Articles for author: Fazal Baloch

Fazal Baloch

The earth and the sea

This poem by Munir Momen has been translated from Balochi Fazal Baloch.   The sea, A scrawled evidence of sails. And the earth, A song chanted by the wind On the wedding of trees. Every night, You stay awake in the hope of the moment When the wind falls asleep And you’d turn all your ...

Fazal Baloch

In the middle of a tryst

This poem by modernist Balochi poet, Munir Momen, has been translated into English by Fazal Baloch.   In the void of our separation A day can break A night can sleep A city can rest A dream can bloom But this solitude, which is a sleeping soldier, Would vanquish like the sadness over a snuffed-out ...

Fazal Baloch

My son’s classmate

This Balochi short story by prolific fiction writer, Munir Badini, has been translated into English by Fazal Baloch. One day, I saw bulldozers of the Municipal Corporation demolishing the encroachments across the slum area. I didn’t care. The next day, I found a debris stretching up to the main road. I kept walking. On the ...

Fazal Baloch

The urge to itch

This story was originally authored by Naguman in Balochi. Fazal Baloch has translated it for our English readers.   He was perplexed. It had been half an hour he sat contemplating at the canteen for medical students of the Sandemen Hospital. Nothing significant had happened. Just a nurse, passing him by, ran down her hand ...

Fazal Baloch

When the man grows old they become shadows

This story has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch It was an old town. Dusk had just fallen on the crumbling mud houses. A man, standing in front of a bunch of people, was telling them a story. Lanterns were hanging from the doors of the mud houses. Occasionally, you could hear the barking ...

Fazal Baloch

God’s letter to them

Translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch After departing from the bus, he strolled towards the lamps and sat facing them. His hair had turned grey, his eyes were sunk deep into their sockets and his cheeks had lost most of their flesh. Ahead of him laid an endless and quiet plain. Only a small girl ...

Fazal Baloch

Kaashaal

Translated by Fazal Baloch   “I want to write down my dreams,” he looked at me as if he wanted to seek my advice. “That is a good thing,” I replied. “Kafka had written his dreams too. The real creativity comes from dreams. But don’t you know not everyone can dream? Many can’t even dream ...