February 4, 2010
By Mary Weston Fordham
The die is cast, come weal, come woe,
Two lives are joined together.
For better or for worse, the link
Which naught but death can sever.
The die is cast, come grief, come joy.
Come richer, or come poorer,
If love but binds the mystic tie,
Blest is the bridal hour.
See here Egyptian Girls that are looking attractive like Arab poetry.
November 26, 2009
Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi is our poet. He gave us a good idea about poetry and country. Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi,(November 20, 1916 to July 10, 2006) was a legendary Urdu language Pakistani poet, journalist, literary critic, dramatist and short story author. With some 50 books of poetry, fiction, criticism, journalism and art to his credit, Qasmi was a major figure in contemporary Urdu literature. His poetry stood out among his contemporaries’ work for its unflinching humanism, and Qasmi’s Urdu afsana (short story) work is considered by some second only to Prem Chand in its masterful depiction of rural culture. He also published and edited the prestigious literary journal Funoon for almost half a century, grooming generations of new writers.
Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi was born in village Anga of Khushab District in Pakistan. A graduate of the Punjab University, Nadeem Qasimi started his career as a government clerk, which he eventually left to pursue journalism. He became active member of the Progressive Writers Movement, for a time holding the position of secretary, and was consequently arrested many times during the 1950s through the 1970s.
n his long career as a writer and editor, Qasmi Sahib had the distinction of editing several prominent literary journals, including Phool, Tehzeeb-i-Niswaan, Adab-i-Lateef, Savera, Naqoosh, and his own brainchild, Funoon. He also served as the editor of the prestigious (now defunct) Urdu daily Imroze. For several decades Qasimi contributed weekly columns to national newspapers; a classic example was “Rawan Dawan” in the daily Jang, which focused on current issues.
Qasimi was the recipient of the President Pride of Performance (1968) and the Pakistan Academy of Letters lifetime achievement award, as well as the country highest civil honour, the Sitara-i-Imtiaz, for literature. Published collections of his best-known work include the poetry volumes Jalal-o-Jamal, Shola-i-Gul and Kisht-i-Wafa, and the short story collections Chopaal, Sannata, and Kapaas ka Phool, Bagolay, Tal-o-Gharoob, Sailab-o-Gardab, Anchal, ghar se ghar tak..
Following an illness, Qasimi died on the 10th of July, 2006 of complications from asthma at the Punjab Institute of Cardiology in Lahore. He was survived by a daughter Dr Naheed Qasimi and a son Nauman Qasimi.
October 28, 2009
October 27, 2009
I like Urdu Poems as well as English Poems. So today I share with you this poem which title is “Tam O’Shanter”.
When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An’ getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
This truth fand honest Tam o’ Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).
O Tam! had’st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate’s advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi’ the Miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev’ry naig was ca’d a shoe on
The Smith and thee gat roarin’ fou on;
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi’ Kirkton Jean till Monday,
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou wad be found, deep drown’d in Doon,
Or catch’d wi’ warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway’s auld, haunted kirk.
Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen’d, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!
But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi reaming sAats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,
His ancient, trusty, drougthy crony:
Tam lo’ed him like a very brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi’ sangs an’ clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The Landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi’ favours secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The Landlord’s laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.
Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E’en drown’d himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi’ lades o’ treasure,
The minutes wing’d their way wi’ pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!
But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow’r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the Rainbow’s lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm. -
Nae man can tether Time nor Tide,
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o’ night’s black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in.
The wind blew as ‘twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow’d;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow’d:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.
Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro’ dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o’er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles glow’rin round wi’ prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.
By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor’d;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak’s neck-bane;
And thro’ the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder’d bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo’s mither hang’d hersel’.
Before him Doon pours all his floods,
The doubling storm roars thro’ the woods,
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll,
When, glimmering thro’ the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem’d in a bleeze,
Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.
Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi’ tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi’ usquabae, we’ll face the devil!
The swats sae ream’d in Tammie’s noddle,
Fair play, he car’d na deils a boddle,
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish’d,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish’d,
She ventur’d forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!
Warlocks and witches in a dance:
Nae cotillon, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o’ beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw’d the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a’ did dirl. -
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw’d the Dead in their last dresses;
And (by some devilish cantraip sleight)
Each in its cauld hand held a light.
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer’s banes, in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi’ his last gasp his gabudid gape;
Five tomahawks, wi’ blude red-rusted:
Five scimitars, wi’ murder crusted;
A garter which a babe had strangled:
A knife, a father’s throat had mangled.
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi’ mair of horrible and awfu’,
Which even to name wad be unlawfu’.
As Tammie glowr’d, amaz’d, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The Piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew,
They reel’d, they set, they cross’d, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linkit at it in her sark!
Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A’ plump and strapping in their teens!
Their sarks, instead o’ creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!-
Thir breeks o’ mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o’ guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o’ the bonie burdies!
But wither’d beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Louping an’ flinging on a crummock.
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.
But Tam kent what was what fu’ brawlie:
There was ae winsome wench and waulie
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after ken’d on Carrick shore;
(For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish’d mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o’ Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho’ sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little ken’d thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi twa pund Scots (’twas a’ her riches),
Wad ever grac’d a dance of witches!
But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc’d,
And thought his very een enrich’d:
Even Satan glowr’d, and fidg’d fu’ fain,
And hotch’d and blew wi’ might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a thegither,
And roars out, “Weel done, Cutty-sark!”
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied.
When out the hellish legion sallied.
As bees bizz out wi’ angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie’s mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When “Catch the thief!” resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi’ mony an eldritch skreich and hollow.
Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou’ll get thy fairin!
In hell, they’ll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu’ woman!
Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stone o’ the brig;
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi’ furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie’s mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.
Now, wha this tale o’ truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother’s son, take heed:
Whene’er to Drink you are inclin’d,
Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think ye may buy the joys o’er dear;
Remember Tam o’ Shanter’s mare.
(ROBERT BURNS)
October 26, 2009
Today I like to share poetry with my friends.
kyaa bhalaa mujhako paraKhane ke natiijaa nikalaa
zaKhm-e-dil aap kii nazaron se bhii geharaa nikalaa
toDakar dekh liyaa aaiinaa-e-dil tuune
terii suurat ke sivaa aur bataa kyaa nikalaa
tishnagii jam gaii patthar kii tarah honton par
Duub kar tere dariyaa mein main pyaasaa nikalaa
October 25, 2009
There are many kinds of flowers but I like then all others is “Rose Macro”. Bearded Rose Macro, to be specific. I love all the vibrant shades and combinations of colors they come in and their frilly beards. But the best thing I love about them is their fragrance.
Did you know that every color smells different? You have to stick your nose down inside them to sniff but you’ll be pleasantly surprised when you do. The ones I have in my yard (close to the peach colored one in the photo) smell kind of like Amaretto, orangey-vanilla.
Whenever I go for a walk in the neighborhood, I stop and smell all the Rose Macro. I suppose people think I’m weird but I don’t care. It’s one of the loveliest pleasures of this time of year.
October 24, 2009
Today i like to share with you about my computer. My computer name is Pentium Four (P IV). The spacification of My Computer are as under:
* 80 GB Hard Disk
* 2.8 Intel Processor and Mother Board
* 1 GB of Ram
* Laptop CPU
* 17 Inch LCD
* Mouse
* Keyboard
* Woofers
October 23, 2009
Today I introduce about Margallah Hills Islamabad. In Inside beautiful green Marggallah Hills surroundings Islamabad from two sides, is branch of Himalyan Mountains Series and these are also in Frontier province including the areas of Haripur Hazara in the North-west of Islamabad. Texila are also under of these series which is famous historical city in the west of Islamabad, and also connects to the Muree Hills and PirPanjar Hills which are further connected to Kashmir mountain areas (towards the East of Islamabad).
In the other hand Margallah Hills more time under clouds in rain. Mountains are very famous among the Pakistani people, especially Rawalpindi and Islamabad people. For hikers, there are very beautiful places in these hills. There are many small and large villages in the moutains, most famous are PirSohawa, which is also a famous picnic spot and hill station, Gokina is the village, which is in the Hiking treck towards PirSohawa.
“Daman-e-Koh” is another famous picnic spot, its mean “In between the mountains”. Its an attractive and charming place for those person who just want to enjoy picnic, eating and walking. t is now developed by government in much better shape along with the facilities like small cars to take you to View point and hotel from your Parking. BTW, the ride of these busses is a nice experience
October 22, 2009
Wonderful wedding dress exhibitions illustrating Pakistani and Norwegian traditions were organized in Islamabad on Sep 24.Oslo, said Lok Virsa Heritage Museum (LVHM) Director General Khalid Javed.
Weddings are accorded much significance and celebration among social and cultural traditions in Pakistan. Wedding dresses in Pakistan are very colorful and highly embroidered, and all provinces have different varieties of costumes for the Mehndi, Nikah and Valima ceremonies.
“Pakistani wedding costumes were displayed at the Norsk Folk Museum in Oslo,” Javed said. The exhibition was scheduled to last for eight months, but was extended by popular demand.
“Such cultural exchanges not only offer information about the traditions of other countries but also provide a form of entertainment,” he said. “[The Exchange] promotes cultural understanding and provides an opportunity to compare the traditional values of both countries.”
The Norwegian exhibition at the LVHM in Islamabad comprises six mannequins in Norwegian wedding dresses and one in a groom’s suit, which looks much like a Western tuxedo, complete with a large black hat.
“I found great similarity in the embroidered floral patterns in Norwegian and Pakistani wedding garments,” said Neelofar, a visitor to the LVHM exhibition. “For instance the wedding dresses from Kalash in Pakistan and from the Retlesklakh in East Norway are almost identical.”
Both Nations wedding clothes are worn with hand-crafted silver jewelry, and feature black and red patterns.
October 21, 2009
The New Islamabad International Airport is a 3,600 acre international airport that is being built to serve the capital city of Islamabad, nearby city of Rawalpindi other areas around the capital of Pakistan. The New Islamabad International Airport will be named after the assassinated ex-Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto (decided in June 2008 by current Prime Minister Yusuf Raza Gillani).
The project was announced in January 2005 after a ten-year delay due to political changes in the country and construction began in April 2007, when funding became available.
The new airport will eventually replace the overloaded Islamabad International Airport at Chaklala providing better access for the northern areas, north-west frontier province, federally administered tribal areas, Azzad Jammu, Potohar and Kashmir.
The Pakistan Civil Aviation Authority (PCAA) is the controlling body for the $400m (PKR37bn) project which is likely to see the airport opening for operations in 2011–2012.
The new 3,200-acre (13km²) airport site is situated on a plot of land acquired by the PCAA in the 1980s at Pind Ranjah near Fateh Jang (an additional 400 acres have been acquired to build the two runways). The airport will be 20km from the centre of Islamabad, and 23km from Rawalpindi being well served by an excellent highway infrastructure.
In the recent past Islamabad airport has improved in cleaning quality standards and a bit of attention. The toilets although at times are crowded but an attendant is there to clean it up. Announcements have improved from the past. Electronic check in has been introduced which avoids standing in queues and saves time. The cooling needs to be improved and space should be added to the existing lounges and car parking. Although the security was performing their job but that needs more effort to avoid bottle neck at the check in points. The floor of International Departure lounge at places was under rehabilitation which gives a smooth clean look. However, furniture needs refurbishment.
