A homeland cannot be divided.
For a homeland
Does not exist
Upon maps.
It lives—
Forever—
Within the hearts
Of its people.
Nisar Banbhan
Hailing from Village Mir Muhammad Banbhan, Taluka Mirwah, District Khapurpur and based in Karachi, the capital of Sindh, Nisar Banbhan is a seasoned professional with nearly 25 years of multifaceted experience, encompassing 3 years in journalism and over two decades of service in a public sector organization. His extensive expertise spans content creation, scriptwriting, screenwriting, lyrics, poetry, and storytelling across multiple languages, including Sindhi, Urdu, and English. Nisar has honed his skills in writing articles, columns, and short stories, contributing to various national and regional media outlets. Additionally, he brings a deep understanding of program development, educational advocacy, and strategic planning, having led initiatives that promote quality education and foster community empowerment. His passion for literature and education merges seamlessly, enabling him to craft impactful narratives that resonate with diverse audiences while driving meaningful change in society.
Sindh First, Sindh Forever
You who imagine
That with a few strokes of ink
Upon a sheet of paper,
You can erase the frontiers
That centuries have carved,
Unravel the bonds
That history has woven,
Halt the rivers in their eternal flow,
And alter the language
Of a mother’s prayers—
Then listen.
This land is not merely earth.
It is a sacred trust,
Consecrated by the blood of martyrs.
It is the fearless cry of Hoshu Sheedi,
The unbroken resolve of Hemu Kalani,
The immortal defiance of Dodo Soomro.
It bears the fragrance
Of the farmer’s sweat,
The timeless footsteps
Of Sufi saints,
And the unwavering flame of love
That has burned on,
Undaunted,
Through every storm.
You have erected marketplaces of hatred—
Of division,
Of language,
Of identity.
You have changed your faces,
Rewritten your roles,
And staged conspiracy after conspiracy
Upon the sacred stage
Of this homeland.
But remember—
When a people
Knock upon the gates of history,
Even the walls of palaces
Shudder,
Fracture,
And fall.
You know this truth.
Those who bartered
The dreams of generations
At the tables of power;
Those who built walls
Where hearts once met;
Those who sought
To weigh and sell
The soil of Sindh
In the marketplace of politics—
Let every coward hear this:
That commerce has come to its end.
This is Sindh—
The mother of her people.
Here,
Even the river bears witness.
Every grain of sand
Carries the scent of resistance.
Every generation has learned
That no matter
How long
The night of tyranny may endure,
The dawn
Never loses its way.
It was this land
That kindled lamps
Against the darkness of One Unit.
It was this land
Whose blood illuminated
The road to democracy.
And today,
That same voice
Rises once more:
We shall not surrender our homeland.
We shall not permit
Our identity
To be erased.
Nor shall we allow
The merchants of hatred
To stand watch
At the doors of our home.
Hear this—
You who claim dominion
From your thrones of power.
To divide Sindh
Is not merely
To wound a province;
It is to thrust a dagger
Into the very heart
Of the nation.
Those who believe
That the soul of a people
Can be rewritten
By decrees and commands,
Have forgotten
The oldest truth of all:
You may dam a river,
But you can never
Silence its thirst.
You may extinguish a lamp,
But you can never
Imprison the dawn.
Sindh shall endure—
With its fragrance,
With its ancient civilization,
With its people,
With the memory
Of every generation
That chose dignity over surrender.
And history will write:
Those who dreamed
Of dividing this land
Were buried
Beneath the rubble
Of their own ambitions.
But those who raised
The banner of love,
Of unity,
And of justice,
Became the enduring voice
Of generations yet unborn.
A homeland cannot be divided.
For a homeland
Does not exist
Upon maps.
It lives—
Forever—
Within the hearts
Of its people.
___________________
