Best 14 quotes in «punjabi quotes» category

A girl whose name is Love Is lost. Simple, beautiful, She is lost.

After the loss of its eastern wing, which became Bangladesh in 1971, Pakistan has been completely dominated by one ethnic group, the Punjabis, who tend to favour the ideological model for Pakistan and are heavily represented in the military, the media and the bureaucracy.

In the garden of life, Grows a sapling of pain, The deer of songs nibbles at it. The winds of seperation Blow through the night, A few leaves drop. A few leaves drop, Mother, they drop, And sounds stir in the garden. If a few birds of breath Should fly away, The deer of songs is afraid. But the birds of breath Will surely fly, Nothing can hold them back. Through the night In every direction They fly away.

Flowers of sin, like some black sun, Bloom in my dreams Their perfume-sodden fragrance Spreading through each heartbeat.

In the absence of democratic politics, the dominance of a predominantly Punjabi civil bureaucracy and army heightened the grievances of non-Punjabi provinces and the linguistic groups within them. Te entrenched institutional supremacy of a Punjabi army and federal bureaucracy, not Punjab’s dominance over other provinces per se, had emerged as the principal impediment to restoring democratic processes in Pakistan.

I thought about my [Punjabi] family. The only nakshatram we think about is the division of petrol pumps when we have to see the girl.

People worship god. I worship this separation from you. It is worth Haj to a hundred Meccas, This separation from you. People say I am as brilliant as the sun, They say I am famous. What a fire it has lit in me, This separation from you. Behind me is my shadow, Ahead, is my darkness. I fear that it might leave me, This separation from you. No taint of the body is in it, Nor litter of the mind, All has been winnowed out, By this separation from you. When sorrow comes, bringing with it Loneliness and pain, I pull it close to me, This separation from you. Sometimes it colors my words Sometimes it weaves through my songs, It has taught me great deal, This separation from you. When sorrow, defeated, fell at my feet, Amazed at my fidelity, The world came out to see This separation from you. Love earned me fame. People flocked to praise me. It wept in my embrace, This separation from you. The world turned out to tell me, That I had been unwise. It sat me on a throne today This separation from you.

The Most Dangerous (Sab Ton Khatarnak - Paash) The most dangerous occurrence is not a robbery of hard work, The most horrifying act is not a torture by the police, A merger of treachery and greed is not the most dangerous. To be trapped while asleep is surely miserable, To be buried under the silence is surely miserable, But it is still not the most dangerous. To remain silent in the noise of corruption is surely miserable, Reading covertly under the light of a firefly is surely miserable, But it is still not the most dangerous. The most dangerous deed is to be filled with a dead silence, Not feeling any agony against the unjust and bearing it all. Getting trapped in the routine of running from home to work and from work to home, The most dangerous accident is a death of our dreams. The most dangerous thing is that watch which runs on your wrist, but stands still for your eyes **A Translation of Paash's poem Sab ton Khatarnak by Jasz Gill

There are many places you need to be, but there is nowhere to reach. There are many people you need to see but no one to meet. And there are many contacts in your phone but no one to talk. There are many masks in your closet but no face to please.

Not a believer in the mosque am I, Nor a disbeliever with his rites am I. I am not the pure amongst the impure, I am neither Moses nor Pharaoh. Bulleh, I know not who I am. Not in the holy books am I, Nor do I dwell in bhang or wine, Nor do I live in a drunken haze, Nor in sleep or waking known. Bulleh, I know not who I am. Not in happiness or in sorrow am I found. I am neither pure nor mired in filthy ground. Not of water nor of land, Nor am I in air or fire to be found. Bulleh, I know not who I am. Not an Arab nor Lahori, Not a Hindi or Nagouri, Nor a Muslim or Peshawari, Not a Buddhist or a Christian. Bulleh, I know not who I am. Secrets of religion have I not unravelled, I am not of Eve and Adam. Neither still nor moving on, I have not chosen my own name! Bulleh, I know not who I am. From first to last, I searched myself. None other did I succeed in knowing. Not some great thinker am I. Who is standing in my shoes, alone? Bulleh, I know not who I am.

The breakup of Pakistan was the result of the autocratic policies of its state managers rather than the inherent difficulties involved in welding together linguistically and culturally diverse constituent units. Islam proved to be dubious cement not because it was unimportant to people in the different regions. Pakistan’s regional cultures have absorbed Islam without losing affinity to local languages and customs. With some justification, non- Punjabi provinces came to perceive the use of Islam as a wily attempt by the Punjabi- led military–bureaucratic combine to deprive them of a fair share of political and economic power. Non- Punjabi antipathy toward a Punjabi- dominated center often found expression in assertions of regional distinctiveness.

Where perfumed rivers flow, Is the home of my beloved. Where passing breezes halt, Is the home of my beloved. Where dawn arrives on bare toes, Where night paints henna-beams on feet, Where fragrance bathes in moonlight, Is the home of my beloved. Where rays of light roam nakedly, In green forests of sandalwood. Where the flame seeks the lamp, Is the home of my beloved. Where sunsets sleep on wide waters, And the deer leap. Where tears fall for no reason, Is the home of my beloved. Where the farmer sleeps hungry, Even though the wheat is the color of my beloved, Where the wealthy ones lie in hiding, Is the home of my beloved. Where perfumed rivers flow, Is the home of my beloved. Where passing breezes halt, Is the home of my beloved.

West Pakistani soldiers, politicians, and civil servants dominated Pakistan’s government. Within a year of independence, Bengalis in East Pakistan were rioting in the streets, demanding recognition of their language, Bengali, as a national language. Soon thereafter, in the western wing of the country, ethnic Sindhis, Pashtuns (also known as Pathans), and Balochis also complained about the domination of the civil services and the military’s officer corps by ethnic Punjabis and Urdu-speaking migrants from northern India.

Yesterday, I was collecting words. One was up there, sitting in the bo tree, Another was in the banyan. One was wandering in my street, Another was lying in the earthen jar. A green word lay in the fields, A black one was eating flesh. A blue word was flying With a grain of the sun in its beak. Every single thing in this world looks like a word to me. The words of eyes, The words of hands. But I do not understand words I hear from a mouth. I can only read words. I can only read words.