There is something tragically human about a man speaking to the wind. It is the final act of someone who has nothing left, no messengers, no letters, no paths; only breath. When he whispers “ In nalti ya reeh as-saba, yauman ila ard il-haram, balligh salaami raudatan, feehi an-nabi yul-mohtaram ,” he is not composing a verse; he is sending his soul to travel where his body cannot go.  “ O gentle breeze, if one day you pass through the sacred land, carry my greetings to that b

Napoleon & Josephine France, Army, Josephine Napoleon Bonaparte, one who I consider Ubermensch, the emperor who bent Europe to his will,...

“हमारी कश्ती वहाँ डूबी जहाँ पानी कम था।” – निदा फ़ाज़ली A snapshot from the official video of Bad Wolves : Zombie (...