Few writers have garnered as much praise and adoration as Baloch poet Mubarak Qazi. He was regarded as a national hero long before his passing, firmly establishing himself in Balochi literature as a true reflection of the Baloch world's...
Very few people know how to play with the raging thoughts of people through words and rule their hearts winningly. The ones who are expert at this are revered ever, loved ever, and lived ever.
In our surroundings pointing fingers...
t is an indisputable fact that whenever a colonizer has come, it has placed the natives under all oppressions and cruelties which had not existed prior to their arrival, which marks the sustainability of such colonialism under whatsoever means....
“They have not any idea why they are living separately now. It was not their fate, but an external force that divided the oneness of their ancients,” oldest of the gathered-men spoke to the rest of attendees that night.
Everyone...
Recently, as I opened my social media account (Facebook), I came across a post, written in Balochi language, by a renowned Baloch photographer, Kamanchar Baloch, announcing exhibition for his portraits in frames in different cities including Karachi, Shaal (Quetta),...
With passing time, my pathway matched with one of my oldest and happiest friends ever. I asked him, “Hi, where are you wandering these days?”
As usual, he seemed too much happy. Making his eyes a little bigger and changing...
Sounds of birds’ chirping faded,
When silence continued for the fifth day.
Fear in each soul
Of the soil persisted.
Readied with armed,
The silence was of the disastrous confrontation.
Between the evil and the evilized.
Remembering Ngugi,
“Two nations in one” says Ngugi.
There were in his.
“You...
Mubarak Qazi is known to everyone in Balochistan because of his wonderful works as a nationalist poet. He was born on 24 December, 1956, in the costal region of Makuran, Pasni, in the house of Khauda Amanullah.
Mubarak Qazi has...
Sitting on the mountains and chatting with a closed friend and recalling the olden days always make us euphoric.
Whenever Manal and I sit together at nightfalls, we occasionally keep an ecstatic gaze at stars and the moon.
Because Manal is...
The man, I know since my childhood, is waiting for someone very special – very long. He has left and lost everything in the war fought between his brothers and enemies.
“Enemies?” I questioned myself.
“Yes, our enemies,” someone responded inside.
“They...
