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Without love the rest is my poetry
Sayed Kamal stood on the stage, opened a small book of poems in front of him, refreshed his neck, recited his poems like a sweet song and an interesting song, all of them were so impressed that you would say that he was a famous and sweet language singer. Singing in front, clapping their hands, most of the people stood respectfully, all looking at each other. There was a commotion in the assembly.
What a wonderful poem!
Another man praised the voice and said to another friend:
What a sound!
The third man ran.
Don’t sing, sing, sing!
A friend sitting next to him said:
If he sings with a musician, then Ahmad Zahir and Farhad Darya will follow.
Bill took a short jog to assess his artistic talent on the run, staring at him intently.
ـ It will be the only singer who will sing his songs from his poems.
But there was also an elderly poet among them who challenged all the praises, encouragements and predictions.
Don’t push it too much, you sing it and make it a singer, but I say if anyone leaves it to poetry, thank it.
Everyone was shocked, and the voice of his poetic voice permeated Kamal.
Why is singing a sin?
He turned quickly.
ـ No, neither singing is sin nor poetry.
He turned to the poet, and a smile spread across his lips.
Do you know whose son he is, what his father is doing?
All of them listened to the answer, he replied.
He is the son of a mullah and most mullahs don’t like poetry anymore, you still sing.
Sayed Kamal had already been praised, but his warm welcome and appreciation among such a large number of poets and poetesses was unparalleled this time. Was very happy, came home with this feeling of happiness. The sun had not yet seen the eye coming out of the mushaira; but when it reached the house, the sun had taken refuge, the darkness cast a new shadow, and on entering the house he saw his father, his forehead trembling, how he looked at him, He was already being questioned by prosecutors.
Where did you go?
He also responded quickly.
Her father’s temper flared.
Say a poem or a song?
Syed Kamal was shocked, shocked by his father’s inquiries.
Say my poem but in Tarnam!
His father raised his hands, as if he had confessed his great sin.
Yes, in Tarnam!
As in Tarnam, reciting poetry is illegal.
ـ People recite Naats in Tarnam and you recite poems?
Yes, Naats, verses, hadiths.
His father’s eyes widened with anger, his face turned red, and he said in a loud voice:
You are not the son of Dam, you know the son of a mullah.
He looked down as if he had made a big mistake. He was silent for a moment but slowly raised his head again. He looked at his father.
So I quit poetry?
Her father became even greener and redder.
Don’t leave poetry, leave silence!
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