2006 is about to be a part of a vast wilderness called past. What is in the fleeting days and nights, except a creeping sensation of passing through the limits of space and time? What are the joys, tears and sorrows attached to the sandcastle called life? Every sorrow has its happiness and happiness its tears. In a nutshell happiness is all about tomorrow, whatever we do is all for the singing tomorrows. As the yesterday/past in nothing but a long trail on the desert of time we left behind while heading towards the oasis we call tomorrow or future. Every tomorrow has a message, radiance and hope about it. It calls us to let bygones be bygones and fix our gaze at the future or on the singing tomorrows.
Daily Times reports that family of an Afghan writer believes he has been picked up by the Pakistani agencies over writing memories of his three years imprisonment in Guantánamo Bay prison. Abdul Rahim Muslim Dost went missing on September 29 after his book “The Broken Shackles of Guantánamo” hits the market on 3rd September 2006. Accordingly the shadowy guys earlier approached him to restraint from publishing his book. During the war Pakistani and Afghan bounty hunters sold scores of people to the CIA for US$ 5000 per head. Earlier this year an Amnesty International report said that “The road to Guantánamo starts in Pakistan”. Ironically 300 people have been released from the Gulag of our Times without any charge or indictment which is brimming with inmates thanks to the Mush all out support to the war on terror. 85percent detainees were not directly arrested by the Americans but by the Afghan Militias and Pakistani government who later handed over them to the US.
A BBC report narrates the waning influence of the neo-conservatives in US after Iraq debacles. In the words of the report, “The Project for the New American Century” has been reduced to a voice-mail box and a ghostly website. A single employee has been left to wrap things up.”
Project for the New American Century (PNAC) was established in 1997 to spearhead the goal of US global leadership. Its main exponents include Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, Richard Armitag Francis Fukuyama, Jeb Bush, Zalmay Khalilzad, Lewis Libby, and Paul Wolfowitz etc who were the main force behind the US attack of Iraq. BBC’s Paul Reynolds writes that, “They saw the war in Iraq as their big chance of showing how the “New American Century” might work.”
But the Iraq failures doomed them; in a recent issue of Vanity Fair the brains behind the plan even assailed the president Bush for the failures in the Iraq.
Subjectivity is the essence of art and like the ripples on a pond it spreads outwards and reaches to the shores of eternity. And in the process affects everything which came into contact.
It is the inner self of the artist that shines in the light of spontaneous artistic activity and this come from a personal energy, creative impulse or inspiration whatever we name it. It is the process in which the artist explores that part of himself which is hidden in the dark cellars of personality.
By Czeslaw Milosz
Your unhappy and silly youth.
Your arrival from the provinces in the city.
Misted-over windowpanes of streetcars,
Restless misery of the crowd.
Your dread when you entered a place too expensive.
But everything was too expensive. Too high.
Those people must have noticed your crude manners,
Your outmoded clothes, and your awkwardness.
There were none who would stand by you and say,
You are a handsome boy,
You are strong and healthy,
Your misfortunes are imaginary.
You would not have envied a tenor in an overcoat of camel hair
Had you guessed his fear and known how he would die.
She, the red-haired, because of whom you suffer tortures,
So beautiful she seems to you, is a doll in fire.
You don’t understand what she screams with her lips of a clown.
The shapes of hats, the cut of robes, faces in the mirrors,
You will remember all that unclearly, as something from long ago,
Or as what remains from a dream.
The house you approach trembling,
The apartment that dazzles you–
Look, on this spot the cranes clear the rubble.
In your turn you will have, possess, secure,
Able to be proud at last, when there is no reason.
Your wishes will be fulfilled, you will gape then
At the essence of time, woven of smoke and mist,
An iridescent fabric of lives that last one day,
Which rises and falls like an unchanging sea.
Books you have read will be of use no more.
You searched for an answer but lived without answer.
You will walk in the streets of southern cities,
Restored to your beginnings, seeing again in rapture
The whiteness of a garden after the first night of snow.
(Translated, from the Polish, by Howard Gardner and Robert Hass)
From Howard Gardner’s book Creating Minds ( !993)