✨ Philosophy of Abdul Asad
— An Indian Writer and Poet
"Asad is not just a name; it is an idea — of love, trust, and non-violence."
Born in Basti, Uttar Pradesh (India), Abdul Asad, known poetically as A. Asad, believes that literature is the light that removes darkness from the human soul. His philosophy is rooted deeply in humanity, peace, and inner awakening, drawn from India's rich cultural and spiritual heritage.
core beliefs of abdul asad
1. Love is the Highest Language
Love is not weakness; it is strength that binds humanity.
"A man without humanity is as useless as a body without soul." — A. Asad
2. Education is Enlightenment
He believes that true education goes beyond degrees. It transforms hearts.
"Education removes the darkness from our mind and soul." — A. Asad
3. Non-Violence is Revolutionary
Inspired by Mahatma Gandhi, A. Asad holds that change must come through non-violence and truth.
4. Poetry as Resistance
In his pen lies a rebellion — against injustice, ignorance, and silence.
His poetry gives voice to the unheard, and hope to the hopeless.
5. Unity of Cultures and Religions
A. Asad writes in both Hindi and English, symbolizing the bridge between India’s ancient soul and modern mind.
His work celebrates Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb — a harmony of all communities.
Message Through His Work
Whether it’s a thought, a nazm, or an historical drama, A. Asad uses his words to heal wounds, spark minds, and stir patriotism.
Abdul Asad Represents…
The dream of a more humane India
The fight for inner freedom
The belief that a poet’s pen can shape the nation’s soul.
-A. Asad
"स्वतंत्रता सिर्फ ज़ंजीरों से मुक्त होना नहीं है,
बल्कि अपने भीतर के अंधकार से रौशनी की ओर बढ़ना है।"
-A. Asad
Ballad of the Starving Children (Of Gaza) By Abdul Asad In Gaza’s night, so cold, so wide, A girl named Noor lay down and cried, No food, no light, no lullaby— Just mother's sob and father’s sigh. Her sister Hind, just five years old, Was found beneath the ashes cold. She clutched a piece of bread so tight, She died still hoping for a bite. Sweet Duniyah slept in her father’s chest, A final lullaby for her rest. The bombs had stilled her tiny breath, A cradle turned to dust and death. Another child lay near the stone, No voice, no pulse—just dust and bone. No toy remained, no gentle hand, Just silence in a shattered land. She said, “I saw my sister burn. She screamed for milk, none could return. The bombs don’t care for baby's name. We’re numbers now in hunger’s flames.” Young Yazan held a flag of white, But found no mercy in the night. He died while shielding sister’s head, A child’s last act before he bled. A girl named Layan wiped her tears, She said, “They ...
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