Inside an old house in Saraa-e-Baale Khan, sat a thin, tall man of an unassumed, unconventional temperament on his cheap jute mat under a broken-down roof, sheltered by hay and thatch. Dressed in a simple lungi, he sat in patience and contentment, spending his life like some aloof and carefree dervish. As his tilted cap rakishly fell over one of his eyebrows, he kept staring at an outdated wall ruminating about love, life, and poetry. The post Aatish and Nasikh: Poets-cum-Pen Fighters appeared f
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