Atta-ur-Rahman — Fiction Writer and Poet
Atta-ur-Rahman is a credible and passionate writer with a deep interest in Urdu literature and poetry. His short stories and writings reflect everyday life experiences, human emotions, and social themes. His aim is not only to entertain readers but also to encourage reflection and create a positive impact through literature.
His writing style is simple, clear, and touching, allowing every reader to connect with it easily.
Through his blog Atta Nama, he consistently shares new stories, poetry, and writings with his audience.
Articles by the Author
Oh, moon-like one, oh fairy-like face, where are you?
You had once said that this fight would be hard,
Now, we would face such a battle together.
Look — Nargis is standing by me,
She seems victorious, as if the one who was lost has returned.
Your mother, she leaves the door open, waiting,
Whom should I tell where you have gone?
The paths to that direction are countless,
Yet the path of return is closed.
You had once said that this fight would be hard,
Now, we would face such a battle together.
Look — Nargis is standing by me,
She seems victorious, as if the one who was lost has returned.
Your mother, she leaves the door open, waiting,
Whom should I tell where you have gone?
The paths to that direction are countless,
Yet the path of return is closed.
He was an infidel. His gestures were lethally charming.
I was Sunni and he was Shia. The difference between us was less about belief and more about words — words we had heard all our lives but scarcely understood.
Our friendship did not begin with sect or creed. We became friends at a time when we did not yet know that, upon growing up, people begin deciding who deserves to live and who deserves to die based on names.
Twenty years. Yes — a full twenty years.
The same childhood streets. The same broken cricket stumps. The same ball that
I was Sunni and he was Shia. The difference between us was less about belief and more about words — words we had heard all our lives but scarcely understood.
Our friendship did not begin with sect or creed. We became friends at a time when we did not yet know that, upon growing up, people begin deciding who deserves to live and who deserves to die based on names.
Twenty years. Yes — a full twenty years.
The same childhood streets. The same broken cricket stumps. The same ball that