- published: 14 Feb 2016
- views: 20
Hassan Nisar (Punjabi: حسن نثار) is a syndicated columnist and an analyst with his own talk show Choraha on Geo TV, Pakistan. His presentations are in Urdu. His commentaries in print media and television focusing on contemporary Pakistan, and the political history of Islam, have earned him both praise from liberal peers and scorn from Nationalist and religious elements in Pakistan.
Although Nisar is a veteran journalist, who has been involved with print media for more than a decade, he became a household name due to the rise of private TV channels in Pakistan followed by YouTube, where many of his TV appearances including Meray Mutabiq (Urdu: میرے مطابق) are regularly uploaded. He has also hosted a talk show, "Choraha" on Geo News.
He is criticized by fellow journalists for being biased against PML(N).[citation needed]
I threw your keys in the water, I looked back,
Theyd frozen halfway down in the ice.
They froze up so quickly, the keys and their owners,
Even after the anger, it all turned silent, and
The everyday turned solitary,
So we came to February.
First we forgot where wed planted those bulbs last year,
Then we forgot that wed planted at all,
Then we forgot what plants are altogether,
and I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting and
The nights were long and cold and scary,
Can we live through February?
You know I think Christmas was a long red glare,
Shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards,
And then the snow,
And then the snow came, we were always out shoveling,
And wed drop to sleep exhausted,
Then wed wake up, and its snowing.
And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together.
You stopped and pointed and you said, "Thats a crocus,"
And I said, "Whats a crocus?" and you said, "Its a flower,"
I tried to remember, but I said, "Whats a flower?"
You said, "I still love you."
The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store,
My new lover made me keys to the house,
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood,
Because you never know how next year will be,
And well gather all our arms can carry,