प्यार की सीमा रेखा / चित्रा सिंह

प्यार की सीमा रेखा
तय करनी होगी

कितनी गहराई तक
डुबोना है ख़ुद को

कहाँ से वापस
आ जाना होगा लौटकर
किनारों पर ।

Dark Unmarried Mothers / Oodgeroo Noonuccal

All about the country,
From earliest teens,
Dark unmarried mothers,
Fair game for lechers —
Bosses and station hands,
And in town and city
Low-grade animals
Prowl for safe prey.
Nothing done about it,
No one to protect them —
But hush, you mustn't say so,
Bad taste or something
To challenge the accepted,
Disturbing the established.
Turn the blind eye,
Wash the hands like Pilate.

Consent? Even with consent
It is still seduction.
Is it a white girl?
Then court case and headline
Stern talk of maintenance.
Is it a dark girl?
Then safe immunity;
He takes what he wants

And walks off like a dog.
Was ever even one,
One of all the thousands
Ever made responsible?
For dark unmarried mothers
The law does not run.
No blame for the guilty
But blame uttered only
For anyone made angry
Who dares even mention it,
Challenging old usage,
Established, accepted
And therefore condoned.
Shrug away the problem,
The shame, the injustice;
Turn the blind eye,
Wash the hands like Pilate.

Note: Oodgeroo Noonuccal (formerly Kath Walker) was one of the most progressive and well respected poets of Australia. Her advocacy for Indigenous welfare reflected in her poetic form as she wrote from her perspective as an Aboriginal Australian woman. 

A Mother in a Refugee Camp / Chinua Achebe

No Madonna and Child could touch
Her tenderness for a son
She soon would have to forget. . . .
The air was heavy with odors of diarrhea,
Of unwashed children with washed-out ribs
And dried-up bottoms waddling in labored steps
Behind blown-empty bellies. Other mothers there
Had long ceased to care, but not this one:
She held a ghost-smile between her teeth,
And in her eyes the memory
Of a mother’s pride. . . .She had bathed him
And rubbed him down with bare palms.
She took from their bundle of possessions
A broken comb and combed
The rust-colored hair left on his skull
And then—humming in her eyes—began carefully to part it.
In their former life this was perhaps
A little daily act of no consequence
Before his breakfast and school; now she did it
Like putting flowers on a tiny grave.

(Note: Chinua Achebe (d. 2013) was one of the foremost writer in
 post-colonial Africa; though Achebe chose to write primarily in 
English - "the language of colonisers". He is also counted among
 the leading novelists with high praises for his 1958 breakout
 novel 'Things Fall Apart'.)

सूहा साहा / इरशाद कामिल

मैं नानी सूहा साहा ले जाना कोई के

मीठी मीठी खेती में खेलन हो 

तोता बोले पेड़ों पे, पेड़ से 

पूड़ी से 

सूहा साहा नींदन में 

भूखा ना हो 

संगी साथी हाँ सूने थारे हो ना हो 

सूहा साहा, अम्मा का 

सूहा साहा, अम्मा का 

रैना कारी कारी कोयलां सी रैना 

नींदी तू ला 

तू ला सी नैना 

तारों का बिछोना 

चैन से सोना 

गोटा गोटा में 

घूमेगा घामेगा 

सूहा साहा मैं नहीं ले जाना हो   

टूटा तारा सा 

छोटा सा, तारा सा 

टूटा रे… 

पूछे वो देखूं तेरी बारी 

क्यूँ ना सोए क्यूँ तू रोए 

क्यूँ तू खोए यूँ परदेस में हो   

क्यूँ तू रूठा, किस्से रूठा 

क्या है छूटा तेरा देस में 

हो जो भी है रूखा-सूखा 

मन में वो बोलो तो 

खोलों राहें बातों की 

बाहें हो…   

तोता बोले पेड़ों पे पेड़ से 

पूड़ी से 

सूहा साहा नींदन में 

भूखा ना हो 

संगी साथी हाँ सूने थारे हो ना हो 

सूहा साहा, अम्मा का 

सूहा साहा, अम्मा का

(Featured in Hindi movie 'Highway')

Comfortably Numb / David Jon Gilmour & Roger Waters

Hello? Hello? Hello? Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me Is there anyone at home? Come on now I hear you're feeling down Well I can ease your pain Get you on your feet again Relax I'll need some information first Just the basic facts Can you show me where it hurts? There is no pain you are receding A distant ship smoke on the horizon You are only coming through in waves Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying When I was a child I had a fever My hands felt just like two balloons Now I've got that feeling once again I can't explain you would not understand This is not how I am I have become comfortably numb Okay Just a little pinprick There'll be no more, ah But you may feel a little sick Can you stand up? I do believe it's working, good That'll keep you going through the show Come on it's time to go There is no pain you are receding A distant ship, smoke on the horizon You are only coming through in waves Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse Out of the corner of my eye I turned to look but it was gone I cannot put my finger on it now The child is grown The dream is gone I have become comfortably numb

Chipko - Let's Stick With It / Manjula Reddy

I'd like to share a story of days old
One in Indian lands that has been told
Of trees and people and their special bond
That made some humans of these trees so fond 

It was more than two centuries ago
That there began a movement called, "Chipko"
From Hindi, translated, it meant, "to stick"
As in like viscid glue that's laid on thick

The seventies had some taking on the lead
Of Amrita Devi, who had paid no heed
To a King whose decree cleared the woods of trees
He didn't care for nature nor for breeze

He wished to build with ash of "khejri" wood
A palace; for him a forest did no good
Devi, embraced a tree, stayed glued to it
Challenging, with the trunk, her throat be slit

He had her felled and her three daughters too
As eighteen score and three then followed suit
This dissent then went down in local lore
Describing savage deeds, bloodshed and gore

A similar protest was staged years later
As Urban Forest Sector turned traitor
In Uttarkhand, a state that lies up north
Where allied tribal women marched on forth

Hugging trees for days on end to defend
To bring deforestation to an end
Trees embraced in non-violent protest
They spread awareness never seeking rest

And thus began a movement big and strong
A "satyagraha" against doing wrong
Until this day sweet nature's "Chipko" folk
Refuse to bear development's choking yoke

श्री रामचँद्र कृपालु भजु मन / तुलसीदास

श्री रामचँद्र कृपालु भजु मन हरण भवभय दारुणम्।
नवकंज-लोचन, कंज-मुख, कर कंज, पद कंजारुणम्।।

कंदर्प अगणित अमित छबि, नवनील-नीरद सुंदरम्।
पट पीत मानहु तड़ित रुचि शुचि नौमि जनक-सुतानरम्।।

भजु दीनबंधु दिनेश दानव-दैत्य-वंश-निकंदनम्।
रघुनंद आनँदकंद कोशलचंद दशरथ-नंदनम्।।

सिर मुकुट कुंडल तिलक चारु उदारु अंग विभूषणम्।
आजानुभुज शर-चाप-धर, संग्राम-जित-खर-दूषणम्।।

इति वदति तुलसीदास शंकर-शेष-मुनि-मन रंजनम्।
मम् हृदय-कंज-निवास कुरु, कामादि खल-दल-गंजनम्।।

Harlem / Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

तेईस मार्च को / कुन्दन

मर्द-ए-मैदां चल दिया सरदार, तेईस मार्च को।
मान कर फ़ांसी गले का हार, तेईस मार्च को।
आसमां ने एक तूफ़ान वरपा कर दिया,
जेल की बनी ख़ूनी दीवार, तेईस मार्च को।
शाम का था वक्त कातिल ने चराग़ गुल कर दिया,
उफ़ ! सितम, अफ़सोस, हा ! दीदार, तेईस मार्च को।
तालिब-ए-दीदार आए आख़री दीदार को,
हो सकी राज़ी न पर सरकार, तेईस मार्च को।
बस, ज़बां ख़ामोश, इरादा कहने का कुछ भी न कर,
ले हाथ में कातिल खड़ा तलवार, तेईस मार्च को।
ऐ कलम ! तू कुछ भी न लिख सर से कलम हो जाएगी,
गर शहीदों का लिखा इज़हार, तेईस मार्च को।
जब ख़ुदा पूछेगा फिर जल्लाद क्या देगा जवाब,
क्या ग़ज़ब किया है तूने सरकार, तेईस मार्च को।
कीनवर कातिल ने हाय ! अपने दिल को कर ली थी,
ख़ून से तो रंग ही ली तलवार, तेईस मार्च को।
हंसते हंसते जान देते देख कर 'कुन्दन' इनहें,
पस्त हिम्मत हो गई सरकार, तेईस मार्च को।

पानी का गीत / तारादत्त निर्विरोध

पानी के दरपन पै यों कंकरी न मारो

बिम्बों का जीवन बिखर जायेगा ।

पानी के भीतर भी रहता है पानी,

पानी के ऊपर भी बहता है पानी ।

सागर के पानी को हाथों से तोला तो

लहरों का कंचन उतर जाएगा ।

संभव न पानी के पानी को आँकना,

लगता ज्यों अपने ही भीतर से झाँकना ।

यौवन को दोषों की आँखों से देखा तो

परदे का बचपन उघर जायेगा ।

खारा या मीठा हो पानी तो पानी,

गंदलाया फिर भी सजल है कहानी ।

मोती तलाशोगे निर्जल की तहों से तो

दलदल का दर्शन उभर जाएगा ।

The Flight, Solo / Devesh Kumar Pandey

#WorldPoetryDay
#yourstruly

Sometimes words fail me. Though I want to speak so much, So many things on mind. And all I can manage is a smile, Or a shrieking loud silence. Chilling me to the bones all this while.

Sometimes emotions fail me too. I feel numb to everything around. I know people are watching, Expecting a reaction out of me. But I am in a different plane, Untouched of their joy and agony.

Sometimes I am just tired of words. I just want to grow wings, And fly miles away like the birds. Neither to some warm beautiful place, Nor in the comfort of my flock. My winged journey, alone, to world of coldness.

Sometimes I feel bruised and broken. With unmanageable load of expectations. When all my words and actions are recorded, To be questioned, arm-wrestled and bent. I feel too numb and tired for any protest. So I smile, or keep silent.

Sometimes I am only bidding my time. Waiting to feel the chill in my bones, Then the numbness of a different plane. The urge of the solo flight, Far away from the place I am wrong, Far away from the place I am right.

बढ़ई और चिड़िया / केदारनाथ सिंह

वह लकड़ी चीर रहा था
कई रातों तक
जंगल की नमी में रहने के बाद उसने फैसला किया था
और वह चीर रहा था

उसकी आरी कई बार लकड़ी की नींद
और जड़ों में भटक जाती थी
कई बार एक चिड़िया के खोंते से
टकरा जाती थी उसकी आरी

उसे लकड़ी में
गिलहरी के पूँछ की हरकत महसूस हो रही थी
एक गुर्राहट थी
एक बाघिन के बच्चे सो रहे थे लकड़ी के अंदर
एक चिड़िया का दाना गायब हो गया था

उसकी आरी हर बार 
चिड़िया के दाने को
लकड़ी के कटते हुए रेशों से खींच कर
बाहर लाती थी
और दाना हर बार उसके दाँतों से छूट कर
गायब हो जाता था

वह चीर रहा था
और दुनियाँ
दोनों तरफ़
चिरे हुए पटरों की तरह गिरती जा रही थी

दाना बाहर नहीं था
इस लिये लकड़ी के अंदर ज़रूर कहीं होगा
यह चिड़िया का ख़्याल था

वह चीर रहा था
और चिड़िया खुद लकड़ी के अंदर
कहीं थी
और चीख रही थी।

The Age of Wisdom / William Makepeace Thackeray

Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 
That never has known the Barber's shear, 
All your wish is woman to win; 
This is the way that boys begin-- 
Wait till you come to Forty Year. 

Curly gold locks cover foolish brains, 
Billing and cooing is all your cheer; 
Sighing and singing of midnight strains, 
Under Bonnybell's windowpanes-- 
Wait till you come to Forty Year! 

Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, 
Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; 
Then you know a boy is an ass, 
Then you know the worth of a lass, 
Once you have come to Forty Year. 

Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, 
All good fellows whose beards are gray, 
Did not the fairest of the fair 
Common grow and wearisome, ere 
Ever a month was passed away? 

The reddest lips that ever have kissed 
The brightest eyes that ever have shone, 
May pray and wisper and we not list, 
Or look away and never be missed, 
Ere yet ever a month is gone. 

Gillian's dead, God rest her bier-- 
How I loved her twenty years syne! 
Marian's married; but I sit here, 
Alive and merry at Forty Year, 
Dipping my nose in Gascon wine.

Kashmir / Jimmy Page & Robert Plant

Oh let the sun beat down upon my face
With stars to fill my dream
I am a traveler of both time and space
To be where I have been

Sit with elders of the gentle race
This world has seldom seen
Talk of days for which they sit and wait
And all will be revealed

Talk and song from tongues of lilting grace
Sounds caress my ear
But not a word I heard could I relate
The story was quite clear

Oh, baby, I been flying
No, yeah, mama, there ain't no denyin'
Ooh, yeah I've been flying
Mama, mama, ain't no denyin', no denyin'

All I see turns to brown
As the sun burns the ground
And my eyes fill with sand
As I scan this wasted land
Trying to find, trying to find where I've been.

Pilot of the storm who leaves no trace
Like thoughts inside a dream
Heed the path that led me to that place
Yellow desert stream

My Shangri-La beneath the summer moon
I will return again
Sure as the dust that floats high in June
When movin' through Kashmir.

Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails
Across the sea of years
With no provision but an open face
Along the straits of fear

When I'm on, when I'm on my way
When I see, when I see the way, you stay

When I'm down
When I'm down, so down
Ooh, my baby, ooh, my baby, let me take you there
Come on, come on
Let me take you there, let me take you there.

A Song Of Eternity In Time / Sidney Lanier

Once, at night, in the manor wood 
My Love and I long silent stood, 
Amazed that any heavens could 
Decree to part us, bitterly repining. 
My Love, in aimless love and grief, 
Reached forth and drew aside a leaf 
That just above us played the thief 
And stole our starlight that for us was shining. 

A star that had remarked her pain 
Shone straightway down that leafy lane, 
And wrought his image, mirror-plain, 
Within a tear that on her lash hung gleaming. 
"Thus Time," I cried, "is but a tear 
Some one hath wept 'twixt hope and fear, 
Yet in his little lucent sphere 
Our star of stars, Eternity, is beaming."

No More Clichés / Octavio Paz

Beautiful face 
That like a daisy opens its petals to the sun 
So do you 
Open your face to me as I turn the page. 

Enchanting smile 
Any man would be under your spell, 
Oh, beauty of a magazine. 

How many poems have been written to you? 
How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice? 
To your obsessive illusion 
To you manufacture fantasy. 

But today I won't make one more Cliché 
And write this poem to you. 
No, no more clichés. 

This poem is dedicated to those women 
Whose beauty is in their charm, 
In their intelligence, 
In their character, 
Not on their fabricated looks. 

This poem is to you women, 
That like a Shahrazade wake up 
Everyday with a new story to tell, 
A story that sings for change 
That hopes for battles: 
Battles for the love of the united flesh 
Battles for passions aroused by a new day 
Battle for the neglected rights 
Or just battles to survive one more night. 

Yes, to you women in a world of pain 
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe 
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights 
To you, friend of my heart. 

From now on, my head won't look down to a magazine 
Rather, it will contemplate the night 
And its bright stars, 
And so, no more clichés.

नाचती हुई नींद / प्रेरणा सारवान

कभी चाँद को
तोड़ लाने की चाह में
छत पर खड़े बच्चे की 
मुठ्ठी से छूट कर
जमीं पर नीचे गिर कर
नाचते हुए सिक्के की नोंक पर
नाचती हुई
एक पल में काँच के प्याले की तरह
गिर कर
बिखर जाती है नींद ।

कभी आधी रात को
गलियों में बुरी आत्माओं के साथ
रोते हुए कुत्तों के पास जाकर
प्रेत लगी लड़की की तरह 
बाल बिखेरे बैठ जाती है नींद।

मैं बैठी गिनती हूँ अपने दिल की
एक-एक धड़कन और
वक़्त का एक-एक पल।
तब रात के आख़िरी पहर
चुपचाप लौट आती है नींद।

मैं किसी अज़नबी की तरह
नज़र उठाकर देखती हूँ बस, 
और मेरे पहलू में आकर
सो जाती है नींद।

ये क्या रिश्ता है जो
नींद के आग़ोश में सो जाता है दर्द
दर्द के बिस्तर पर सो 
जाती है नींद।