The Russians are Back in Afghanistan
In the past decade and a half we remained engaged in Afghanistan. What we did not do was a close and realistic observation of our engagement and investment…
Essays · Memoir · Poetry
Where we discuss Afghanistan. Essays, a family memoir and poems in English and Dari.
بشنو این نی چون شکایت میکند از جداییها حکایت میکند
Bishnaw īn nay chun shikāyat mē-kunad, az judā’ī-hā hikāyat mē-kunad
Listen to this reed, how it complains, telling the tale of separations.
بشنو از نی چون حکایت میکند از جداییها شکایت میکند
Bishnaw az nay chun hikāyat mē-kunad, az judā’ī-hā shikāyat mē-kunad
Listen to the reed as it tells a tale, complaining of separations.
The first is how the line stands in the oldest surviving copy of the Masnavi. It was finished in Konya in 1278, five years after Rumi’s death, under the supervision of his son Sultan Walad and of Husamuddin Chelebi, who had been with Rumi as he dictated every verse.
Copies made after the thirteenth century give the second version, probably because copyists thought they were improving the line: “this reed” became “from the reed”, and the rhyming words shikāyat (complaint) and hikāyat (tale) changed places. It became the familiar version that many people know by heart; Jami of Herat was already quoting it in the fifteenth century. Scholarly editions today follow the oldest manuscript.
The meaning hardly changes. In both, the reed sings of separation, as the next verse explains: “Ever since I was cut from the reed bed, men and women have wept in my lament.”
Mawlana Jalaluddin Balkhi, Rumi (1207–1273), is called Balkhi after Balkh, his family’s city. The words in colour are the ones that differ.
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Afghanistan,My Ancestral Home
A memoir in 15 chapters
Mohammed Khalid Roashan’s account of growing up in Kabul and Nangarhar, of school days and the nomads, of editing a newspaper and serving in government until the end of the monarchy, and of the years of change that followed.
“…you may get a picture of an Afghan as he grows up and goes through life in that far pavilion that is Afghanistan.”
Poetry & prose
With you,I touched the color of love,and in your eyes
Hope
به امیدِ طلوعی بعدِ این سیاهی،سالها در غربت و تنهایی،
You are dealt a hand of two, three, four, five, six, or seven—Random, unpredictable, unforgiving.You play them day and night,
Gallery
The family
Essayist and poet
Journalist and memoirist
Poet and essayist
Poet (Dari)