Both the paper and the pen burned in the fire

Both the paper and the pen burned in the fire Article:- 

It's not a matter of what we write, we find a thousand topics, but the problem is why we write, why we write, and for whom we write. Because that's what we've written and broadcast so far, a whole train would be needed to carry it. But someone heard something, read something. Any lice crawling on someone's ear?

We are feeling exactly the same mosquito that spent the night in the elephant's ear very comfortably, then in the morning he thanked the elephant and said, thank you very much, the night passed very comfortably. The elephant said, "Chana katha gazari raat way." The mosquito spoke in your ear. The elephant said, "I did not hear of your arrival and I do not know where you are going now." The mosquito said, "You haven't heard my melodic songs?" The elephant said, "Whose songs should I listen to in the end?"

Even if we ask our readers today that we have been writing columns for so long, tell us how to write. So of course everyone's answer will be how and when?

This honor is not only ours but we are one hundred and one hundred percent sure that our otherwise intellectual friends get this honor more than us because they are far ahead of us in both quantity and quality. Array writes for the benefit of others and he gives golden advice to the United States, Europe, China, Japan, i.e at the international level, solves the problems of Kashmir and Palestine and does the same for Jews and Hindus.

Some ladies and gentlemen who belong to a slightly higher category are suffering from the present and future pains of the world but we are sure that we are not equal to them in anything else but we are not ahead of them in terms of not being read. Not even behind.

So every day we have the problem of what to write. If I change new clothes for someone, where can I get that fairy, the third bride to make, because we have tried the colors that were beautiful and ugly so far. Now we are wondering why this man's way. Don't choose Which he had adopted with the Amir of Afghanistan, Abdul Rahman.

He was a very famous comedian. He was talked about in Chardang Alam. When he spoke, flowers would come out of his mouth and he would be looted. We will make money, but Amir Abdul Rehman was the only man of his kind. I have heard that no one has ever seen him laugh or cry.

So he bet the artist that if you made me laugh, I would make you rich, but if you couldn't make me laugh, I would blow my head off. The comedian began to perform his art, trying all the weapons he had in his arsenal, but Amir continued to make stone idols. When he ran out of Darussalam. And he was convinced that now his shoulders would be lightened with the burden of his head, so he thought that his life was going to go anyway because he should not be heartbroken over this unfortunate thing.

Now, if he translates what he has said from Pashto to Urdu and performs Wudhu or Ghusl seven times, he will not be able to pass censorship. Just understand that the whole point was that if I still don't laugh, what else can I do? Then there were those punishable intentions. Hearing his helpless and angry nonsense, Amir Abdul Rehman burst out laughing.

It is also our intention that now, like this person, why not go out of your mind and tell those who are not reading, but those who are not reading, what they have never heard before. But the problem is that we do not face Amir Abdul Rehman, nor do we have the courage to do so, or to put it another way, the last disappointing moment has not yet come and we are, perhaps, hoping for something.

The biggest problem is that if we find as much courage in ourselves as there was in the person who made Amir Abdul Rahman laugh, there was no reason, but we can neither tell the truth in front of an oppressive sultan nor be patient and thankful. Otherwise, in front of the people, what will they say? They will roll the words that even women and men will be ashamed, but where can I get that fairy?

Of course they can and are doing that

The myth of grief was heavy on our souls

Who died silently?

In this immense freedom of the media, the noise of the Hour and the dragon of words, no one can raise his voice, so what did our parrot do and talk about it.

They are just saying ghazal for ghazal with the belief that no one hears the call to prayer in the desert or in the settlement of the waves, but whatever the helpless muezzin does, he has to give the call to prayer or not.

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