Urdu - The Origin and History of the Language Published on February 17 2014 by www.eautytask.com The term ’Urdu’ and its origin The term Urdu derives from a Turkish word ordu meaning camp or army. The Urdu languagedeveloped between the Muslim soldiers of the Mughals armies who belonged to various ethnicities like Turks‚ Arabs‚ Persians‚ Pathans‚ Balochis‚ Rajputs‚ Jats and Afghans. These soldiers lived in close contact with each other and communicated in different dialects‚ which slowly and gradually
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09/11/2013 Language For a long time ago‚ people started to use language to communicate with each other. In different countries or areas‚ people use different language. Today‚ English is used as a general language that people use around the world. Second language speakers may encounter many difficulties‚ such as: a new language can cause confusion‚ learning a new language requires frequent usage; a person fist language may hinder process‚ and those who don’t speak English as a first language feel embraced
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------------------------------------------------- Throughout most of Japan’s history poetry played a large part in the process of death. A jisei is a death poem‚ a poem that any person on their deathbed was encouraged to write. While if you were a samurai‚ according to the bushido code of honor‚ if you wanted to die with honor and not at the hands of your enemy‚ if you had dishonored yourself or fellow samurai‚ or if your master had died you would commit the ritual of seppuku. Seppuku is a ceremony
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* IM SORRY Every little thing that you do makes me fall in love with you why I did the things that I did made me feel like a silly kid Why did we always used to fight I just wanted to make things right when you left you struck my heart never thought we’d be apart so when I walk by everyday always smile in your special way I know you’ll be dying inside and I wish that you were mine I break down every night I cry myself to sleep and with all my might I know you’re not mine to
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I was born in Denver Colorado because I was a premature baby. I lived in Bloomfield and living in Farmington now. Growing up in Bloomfield and in Farmington. childhood accidents one time i was outside playing and there was a big snake right in front of me. childhood memories were a lot of them too many to write. important invents in my life right now are school and home no girls anymore because their a pain in the neck. previous pets were all dogs i have two right now one is a guy pit bull his name
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t Narrative Poetry .ne A summary of ‘The Inchcape Rock’ by Robert Southey These are in the right order‚ as numbered. 1. 10. One day‚ out at sea‚ when there was no wind The bell sank and Sir Ralph said‚ ‘The next person who comes to the rock won’t thank the water. the Abbot’. 2. 11. The day was so still that there were no He then rowed back to his boat and sailed sounds or signs as the water moved around away. He was gone a long time‚ during and over
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If Tomorrow Never Comes If I knew it would be the last time that I’d see you fall asleep‚ I would tuck you in more tightly‚ and pray the Lord your soul to keep. If I knew it would be the last time that I’d see you walk out the door‚ I would give you a hug and kiss‚ and call you back for just one more. If I knew it would be the last time I’d hear your voice lifted up in praise‚ I would tape each word and action‚ and play them back throughout my days If I knew it would be the last
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A Tribute to My Town When I remember the days that saw my early childhood spent on the green shores of a murmurous lagoon; when I remember the coolness‚ delicious and refreshing‚ that on my face I felt as I heard Favonius croon; when I behold the white lily swell to the wind’s impulsion‚ and that tempestuous element meekly asleep on the sand; when I inhale the dear intoxicating essence the flowers exude when dawn is smiling on the land; sadly‚ sadly I recall
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Among Elk Up before dawn‚ a feeling has drawn You into the mountain and trees. Till the silence within‚ upon the whispering wind A chime of bugles tease the breeze. That majestic call‚ that is heard each fall Since before our forefathers birth And for those who take time‚ through rim rocks and pine Listen and value their worth. Each note high and low as each bugle ballad goes‚ No two ever the same They are all unique and if a chance to critique Upon our hearts they claim. We are
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The Troll’s Nosegay by Robert Graves A simple nosegay! was that much to ask? (Winter still irked‚ with scarce a bud yet showing). He loved her ill‚ if he resigned the task. “Somewhere‚” she cried‚ “there must be blossom blowing.” It seems my lady wept and the troll swore By Heaven he hated tears: he’d cure her spleen – Where she had begged one flower he’d shower fourscore‚ A bunch fit to amaze a China Queen. Cold fog-drawn Lily‚ pale mist-magic Rose He conjured‚ and in a glassy cauldron
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