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Heaven under Mother's feet


Heaven under mother's feet


(Tariq Hussain Butt, UAE)

Heaven under mother's feet

These are the days when I was studying at Punjab University Lahore and used to visit Sialkot two or three times a month. On my arrival, the whole scene of the house would change completely. Songs would resound in the silent atmosphere, laughter from the wall. The sounds of laughter and joy blossomed and it seemed as if this house without me was shrouded in silence, sadness and loneliness. My presence not only made me feel the joy of life but also performed the miracle of filling the sad faces of my parents with joy. I was attached to volleyball to the extent of love so as soon as I reached home the first volleyball On the one hand, the fragrance of friendship of Sufi Idrees Ahmad Qureshi, Khalid Mehmood Farooqi and Saghir Ahmad Qureshi attracted me, on the other hand, Abid Hussain Qureshi, Abdul Karim Butt, Muhammad Saleem Butt, Jaffar Raza, Mazhar Hayat Sher Panja, Javed Pasha and other players were waiting for me, so with my arrival, the colors of the volleyball field would once again come to the whole of Joban, enthusiasm would return and a party of ransackers would be set up. Seeing such a heartwarming movement of love, the soul would come in ecstasy. Every hundred buds of friendship, love, desire and adoption would open. Even in autumn, the colors of spring began to appear. He wanted this moment to remain the same and the charming performances of friends to be the beauty of this universe, but he who has created the season of separation and separation does not allow this to happen. Hands over to the deadly whirlpool. This game of sunshine ends with human life. (Children's play is the world in front of me ... spectacle happens day and night before me).


My mother's happiness was to be seen on my arrival. She did not say anything with her lips but the storm of love that was raging in her mind was reflected in her actions. A gleam in her eyes. It used to be inhabited which can be felt but cannot be described because the scale has not yet been invented which can fully reflect the infinite and eternal passions of the masses. Love for parents is a natural process, so life is different in their shadow. Under their shadow, every hundred carefree, carefree and beautiful world of colors shines brightly. Whose mother is alive? Don't worry, because in the middle of the night, the mother, with her sobs, sighs, prayers and tears, turns the arrows of Qaza and consumes all the calamities of time. My friend Abbas Tabish's poem is the last word on Mamta's feelings (for a long time my mother did not sleep, Tabish ... I once said, I am scared) Mother is the greatest truth of this earth which is the figure of selflessness. She is always ready to sacrifice everything for her children. Remember, mother, not with her outward appearance, not with her stature, not with her beauty, not with her beauty, not with her delicacy, not with her charm, not with her charm, not with her knowledge and gnosis. Not by her higher education, nor by her superior dress does Mamata attain the status of Mamata, but by her greatness the mother lives in the heart of the child in which the everlasting spirit of self-sacrifice and sacrifice abounds. Familiarity is full of pain, like the atmosphere in the Ka'bah is full of prayers. It is the glory of Mamta to elevate her children to the glory of life by starving herself. She liked the Lord so much that she compared herself to a mother. That is why the Lord of the Universe declared with his blessed tongue that (Paradise is under the feet of the mother) This is a proclamation in which all the greatness, glory, exaltation and sanctity of the mother is covered and who has found this secret. Her boat sank on the shore. I used to see her every day to greet her mother's greatness but still remained thirsty. I spent countless days and nights in Mamta's lap but still my thirst to see Mamta could not be quenched. There is a chain that has no end. Faiz had said (don't lose the navek nim kash .. lost the heart) but if we talk about Sultan Bahoo, he says that (there are millions of glasses in the middle of nowhere, one can open one) as if millions of eyes. Together, Takna cannot irrigate the desperate heart with the sight of the mother, the thirst cannot be quenched and the desire to live with the head in Mamta's lap cannot be fulfilled. Every single part of man bears witness to the existence of the mother, so the longing to see her never ends. Man cries out to his mother in every difficulty, every trial, every trouble and every test, which is the greatest proof of the greatness of the mother. The article does not cover Mamata's greatness. (The page is full of air and praise remains ... Saffron tea for this sea of ​​beavers ...


My mother belonged to a large family but she was so selfish and selfless that she was never proud of her father's lands and squares. She loved her dignity, respect and sanctity in all circumstances so she Father Shalam Khan never raised a hand in front of Bhatti. Those whose hearts are filled with the light of istighna, the light will surely become their destiny. And the graduate Bali became the destiny of Mamta, the galaxy of happiness landed in her mother's yard but her mother was still patient and grateful. My mother was a dignified, serious, brave. And there were brave women who taught us to live with self-sufficiency. There was no negative thought in my mother's life like backbiting, jealousy, malice. She was a dignified woman with respect for humanity in her lap. She was less talkative but she had the queen to make the decision because her horizon of consciousness was very high. Allama Iqbal has written this poem in the memory of his mother and has closed the river in a jar (Who will have to wait for me in my homeland now. Who will be restless if my letter does not come) This poem is all about Mamata's restlessness The truth is that no one but the mother is familiar with the meaning of waiting. The restlessness of the mother can only be felt by those who have a heart. That's it. Wealth lying in love is the real capital but most of them do not know about it. He who does not know how to spend it does not even know how to get it. It is necessary to spend it in love otherwise it remains immature. And those who have the passion to lay down their body and mind for the pleasure of their mother, their heartfelt prayer is that (the sky may send dew on your lap. The green path will guard this house) Raising my mother to a high position is an extraordinary battle which can only be overcome with the abundance of love. According to Iqbal The statement of two scholars, Hazrat Muhammad Mustaba, that if my mother called me Muhammad in the state of prayer, I would break the prayer and obey her command is a proclamation which has raised the greatness of the mother to the Throne The prayer of Allama Iqbal written in the Mosque of Cordoba is probably revealing this secret. Go deeper and ecstatic. ،۔


(Yes, this is my prayer, this is my ablution ..., in my grandchildren, there is the blood of the dead liver) ... (Companion of Ahl-e-Safa, Noro, Hazrat Sarwar ..., ...


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