Born in Shikarpur, Sindh in 1938, Akbar Barakzai ranks amongst the stalwarts of modern Balochi literature. Akbar Barakzai’s poetry mainly traverses along two somewhat unparalleled lines. Themes like love and intimacy, pleasure of union and agony of separation are what one can encounter in his ghazals. While in verse, he seems like a man deeply concerned with objective realities of life. He prefers the affliction of masses to his personal agony. Love for his motherland, peace and prosperity and dignity of a man are the commonplace themes of his poetry. His love for human dignity is not for a certain region. Rather it transcends all geographical and cultural frontiers and becomes universal. His remarkable poems like “Who Can Perish the Sun?”, “I am Veit Cong” and “The Traveller Without Destination”, are some glaring manifestations of his unflinching love for human dignity and his struggle for freedom, peace and prosperity. His love for human dignity is not for a specific region. It transcends geographic and cultural frontiers In a literary journey that spans over half a century, Barakzai has only managed to contribute just two anthologies of his poetry. The first, “Rocha Ke Kosht Kant” was published by Azat Jamaldini Academy Karachi in 1988 and the second collection “Saraani Chirag”, is recently brought by the Baloch Adbi Majlis, Bahrain. “I Need Not Your Sky” Since aeons, Someone within me cries And pleads With the deaf and blind gods of the lofty heavens and impregnable sky May forever be blessed onto you Your vast universe of the sun moon, stars and galaxies I need not your affluent world of light, splendid moons and galaxies For I am a man made of clay And this sacred earth is all I render my life for Indeed You are the masters you worth the heavens This dark and barren plain is suffice for me Let me breath in peace Here on the very piece of the earth O, sovereign lords of the suns and stars I need not your impregnable sky Pray render me my motherland That’s my heart and soul, My faith and devotion But why lords of the heavens Bother themselves to such worthless pleas and cries Since aeons Someone within me Cries ceaselessly “Motherland” Even if it’s a wasteland Burnt and blazed Yet Motherland is but motherland I crave not for the land of the sun Where flows the river of lights Even if it’s dark and swarthy like a prison Yet Motherland is but motherland “Our Dreams Still Belong to Us” We are a nation, Not a nation We are a race, Not a race These date-palms are ours, Not ours These harvests are ours, Not ours This place is ours, Not ours These homes are ours, Not ours These cities are ours, Not ours These towns are ours, Not ours These rivers are ours, Not ours These mountains are ours, Not ours This land is ours, Not ours These godowns are ours, Not ours O, Akbar! Tell the tyrants and brutes of the day We know Indeed There’s nothing left for us to own Yet Our collapsed bodies still belong to us Our souls Our sprits still belong to us Our hands Our arms still belong to us Our sense Our wisdom still belong to us Our sobs Our cries still belong to us We still have the memories of our bygone glory Our guffaws Our smiles Our pains still belong to us We still have our yearnings Madness and passions We still own our dignity What we had gained still belongs to us What we have lost is still ours Our words and voice Our songs and melodies still all belong to us Our passionate hearts still throb Our hope And expectations still belong to us We still have the beautiful dreams of a new day Indeed Ours dreams still belong to us Our dreams still belong to us Still belong to us! The writer is a lecturer at the Government Atta Shad Degree College and can be reached at fazalbaloch144@gmail.com