That old black magic has me in its spell, That old black magic that you weave so well; Icy fingers up and down my spine, The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine.

Tu kehnda c ki tenu kehlna nhi aunda......... Par tu ta bda vdiya khiladi niklya................

When the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys.He becomes a sort of hollow,posing dummy,the conventional figure of a sahib.For it is the condition of his rule that he shall spend his life in trying to impress the "natives",and so in every crisis he has got to do what the "natives" expect of him.He wears a mask and his face grows to fit it.

Il tempo è come il fascino. Non ne hai mai quanto vorresti.

Written By Khaled Hosseini

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