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 [email protected]