This short short story by A R Daad has been translated by Jalil Baloch from Balochi. At the back of the door, on a wall, the old man had written the date and month of his arrival. “I am the youngest son of Saalaar. The day I came here there was no sign of ...
This poem was originally penned down by Hafeez Rauf in Balochi. I’m indifferent to the ups and downs of the world. I had said, What if the sky crumbles into the earth! What to me! To me what! What if someone slaughters someone! What if a brother kills a brother for a piece of ...
I was about to leave for the graveyard when he entered my room and stood behind the door. He looked pale, so weak that only his head was visible. “I won’t go there. The sun is searing and there aren’t even any trees,” he said as I wore my shoes. “There isn’t any shade here ...
