A Dream Pang / Robert Frost

I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway;
And to the forest edge you came one day
(This was my dream) and looked and pondered long,
But did not enter, though the wish was strong:
You shook your pensive head as who should say,
‘I dare not—too far in his footsteps stray—
He must seek me would he undo the wrong.

Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all
Behind low boughs the trees let down outside;
And the sweet pang it cost me not to call
And tell you that I saw does still abide.
But ’tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof,
For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof.

समाधान / चिराग़ जैन

बहुत समझदार हो तुम!
जब कभी
उदासी का आँचल ओढ़कर
जवान होने लगता है
मेरा कोई दर्द
तो चुपचाप
बिना किसी शोर-शराबे के
कंधा देकर
…पहुँचा आते हो उसे
वहाँ
…जहाँ से लौट नहीं पाया कोई
आज तक!

नया बनने का दर्द / गिरिजाकुमार माथुर

पुराना मकान
फिर पुराना ही होता है
-उखड़ा हो पलस्तर
खार लगी चनखारियाँ
टूटी महरावें
घुन लगे दरवाजे
सील भरे फर्श,
झरोखे, अलमारियाँ

-कितनी ही मरम्मत करो
चेपे लगाओ
रंग-रोगन करवाओ
चमक नहीं आती है
रूप न सँवरता है
नींव वही रहती है
कुछ भी न बदलता है

-लेकिन जब आएँ
नई दुनिया की चुनौतियाँ
नई चीजों की आँधियाँ
घर हो-
या व्यवस्था हो
नक्शा यदि बदला नहीं
नया कुछ हुआ नहीं
बखिए उधेड़ता
वक्त तेजी से आता है
जो कुछ है सड़ा-गला
सब कुछ ढह जाता है

-यों तो पुराना कभी व्यर्थ नहीं होता है
वह एक रंगीन डोर है
रोम रोम बँधी जिससे
एक-एक पीढ़ियाँ
माटी से बनी देह
रंग, रूप, बीज-कोष
अपनी पहचान-गन्ध
संस्कार सीढ़ियाँ!

जो कुछ पुराना है मोहक तो लगता है
टूटने का दर्द मगर सहना ही पड़ता है
बहुत कुछ टूटता है
तब नया बनता है

The Garden / Mark Strand

It shines in the garden,
in the white foliage of the chestnut tree,
in the brim of my father's hat
as he walks on the gravel.

In the garden suspended in time
my mother sits in a redwood chair:
light fills the sky,
the folds of her dress,
the roses tangled beside her.

And when my father bends
to whisper in her ear,
when they rise to leave
and the swallows dart
and the moon and stars
have drifted off together, it shines.

Even as you lean over this page,
late and alone, it shines: even now
in the moment before it disappears.

The Prisoner of Chillon / Lord Byron

My hair is grey, but not with years,
Nor grew it white
In a single night,
As men's have grown from sudden fears:
My limbs are bow'd, though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose,
For they have been a dungeon's spoil,
And mine has been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are bann'd, and barr'd—forbidden fare;
But this was for my father's faith
I suffer'd chains and courted death;
That father perish'd at the stake
For tenets he would not forsake;
And for the same his lineal race
In darkness found a dwelling place;
We were seven—who now are one,
Six in youth, and one in age,
Finish'd as they had begun,
Proud of Persecution's rage;
One in fire, and two in field,
Their belief with blood have seal'd,
Dying as their father died,
For the God their foes denied;—
Three were in a dungeon cast,
Of whom this wreck is left the last.

There are seven pillars of Gothic mould,
In Chillon's dungeons deep and old,
There are seven columns, massy and grey,
Dim with a dull imprison'd ray,
A sunbeam which hath lost its way,
And through the crevice and the cleft
Of the thick wall is fallen and left;
Creeping o'er the floor so damp,
Like a marsh's meteor lamp:
And in each pillar there is a ring,
And in each ring there is a chain;
That iron is a cankering thing,
For in these limbs its teeth remain,
With marks that will not wear away,
Till I have done with this new day,
Which now is painful to these eyes,
Which have not seen the sun so rise
For years—I cannot count them o'er,
I lost their long and heavy score
When my last brother droop'd and died,
And I lay living by his side.

They chain'd us each to a column stone,
And we were three—yet, each alone;
We could not move a single pace,
We could not see each other's face,
But with that pale and livid light
That made us strangers in our sight:
And thus together—yet apart,
Fetter'd in hand, but join'd in heart,
'Twas still some solace in the dearth
Of the pure elements of earth,
To hearken to each other's speech,
And each turn comforter to each
With some new hope, or legend old,
Or song heroically bold;
But even these at length grew cold.
Our voices took a dreary tone,
An echo of the dungeon stone,
A grating sound, not full and free,
As they of yore were wont to be:
It might be fancy—but to me
They never sounded like our own.

I was the eldest of the three
And to uphold and cheer the rest
I ought to do—and did my best—
And each did well in his degree.
The youngest, whom my father loved,
Because our mother's brow was given
To him, with eyes as blue as heaven—
For him my soul was sorely moved:
And truly might it be distress'd
To see such bird in such a nest;
For he was beautiful as day—
(When day was beautiful to me
As to young eagles, being free)—
A polar day, which will not see
A sunset till its summer's gone,
Its sleepless summer of long light,
The snow-clad offspring of the sun:
And thus he was as pure and bright,
And in his natural spirit gay,
With tears for nought but others' ills,
And then they flow'd like mountain rills,
Unless he could assuage the woe
Which he abhorr'd to view below.

The other was as pure of mind,
But form'd to combat with his kind;
Strong in his frame, and of a mood
Which 'gainst the world in war had stood,
And perish'd in the foremost rank
With joy:—but not in chains to pine:
His spirit wither'd with their clank,
I saw it silently decline—
And so perchance in sooth did mine:
But yet I forced it on to cheer
Those relics of a home so dear.
He was a hunter of the hills,
Had followed there the deer and wolf;
To him this dungeon was a gulf,
And fetter'd feet the worst of ills.

Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls:
A thousand feet in depth below
Its massy waters meet and flow;
Thus much the fathom-line was sent
From Chillon's snow-white battlement,
Which round about the wave inthralls:
A double dungeon wall and wave
Have made—and like a living grave
Below the surface of the lake
The dark vault lies wherein we lay:
We heard it ripple night and day;
Sounding o'er our heads it knock'd;
And I have felt the winter's spray
Wash through the bars when winds were high
And wanton in the happy sky;
And then the very rock hath rock'd,
And I have felt it shake, unshock'd,
Because I could have smiled to see
The death that would have set me free.

I said my nearer brother pined,
I said his mighty heart declined,
He loathed and put away his food;
It was not that 'twas coarse and rude,
For we were used to hunter's fare,
And for the like had little care:
The milk drawn from the mountain goat
Was changed for water from the moat,
Our bread was such as captives' tears
Have moisten'd many a thousand years,
Since man first pent his fellow men
Like brutes within an iron den;
But what were these to us or him?
These wasted not his heart or limb;
My brother's soul was of that mould
Which in a palace had grown cold,
Had his free breathing been denied
The range of the steep mountain's side;
But why delay the truth?—he died.
I saw, and could not hold his head,
Nor reach his dying hand—nor dead,—
Though hard I strove, but strove in vain,
To rend and gnash my bonds in twain.
He died—and they unlock'd his chain,
And scoop'd for him a shallow grave
Even from the cold earth of our cave.
I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay
His corse in dust whereon the day
Might shine—it was a foolish thought,
But then within my brain it wrought,
That even in death his freeborn breast
In such a dungeon could not rest.
I might have spared my idle prayer—
They coldly laugh'd—and laid him there:
The flat and turfless earth above
The being we so much did love;
His empty chain above it leant,
Such Murder's fitting monument!

But he, the favourite and the flower,
Most cherish'd since his natal hour,
His mother's image in fair face
The infant love of all his race
His martyr'd father's dearest thought,
My latest care, for whom I sought
To hoard my life, that his might be
Less wretched now, and one day free;
He, too, who yet had held untired
A spirit natural or inspired—
He, too, was struck, and day by day
Was wither'd on the stalk away.
Oh, God! it is a fearful thing
To see the human soul take wing
In any shape, in any mood:
I've seen it rushing forth in blood,
I've seen it on the breaking ocean
Strive with a swoln convulsive motion,
I've seen the sick and ghastly bed
Of Sin delirious with its dread:
But these were horrors—this was woe
Unmix'd with such—but sure and slow:
He faded, and so calm and meek,
So softly worn, so sweetly weak,
So tearless, yet so tender—kind,
And grieved for those he left behind;
With all the while a cheek whose bloom
Was as a mockery of the tomb
Whose tints as gently sunk away
As a departing rainbow's ray;
An eye of most transparent light,
That almost made the dungeon bright;
And not a word of murmur—not
A groan o'er his untimely lot,—
A little talk of better days,
A little hope my own to raise,
For I was sunk in silence—lost
In this last loss, of all the most;
And then the sighs he would suppress
Of fainting Nature's feebleness,
More slowly drawn, grew less and less:
I listen'd, but I could not hear;
I call'd, for I was wild with fear;
I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread
Would not be thus admonishèd;
I call'd, and thought I heard a sound—
I burst my chain with one strong bound,
And rushed to him:—I found him not,
I only stirred in this black spot,
I only lived, I only drew
The accursed breath of dungeon-dew;
The last, the sole, the dearest link
Between me and the eternal brink,
Which bound me to my failing race
Was broken in this fatal place.
One on the earth, and one beneath—
My brothers—both had ceased to breathe:
I took that hand which lay so still,
Alas! my own was full as chill;
I had not strength to stir, or strive,
But felt that I was still alive—
A frantic feeling, when we know
That what we love shall ne'er be so.
I know not why
I could not die,
I had no earthly hope—but faith,
And that forbade a selfish death.

What next befell me then and there
I know not well—I never knew—
First came the loss of light, and air,
And then of darkness too:
I had no thought, no feeling—none—
Among the stones I stood a stone,
And was, scarce conscious what I wist,
As shrubless crags within the mist;
For all was blank, and bleak, and grey;
It was not night—it was not day;
It was not even the dungeon-light,
So hateful to my heavy sight,
But vacancy absorbing space,
And fixedness—without a place;
There were no stars, no earth, no time,
No check, no change, no good, no crime
But silence, and a stirless breath
Which neither was of life nor death;
A sea of stagnant idleness,
Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless!
A light broke in upon my brain,—
It was the carol of a bird;
It ceased, and then it came again,
The sweetest song ear ever heard,
And mine was thankful till my eyes
Ran over with the glad surprise,
And they that moment could not see
I was the mate of misery;
But then by dull degrees came back
My senses to their wonted track;
I saw the dungeon walls and floor
Close slowly round me as before,
I saw the glimmer of the sun
Creeping as it before had done,
But through the crevice where it came
That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame,
And tamer than upon the tree;
A lovely bird, with azure wings,
And song that said a thousand things,
And seemed to say them all for me!
I never saw its like before,
I ne'er shall see its likeness more:
It seem'd like me to want a mate,
But was not half so desolate,
And it was come to love me when
None lived to love me so again,
And cheering from my dungeon's brink,
Had brought me back to feel and think.
I know not if it late were free,
Or broke its cage to perch on mine,
But knowing well captivity,
Sweet bird! I could not wish for thine!
Or if it were, in wingèd guise,
A visitant from Paradise;
For—Heaven forgive that thought! the while
Which made me both to weep and smile—
I sometimes deem'd that it might be
My brother's soul come down to me;
But then at last away it flew,
And then 'twas mortal well I knew,
For he would never thus have flown—
And left me twice so doubly lone,—
Lone as the corse within its shroud,
Lone as a solitary cloud,
A single cloud on a sunny day,
While all the rest of heaven is clear,
A frown upon the atmosphere,
That hath no business to appear
When skies are blue, and earth is gay.

A kind of change came in my fate,
My keepers grew compassionate;
I know not what had made them so,
They were inured to sights of woe,
But so it was:—my broken chain
With links unfasten'd did remain,
And it was liberty to stride
Along my cell from side to side,
And up and down, and then athwart,
And tread it over every part;
And round the pillars one by one,
Returning where my walk begun,
Avoiding only, as I trod,
My brothers' graves without a sod;
For if I thought with heedless tread
My step profaned their lowly bed,
My breath came gaspingly and thick,
And my crush'd heart felt blind and sick.
I made a footing in the wall,
It was not therefrom to escape,
For I had buried one and all,
Who loved me in a human shape;
And the whole earth would henceforth be
A wider prison unto me:
No child, no sire, no kin had I,
No partner in my misery;
I thought of this, and I was glad,
For thought of them had made me mad;
But I was curious to ascend
To my barr'd windows, and to bend
Once more, upon the mountains high,
The quiet of a loving eye.

I saw them—and they were the same,
They were not changed like me in frame;
I saw their thousand years of snow
On high—their wide long lake below,
And the blue Rhone in fullest flow;
I heard the torrents leap and gush
O'er channell'd rock and broken bush;
I saw the white-wall'd distant town,
And whiter sails go skimming down;
And then there was a little isle,
Which in my very face did smile,
The only one in view;
A small green isle, it seem'd no more,
Scarce broader than my dungeon floor,
But in it there were three tall trees,
And o'er it blew the mountain breeze,
And by it there were waters flowing,
And on it there were young flowers growing,
Of gentle breath and hue.
The fish swam by the castle wall,
And they seem'd joyous each and all;
The eagle rode the rising blast,
Methought he never flew so fast
As then to me he seem'd to fly;
And then new tears came in my eye,
And I felt troubled—and would fain
I had not left my recent chain;
And when I did descend again,
The darkness of my dim abode
Fell on me as a heavy load;
It was as is a new-dug grave,
Closing o'er one we sought to save,—
And yet my glance, too much opprest,
Had almost need of such a rest.

It might be months, or years, or days—
I kept no count, I took no note—
I had no hope my eyes to raise,
And clear them of their dreary mote;
At last men came to set me free;
I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where;
It was at length the same to me,
Fetter'd or fetterless to be,
I learn'd to love despair.
And thus when they appear'd at last,
And all my bonds aside were cast,
These heavy walls to me had grown
A hermitage—and all my own!
And half I felt as they were come
To tear me from a second home:
With spiders I had friendship made
And watch'd them in their sullen trade,
Had seen the mice by moonlight play,
And why should I feel less than they?
We were all inmates of one place,
And I, the monarch of each race,
Had power to kill—yet, strange to tell!
In quiet we had learn'd to dwell;
My very chains and I grew friends,
So much a long communion tends
To make us what we are:—even I
Regain'd my freedom with a sigh.

नदी चुपचाप बहती है / अपर्णा अनेकवर्णा

नीली नदी एक बहती है
चुपचाप..
सरस्वती है वो.. दिखती नहीं..
बस दुखती रहती है..

सब यूँ याद करते हैं जैसे बीत गई हो...
नहीं ख़बर.. न परवाह किसी को भी कि..
धकियाई गई है सिमट जाने को
अब हर ओर से ख़ुद को बटोर..
अकेली ही बहती रहती है..

नित नए.. रंग बदलते जहाँ में..
अपना पुरातन मन लिए एक गठरी में..
बदहवास भागी थी..
कहीं जगह मिले...

हर उस हाथ को चूम लिया
जिसने अपना हाथ भिगोया..
फिर ठगी देखती रही..
राही उठ चल दिया था..

पानी पी कर उठे मुसाफ़िर..
कब रुके हैं नदियों के पास?
उन्हें सफर की चिन्ता और मंज़िलों की तलाश है
नदियाँ बस प्यास बुझाती हैं
यात्रा की क्लान्ति सोख कर
पुनर्नवा कर देती हैं...

और जाने वाले को..
स्नेह से ताकती रहती हैं
जानती हैं.. वो लौटेंगे..
फिर से चले जाने के लिए..

पर सरस्वती सूख गई..
पृथु-पुत्रों का रूखपन सहन नहीं कर सकी
माँ की कोख में लौट गई..
अब विगत से बहुत दूर..
चुपचाप बहती रहती है...

दिखती नहीं.. सिर्फ़ दुखती रहती है..

Consolation / Robert Louis Stevenson

Though he, that ever kind and true,
Kept stoutly step by step with you,
Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,
Be gone a while before,
Be now a moment gone before,
Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore
Your friend to you.

He has but turned the corner — still
He pushes on with right good will,
Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,
That self-same arduous way —
That self-same upland, hopeful way,
That you and he through many a doubtful day
Attempted still.

He is not dead, this friend — not dead,
But in the path we mortals tread
Got some few, trifling steps ahead
And nearer to the end;
So that you too, once past the bend,
Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend
You fancy dead.

Push gaily on, strong heart! The while
You travel forward mile by mile,
He loiters with a backward smile
Till you can overtake,
And strains his eyes to search his wake,
Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,
Waits on a stile.

ढीठ चांदनी / धर्मवीर भारती

आज-कल तमाम रात
चांदनी जगाती है

मुँह पर दे-दे छींटे
अधखुले झरोखे से
अन्दर आ जाती है
दबे पाँव धोखे से

माथा छू
निंदिया उचटाती है
बाहर ले जाती है
घंटो बतियाती है

ठंडी-ठंडी छत पर
लिपट-लिपट जाती है
विह्वल मदमाती है
बावरिया बिना बात?

आजकल तमाम रात
चाँदनी जगाती है

ध्वनि / सूर्यकांत त्रिपाठी "निराला"

अभी न होगा मेरा अन्त

अभी-अभी ही तो आया है
मेरे वन में मृदुल वसन्त-
अभी न होगा मेरा अन्त

हरे-हरे ये पात,
डालियाँ, कलियाँ कोमल गात!

मैं ही अपना स्वप्न-मृदुल-कर
फेरूँगा निद्रित कलियों पर
जगा एक प्रत्यूष मनोहर

पुष्प-पुष्प से तन्द्रालस लालसा खींच लूँगा मैं,
अपने नवजीवन का अमृत सहर्ष सींच दूँगा मैं,

द्वार दिखा दूँगा फिर उनको
है मेरे वे जहाँ अनन्त-
अभी न होगा मेरा अन्त।

मेरे जीवन का यह है जब प्रथम चरण,
इसमें कहाँ मृत्यु?
है जीवन ही जीवन
अभी पड़ा है आगे सारा यौवन
स्वर्ण-किरण कल्लोलों पर बहता रे, बालक-मन,

मेरे ही अविकसित राग से
विकसित होगा बन्धु, दिगन्त;
अभी न होगा मेरा अन्त।

A Lesson For This Sunday / Derek Walcott

The growing idleness of summer grass
With its frail kites of furious butterflies
Requests the lemonade of simple praise
In scansion gentler than my hammock swings
And rituals no more upsetting than a
Black maid shaking linen as she sings
The plain notes of some Protestant hosanna—
Since I lie idling from the thought in things—

Or so they should, until I hear the cries
Of two small children hunting yellow wings,
Who break my Sabbath with the thought of sin.
Brother and sister, with a common pin,
Frowning like serious lepidopterists.
The little surgeon pierces the thin eyes.
Crouched on plump haunches, as a mantis prays
She shrieks to eviscerate its abdomen.
The lesson is the same. The maid removes
Both prodigies from their interest in science.
The girl, in lemon frock, begins to scream
As the maimed, teetering thing attempts its flight.
She is herself a thing of summery light,
Frail as a flower in this blue August air,
Not marked for some late grief that cannot speak.

The mind swings inward on itself in fear
Swayed towards nausea from each normal sign.
Heredity of cruelty everywhere,
And everywhere the frocks of summer torn,
The long look back to see where choice is born,
As summer grass sways to the scythe's design.

Bigotry's Victim / Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
Dares the lama, most fleet of the sons of the wind,
The lion to rouse from his skull-covered lair?
When the tiger approaches can the fast-fleeting hind
Repose trust in his footsteps of air?
No! Abandoned he sinks in a trance of despair,
The monster transfixes his prey,
On the sand flows his life-blood away;
Whilst India's rocks to his death-yells reply,
Protracting the horrible harmony.

II.
Yet the fowl of the desert, when danger encroaches,
Dares fearless to perish defending her brood,
Though the fiercest of cloud-piercing tyrants approaches
Thirsting--ay, thirsting for blood;
And demands, like mankind, his brother for food;
Yet more lenient, more gentle than they;
For hunger, not glory, the prey
Must perish. Revenge does not howl in the dead.
Nor ambition with fame crown the murderer’s head.

III.
Though weak as the lama that bounds on the mountains,
And endued not with fast-fleeting footsteps of air,
Yet, yet will I draw from the purest of fountains,
Though a fiercer than tiger is there.
Though, more dreadful than death, it scatters despair,
Though its shadow eclipses the day,
And the darkness of deepest dismay
Spreads the influence of soul-chilling terror around,
And lowers on the corpses, that rot on the ground.

IV.
They came to the fountain to draw from its stream
Waves too pure, too celestial, for mortals to see;
They bathed for awhile in its silvery beam,
Then perished, and perished like me.
For in vain from the grasp of the Bigot I flee;
The most tenderly loved of my soul
Are slaves to his hated control.
He pursues me, he blasts me! 'Tis in vain that I fly:--
What remains, but to curse him,--to curse him and die?

Lion in an Iron Cage / Nâzım Hikmet

Look at the lion in the iron cage,
look deep into his eyes:
like two naked steel daggers
they sparkle with anger.

But he never loses his dignity
although his anger
comes and goes
goes and comes.


You couldn't find a place for a collar
round his thick, furry mane.
Although the scars of a whip
still burn on his yellow back
his long legs
stretch and end
in the shape of two copper claws.
The hairs on his mane rise one by one
around his proud head.
His hatred
comes and goes
goes and comes ...


The shadow of my brother on the wall of the dungeon
moves
up and down
up and down.

दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है / मैथिलीशरण गुप्त

दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।
सखि, पतंग भी जलता है
हा! दीपक भी जलता है!

सीस हिलाकर दीपक कहता--
’बन्धु वृथा ही तू क्यों दहता?’
पर पतंग पड़ कर ही रहता

कितनी विह्वलता है!
दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।

बचकर हाय! पतंग मरे क्या?
प्रणय छोड़ कर प्राण धरे क्या?
जले नही तो मरा करे क्या?

क्या यह असफलता है!
दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।

कहता है पतंग मन मारे--
’तुम महान, मैं लघु, पर प्यारे,
क्या न मरण भी हाथ हमारे?

शरण किसे छलता है?’
दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।

दीपक के जलने में आली,
फिर भी है जीवन की लाली।
किन्तु पतंग-भाग्य-लिपि काली,

किसका वश चलता है?
दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।

जगती वणिग्वृत्ति है रखती,
उसे चाहती जिससे चखती;
काम नहीं, परिणाम निरखती।

मुझको ही खलता है।
दोनों ओर प्रेम पलता है।

Life Cycle / Nikki Giovanni

she realized
she wasn't one
of life's winners
when she wasn't sure
life to her was some dark
dirty secret that
like some unwanted child
too late for an abortion
was to be borne
alone

she had so many private habits
she would masturbate sometimes
she always picked her nose when upset
she liked to sit with silence
in the dark
sadness is not an unusual state
for the black woman
or writers


she took to sneaking drinks
a habit which displeased her
both for its effects
and taste
yet eventually sleep
would wrestle her in triumph
onto the bed

I Am Not Rich / Michael Madhusudan Dutt

I am not rich, nay, nor the future heir
To sparkling gold or silver heaped on store;
There is no marble blushing on my floor
With thousand varied dies:—no gilded chair,
No cushions, carpets that by riches are
Brought from the Persian land, or Turkish shore;
There is no menial waiting at my door
Attentive to the knell: and all things rare,
Born in remotest regions, that shine in
And grace the rich-man's hall, are wanting here.
These are not things that by blind Fate have been
Allotted ever to the poor man's share:
These are not things, these eyes have ever seen,
Tho' their proud names have sounded in this ear!

राम जन्म प्रसंग (बाल काण्ड) / तुलसीदास

भये प्रगट कृपाला दीनदयाला कौसल्या हितकारी।
हरषित महतारी मुनि मन हारी अद्भुत रूप बिचारी।।

लोचन अभिरामा तनु घनस्यामा निज आयुध भुज चारी।
भूषन वनमाला नयन बिसाला सोभासिन्धु खरारी।।

कह दुइ कर जोरी अस्तुति तोरी केहि बिधि करौं अनंता।
माया गुन ग्यानातीत अमाना वेद पुरान भनंता।।

करुना सुख सागर सब गुन आगर जेहि गावहिं श्रुति संता।
सो मम हित लागी जन अनुरागी भयौ प्रकट श्रीकंत।।

ब्रह्मांड निकाया निर्मित माया रोम रोम प्रति बेद कहै।
मम उर सो बासी यह उपहासी सुनत धीर मति थिर न रहै।।

उपजा जब ग्याना प्रभु मुसुकाना चरित बहुत बिधि कीन्ह चहै।
कहि कथा सुहाई मातु बुझाई जेहि प्रकार सुत प्रेम लहै।।

माता पुनि बोली सो मति डोली तजहु तात यह रूपा।
कीजे सिसुलीला अति प्रियसीला यह सुख परम अनूपा।।

सुनि बचन सुजाना रोदन ठाना होइ बालक सुरभूपा।
यह चरित जे गावहि हरिपद पावहि ते न परहिं भवकूपा।।

मोहब्बत की बात / इरशाद कामिल

चलो मोहब्बत की बात करें
अब
मैले जिस्मों से ऊपर उठ कर
भूलते हुए कि कभी
घुटने टेक चुके हैं हम
और देख चुके हैं
अपनी रूह को तार तार होते
झूटे फ़ख़्र के साथ
चलो मोहब्बत की बात करें
ज़िंदगी के पैरों तले
बे-रहमी से रौंदे जाने के बा'द
मरहम लगाएँ ज़ख़्मी वजूद पर
जो शर्म से आँखें झुका कर
बैठा है सपनों के मज़ार पे
इस से बुरी कोई बात नहीं कर सकते
हम अपनी ही ज़िद में
धोका दे चुके हैं अपने-आप को
खेल चुके हैं ख़ुद अपनी इज़्ज़त से
भोग चुके हैं झूट को सच की तरह
अब
इन हालात में
कोई ग़ैर-ज़रूरी बात ही कर सकते हैं हम
आओ मोहब्बत की बात करें

Dying Beast / Langston Hughes

Sensing death,
The buzzards gather —
Noting the last struggle
Of flesh under weather,
Noting the last glance
Of agonized eye
At passing wind
And boundless sky.

Can Life Be A Blessing / John Dryden

Can life be a blessing,
Or worth the possessing,
Can life be a blessing if love were away?
Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking,
And though he torment us with cares all the day,
Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking,
There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay.

In ev'ry possessing,
The ravishing blessing,
In ev'ry possessing the fruit of our pain,
Poor lovers forget long ages of anguish,
Whate'er they have suffer'd and done to obtain;
'Tis a pleasure, a pleasure to sigh and to languish,
When we hope, when we hope to be happy again.

कुत्ता इंसान नहीं हो सकता / दिनेश देवघरिया

मेरा दोस्त
मेरे घर आया।
मैंने उसे
अपना नया कुत्ता दिखाया।
दोनों का आपस में
परिचय करवाया।
कुत्ते ने भी
स्वागत में दुम हिलाया।
मैंने फ़रमाया
और अपने दोस्त को बताया-
“ये कुत्ता नहीं है
मेरा भाई है, मेरा हमसाया है।”
दोस्त ने कहा-
“तुमने क्या भाग्य पाया है!
बिल्कुल इंसानों-सा कुत्ता पाया है।”
कुत्ता झल्लाया
और भौंककर चिल्लाया
“मुझे कुत्ता ही रहने दो
इंसान कहकर मुझे गाली मत दो,
कुत्ता मालिक का गुलाम होता है
जिसका खाता है
उसका गुण गाता है
जिसका एक रोटी खाता है
उसके आगे
ज़िंदगी भर दुम हिलाता है
तुम्हारी तरह
दूध पिलाने वाली माँ को
वृद्धाश्रम नहीं छोड़कर आता है।
कुत्ता कभी मतलबी
या नमकहराम नहीं हो सकता
इसलिए कुत्ता
कभी इंसान नहीं हो सकता।”

In You The Earth / Pablo Naruda

Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.

Better Not Ask Me / Shel Silverstein

(Hey the truth might hurt so I'm tellin' you now that you better not ask me)
Hey you better not ask me where I been all night
Why my eyes are shinin' and my spirit is flyin'
You better not ask if I been doin' right or I just might tell you
And you better not ask me bout the girls I used to know
And days I used to run around before I ever met you
You better not ask how they compare to you or I just might tell you
And you better not ask me if I'm satisfied
With the way you've been givin' me what you call lovin'
Better not ask me bout the times I cried or I just might tell you
So keep on doin' what you're doin' and if you should see me straight
Well don't you ask baby just let it pass baby
And maybe it'll go away but I don't doubt it
You better not ask me if I'm gonna stick around
Or pack up all my bags and find another pretty city
You better not ask me who it is I found or I just might tell you

संध्या सुन्दरी / सूर्यकांत त्रिपाठी "निराला"

दिवसावसान का समय-
मेघमय आसमान से उतर रही है
वह संध्या-सुन्दरी, परी सी,
धीरे, धीरे, धीरे
तिमिरांचल में चंचलता का नहीं कहीं आभास,
मधुर-मधुर हैं दोनों उसके अधर,
किंतु ज़रा गंभीर, नहीं है उसमें हास-विलास।
हँसता है तो केवल तारा एक-
गुँथा हुआ उन घुँघराले काले-काले बालों से,
हृदय राज्य की रानी का वह करता है अभिषेक।
अलसता की-सी लता,
किंतु कोमलता की वह कली,
सखी-नीरवता के कंधे पर डाले बाँह,
छाँह सी अम्बर-पथ से चली।
नहीं बजती उसके हाथ में कोई वीणा,
नहीं होता कोई अनुराग-राग-आलाप,
नूपुरों में भी रुन-झुन रुन-झुन नहीं,
सिर्फ़ एक अव्यक्त शब्द-सा 'चुप चुप चुप'
है गूँज रहा सब कहीं-

व्योम मंडल में, जगतीतल में-
सोती शान्त सरोवर पर उस अमल कमलिनी-दल में-
सौंदर्य-गर्विता-सरिता के अति विस्तृत वक्षस्थल में-
धीर-वीर गम्भीर शिखर पर हिमगिरि-अटल-अचल में-
उत्ताल तरंगाघात-प्रलय घनगर्जन-जलधि-प्रबल में-
क्षिति में जल में नभ में अनिल-अनल में-
सिर्फ़ एक अव्यक्त शब्द-सा 'चुप चुप चुप'
है गूँज रहा सब कहीं-

और क्या है? कुछ नहीं।
मदिरा की वह नदी बहाती आती,
थके हुए जीवों को वह सस्नेह,
प्याला एक पिलाती।
सुलाती उन्हें अंक पर अपने,
दिखलाती फिर विस्मृति के वह अगणित मीठे सपने।
अर्द्धरात्री की निश्चलता में हो जाती जब लीन,
कवि का बढ़ जाता अनुराग,
विरहाकुल कमनीय कंठ से,
आप निकल पड़ता तब एक विहाग!

तुम कनक किरन / जयशंकर प्रसाद

तुम कनक किरन के अंतराल में
लुक छिप कर चलते हो क्यों ?

नत मस्तक गवर् वहन करते
यौवन के घन रस कन झरते
हे लाज भरे सौंदर्य बता दो
मोन बने रहते हो क्यो?

अधरों के मधुर कगारों में
कल कल ध्वनि की गुंजारों में
मधु सरिता सी यह हंसी तरल
अपनी पीते रहते हो क्यों?

बेला विभ्रम की बीत चली
रजनीगंधा की कली खिली
अब सांध्य मलय आकुलित दुकूल
कलित हो यों छिपते हो क्यों?

Minority Poem / Nissim Ezekiel

In my room, I talk
to my invisible guests:
they do not argue, but wait

Till I am exhausted,
then they slip away
with inscrutable faces.

I lack the means to change
their amiable ways,
although I love their gods.

It's the language really
separates, whatever else
is shared. On the other hand,

Everyone understands
Mother Theresa; her guests
die visibly in her arms.

It's not the mythology
or the marriage customs
that you need to know,

It's the will to pass
through the eye of a needle
to self-forgetfulness.

The guests depart, dissatisfied;
they will never give up
their mantras, old or new.

And you, uneasy
orphan of their racial
memories, merely

Polish up your alien
techniques of observation,
while the city burns.

सिर्फ़ इतने जुर्म पर हंगामा होता जाए है / कैफ़ भोपाली

सिर्फ़ इतने जुर्म पर हंगामा होता जाए है
तेरा दीवाना तिरी गलियों में देखा जाए है

आप किस किस को भला सूली चढ़ाते जाएँगे
अब तो सारा शहर ही मंसूर बनता जाए है

दिलबरों के भेस में फिरते हैं चोरों के गिरोह
जागते रहियो कि इन रातों में लूटा जाए है

तेरा मय-ख़ाना है या ख़ैरात-ख़ाना साक़िया
इस तरह मिलता है बादा जैसे बख़्शा जाए है

मय-कशो आगे बढ़ो तिश्ना-लबो आगे बढ़ो
अपना हक़ माँगा नहीं जाता है छीना जाए है

मौत आई और तसव्वुर आप का रुख़्सत हुआ
जैसे मंज़िल तक कोई रह-रौ को पहुँचा जाए है

In the Well / Andrew Hudgins

My father cinched the rope,
a noose around my waist,
and lowered me into
the darkness. I could taste

my fear. It tasted first
of dark, then earth, then rot.
I swung and struck my head
and at that moment got

another then: then blood,
which spiked my mouth with iron.
Hand over hand, my father
dropped me from then to then:

then water. Then wet fur,
which I hugged to my chest.
I shouted. Daddy hauled
the wet rope. I gagged, and pressed

my neighbor's missing dog
against me. I held its death
and rose up to my father.
Then light. Then hands. Then breath.

फसल / केदारनाथ सिंह

मैं उसे बरसों से जानता था--
एक अधेड़ किसान
थोड़ा थका
थोड़ा झुका हुआ
किसी बोझ से नहीं
सिर्फ़ धरती के उस सहज गुरुत्वाकर्षं से
जिसे वह इतना प्यार करता था
वह मानता था--
दुनिया में कुत्ते बिल्लियाँ सूअर
सबकी जगह है
इसलिए नफ़रत नहीं करता था वह
कीचड़ काई या मल से

भेड़ें उसे अच्छी लगती थीं
ऊन ज़रूरी है--वह मानता था
पर कहता था--उससे भी ज़्यादा ज़रूरी है
उनके थनों की गरमाहट
जिससे खेतों में ढेले
ज़िन्दा हो जाते हैं

उसकी एक छोटी-सी दुनिया थी
छोटे-छोटे सपनों
और ठीकरों से भरी हुई
उस दुनिया में पुरखे भी रहते थे
और वे भी जो अभी पैदा नहीं हुए
महुआ उसका मित्र था
आम उसका देवता
बाँस-बबूल थे स्वजन-परिजन
और हाँ, एक छोटी-सी सूखी
नदी भी थी उस दुनिया में-
जिसे देखकर-- कभी-कभी उसका मन होता था
उसे उठाकर रख ले कंधे पर
और ले जाए गंगा तक--
ताकि दोनों को फिर से जोड़ दे
पर गंगा के बारे में सोचकर
हो जाता था निहत्था!

इधर पिछले कुछ सालों से
जब गोल-गोल आलू
मिट्टी फ़ोड़कर झाँकने लगते थे जड़ों से
या फसल पककर
हो जाती थी तैयार
तो न जाने क्यों वह-- हो जाता था चुप
कई-कई दिनों तक
बस यहीं पहुँचकर अटक जाती थी उसकी गाड़ी
सूर्योदय और सूर्यास्त के
विशाल पहियोंवाली

पर कहते हैं--
उस दिन इतवार था
और उस दिन वह ख़ुश था
एक पड़ोसी के पास गया
और पूछ आया आलू का भाव-ताव
पत्नी से हँसते हुए पूछा--
पूजा में कैसा रहेगा सेंहुड़ का फूल?
गली में भूँकते हुए कुत्ते से कहा--
'ख़ुश रह चितकबरा,
ख़ुश रह!'
और निकल गया बाहर


किधर?
क्यों?
कहाँ जा रहा था वह--
अब मीडिया में इसी पर बहस है

उधर हुआ क्या
कि ज्यों ही वह पहुँचा मरखहिया मोड़
कहीं पीछे से एक भोंपू की आवाज़ आई
और कहते हैं-- क्योंकि देखा किसी ने नहीं--
उसे कुचलती चली गई

अब यह हत्या थी
या आत्महत्या--इसे आप पर छोड़ता हूँ
वह तो अब सड़क के किनारे
चकवड़ घास की पत्तियों के बीच पड़ा था
और उसके होंठों में दबी थी
एक हल्की-सी मुस्कान!

उस दिन वह ख़ुश था।