love of Allah, our parents rank very highly. May Allah bless all of ours.

I dedicate this one to mine.

Tor_Khan تور خان

حق

اول حق په هر بنده د خداى غفار دى

پس د داى نه، بيا حق د مور او پلار دى

پس له مرګه به ئى هم روح ناارام وى

چې اخستى چا د مور او پلار ازار دى

په د نيا كى هم ښه ورځ موند لى نه شي

چې خد مت د مور او پلار نه څوك انكار دى

د بخت ستوری به ئى روڼ وي تل تر تله

چې رښتيا د مور او پلار څوك خد متګار دى


ډاکتر کبير ستوری 

Talking Through The Door

The words inspire, and as such, Rumi, gets the occasional mention here. This verse, I dedicate to someone who has taken the time to call me a friend. I am humbled, so may I be so honourable as to live up to that ideal. 

Talking Through The Door

You said, Who's at the door?
I said, Your slave.

You said, What do you want?
To see you and bow.

We talked through the door. I claimed
a great love and that I had given up
what the world gives to be in that love.

You said, Such claims require a witness.
I said, This longing, these tears.

You said, Discredited witnesses.
I said, Surely not.

You said, Who did you come with?
This majestic imagination you gave me,

Why did you come?
The musk of your wine was in the air.

What is your intention?
Friendship.

Talking Through the Door Part 1

Talking Through the Door Part 2

Pearl Rain; Fountain Tears

ستا د سترګو بلا واخلم

Sta Da Stergo Bala Wakhlam

 written by Amanullah Sailab Sapi

امان الله سيلاب ساپی

This naghma was recorded by Ustad Awal Mir and remains amongst the classics in Pashto poetry and music. My favourite lines inspired the title to this posting.

داباران د ملغلرو كه د اوښكو فوارې دي

Da Baran Da Malghalaroy

Ka Da Ukhko Fuwarai De

Pearl Rain: Fountain Tears

Credits for the tablet design to Aftab Yusufzai

Tor_Khan تور خان

Dancing Around The World

"14 months in the making, 42 countries, and a cast of thousands. Thanks to everyone who danced with me." Matt Harding.

I love this. In a world where there is much to lament about, I love the simple hope that this video conveys.

Featuring the vocals of Palbasha Siddique. Lyrics to the track "Praan" adapted from "Stream of Life", from the Gitanjali by Rabrindanath Tagore.

Catastrophe

'It's a catastrophe... and that's no overstatement',
Adam Mynott, BBC

The worst floods in Pakistan's history have hit at least 14 million people, the government relief agency says. According to Gen Nadeem Ahmed, of the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA), that figure only covers Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa and Punjab provinces. The full figure is likely to be much higher, with at least half a million evacuated in Sindh.

"We have an atom bomb, but we have no helicopters and boats for rescue, no machinery to clear the roads and build temporary bridges quickly. We are just not geared to enable people in a crisis,"

Mohammad Haroon, Lawyer, Nowshera, BBC

This poem in the video was penned by the honourable Feroz Afridi and is recited here by a friend.

When A Leaf Falls ...

... it tumbles to it roots.

I have incredibly mixed feelings. For years, I have tried to define myself and here I am, at the doorstep of my past. I do miss my family, so it's good to be amongst their company. It's been two years since I was here so I guess I should honour this one with a verse.

Britannia!

When Britain first, at Heaven's command
Arose from out the azure main;
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sang this strain:

"Rule, Britannia! Britannia rule the waves."
"Britons never will be slaves."

... erm, sure ...

Oxymoron

Oxymorons, are contradictory phrases, e.g. pretty ugly, original copy, deafening silence and living dead to name a few. The poem below serves as an example of various situational oxymorons, in which every single line contains an oxymoron:

Summer Night
Nathan Alterman

One fine day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight,
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other,

One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A paralysed donkey passing by,
Kicked the blind man in the eye,
Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came to arrest the two dead boys,
If you don't believe this story’s true,
Ask the blind man; he saw it too!

Kha Yam ښۀ يم

In many ways we come full circle, because the lines that I quote from يا قربان - سندره د پښتنون that appear in the first posting in this blog were penned none other that Feroz Khan Afridi. Feroz Jan who has taken time to visit this blog, has given me permission to share a contemporary poem from his collection.

فيروز جان - ډیره ډیره مننه

Tor_Khan تور خان

Enjoy this ghazal entitled Kha Yam (I'm Okay)

ښۀ يم
فيروز اپريدے

چې په ښۀ لګمه ښۀ يم
چې په نه لګمه نه يم

زه چې څه يمه په تا يم
بې له تانه به زه څه يم؟

ستا په ساه کښې زما ساه ده
ته چې نه ئې زه به نه يم

ستا دا مهر چې په ما وي
ستا د نوم سره به زه يم

چې د بل په غم کښې ژاړي
ټک د غم چاودلې زړه يم

په خطا لاره په نه ځم
چې په پل د ستا د پله يم

مسافر د کوره تللے
مرور د خپل کاله يم

ما رانيسه زما ياره
زه فيروز درنه په تله يم

The Road Not Taken

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

taken from the last stanza of Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken
from The Mountain Interval, 1920

Flower in My Hand - ګل مي پە لاس

Flower in My Hand

I share a landay - a Pashto couplet. Often landay are not attributed to any particular poet or writer, but exist as part of the folklore, forming a rich part of Pashtoon heritage. Enjoy ګل مي پە لاس - Flower in My Hand.

Gul me pa laas darta walara

Ya me gul wakhla, ya rukhsat raka chi zama
I stand before you with flower in my hand;
Either take the flower or let me go.

Tor_Khan تور خان

Everybody Dreams

I took this photograph a couple of weeks ago, whilst picnicing with the family, lying there on the grass, staring up at the sky and the branches of the trees.

Everybody Dreams

Children dream,
Adults dream,
Old people dream.

I dream, too.

I dream about the friends with whom I'll grow old,
I dream about the person whose hands I'll hold,
I dream about being young and in love,
I dream about loved ones, looking down from above.

I dream of the places I'll one day see,
I dream of being wild and free,
I dream of my house, high on the rocks,
I dream of the sand underneath my socks.

I dream of the people I'd love to greet,
I dream of the things I'll say when we meet,
I dream of hearing their voices sing,
I dream of being happy with everything.

I dream of travelling with a map in my hand,
I dream of never coming back to this land,
I dream of finding myself - in sense
I dream of jumping far off this fence.

I dream of any things that one day I'll know,
I dream of the freedom: a dream I won't let go,
I dream of my future and marvel at my pride
As my heart is flying and singing inside.

Twilight Whispers

... verses from a distance ...

In my trawl through blogs of interest, I came across Mariam Jaan who has written an impressive collection of poems on Pashtoon/Afghan related issues. She captures the pride and the passion of what it is to be Pashtoon, looking at difficult contemporary issues and past nostalgia. I detect a printed anthology about to happen soon, InshAllah.

I have a couple of favourites, so I'd like to share a moment of her brilliance. The message of course, is central to the art.

"A Pashtun" by Mariam Jaan

When a Westerner thinks of a Pashtun, a terrorist is all they see
They have no idea of how romantic and chivalrous he can be

If you were to search all the world you will never be able to find
A man whose guests are treated so honorably and so kind

A Pashtun is a warrior, a poet, a lover, a politician all rolled into one
They have such soft hearts despite carrying around a loaded gun

No one loves to see the beauty in life more than Pashtun males do
For the sake of love there is no torment he won't gladly suffer through

He is proud of his history and remembers every hero's name
And he would rather sacrifice his life than live a life of shame

Whether gazing at his beloved, a beautiful flower or a starry night
His honor is on his mind and for that he's always ready to fight

Thank you Mariam Jaan, for allowing me to share.  تور خان