Ave Ceasar / Banjo Paterson

Long ago the Gladiators,
When the call to combat came,
Marching past the massed spectators,
Hailed the Emp'ror with acclaim!
Voices ringing with the fury
Of the strife so soon to be,
Cried, "O Caesar, morituri
salutamus te!"

Nowadays the massed spectators
See the unaccustomed sight --
Legislative gladiators
Marching to their last great fight;
Young and old, obscure and famous,
Hand to hand and knee to knee --
Hear the war-cry, "Salutamus
morituri te!"

Fight! Nor be the fight suspended
Till the corpses strew the plain.
Ere the grisly strife be ended
Five and thirty must be slain.
Slay and spare not, lest another
Haply may discomfit thee:
Brother now must war with brother --
"Salutamus te!"

War-torn vet'ran, skilled debater,
Trickster famed of bridge and road,
Now for each grim gladiator
Gapes Oblivion's drear abode.
Should the last great final jury
Turn their thumbs down -- it must be!
"Ave, Caesar, morituri
salutamus te!"

A Taste For Hunger / Jill Jones

I have put my hand out to the word.
It’s been there for days. Hovering
between the newspaper and the television.

It’s been crying. I can tell this pain. The pulling
apart. Pages in telephone books and directories,
their rough skins drag the air.

It’s between the kitchen’s song — making,
a smell of it. What’s left in the corner,
wrapped in old newspaper — And

the song of living rooms, steady humming.
An excuse for silence these days.
And when the crying doesn’t stop

the word becomes water bowl,
salty in making. This taste of hunger,
and weakness. I hate it

the weakness and hovering. I push out
my hand, ancient weapon. But too late.
The word’s begun to fill with blood.

उस रोज़ भी / अचल वाजपेयी

उस रोज़ भी रोज़ की तरह
लोग वह मिट्टी खोदते रहे
जो प्रकृति से वंध्या थी
उस आकाश की गरिमा पर
प्रार्थनाएँ गाते रहे
जो जन्मजात बहरा था
उन लोगों को सौंप दी यात्राएँ
जो स्वयं बैसाखियों के आदी थे
उन स्वरों को छेड़ा
जो सदियों से मात्र संवादी थे
पथरीले द्वारों पर
दस्तकों का होना भर था
वह न होने का प्रारंभ था

To Be In Love / Gwendolyn Brooks

To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.

In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.

Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.

His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.

When he
Shuts a door-
Is not there-
Your arms are water.

And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.

You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.

The Beasts' Confession / Jonathan Swift

//To the Priest, on Observing how most Men mistake their own Talents//

When beasts could speak (the learned say,
They still can do so ev'ry day),
It seems, they had religion then,
As much as now we find in men.
It happen'd, when a plague broke out
(Which therefore made them more devout),
The king of brutes (to make it plain,
Of quadrupeds I only mean)
By proclamation gave command,
That ev'ry subject in the land
Should to the priest confess their sins;
And thus the pious wolf begins:

'Good father, I must own with shame,
That often I have been to blame:
I must confess, on Friday last,
Wretch that I was! I broke my fast:
But I defy the basest tongue
To prove I did my neighbour wrong;
Or ever went to seek my food
By rapine, theft, or thirst of blood.'

The ass, approaching next, confess'd
That in his heart he lov'd a jest:
A wag he was, he needs must own,
And could not let a dunce alone:
Sometimes his friend he would not spare,
And might perhaps be too severe:
But yet, the worst that could be said,
He was a wit both born and bred;
And, if it be a sin or shame,
Nature alone must bear the blame:
One fault he hath, is sorry for't,
His ears are half a foot too short;
Which could he to the standard bring,
He'd show his face before the King:
Then for his voice, there's none disputes
That he's the nightingale of brutes.

The swine with contrite heart allow'd,
His shape and beauty made him proud:
In diet was perhaps too nice,
But gluttony was ne'er his vice:
In ev'ry turn of life content,
And meekly took what fortune sent:
Inquire through all the parish round,
A better neighbour ne'er was found:
His vigilance might some displease;
'Tis true he hated sloth like peas.

The mimic ape began his chatter,
How evil tongues his life bespatter:
Much of the cens'ring world complain'd,
Who said, his gravity was feign'd:
Indeed, the strictness of his morals
Engag'd him in a hundred quarrels:
He saw, and he was griev'd to see't,
His zeal was sometimes indiscreet:
He found his virtues too severe
For our corrupted times to bear:
Yet, such a lewd licentious age
Might well excuse a Stoic's rage.

The goat advanc'd with decent pace;
And first excus'd his youthful face;
Forgiveness begg'd that he appear'd
('Twas nature's fault) without a beard.
'Tis true, he was not much inclin'd
To fondness for the female kind;
Not, as his enemies object,
From chance, or natural defect;
Not by his frigid constitution,
But through a pious resolution;
For he had made a holy vow
Of chastity as monks do now;
Which he resolv'd to keep for ever hence,
As strictly too, as doth his Reverence.

Apply the tale, and you shall find,
How just it suits with human kind.
Some faults we own: but, can you guess?
Why?-virtues carried to excess,
Wherewith our vanity endows us,
Though neither foe nor friend allows us.

The lawyer swears, you may rely on't,
He never squeez'd a needy client;
And this he makes his constant rule,
For which his brethren call him fool:
His conscience always was so nice,
He freely gave the poor advice;
By which he lost, he may affirm,
A hundred fees last Easter term.
While others of the learned robe
Would break the patience of a Job;
No pleader at the bar could match
His diligence and quick dispatch;
Ne'er kept a cause, he well may boast,
Above a term or two at most.

The cringing knave, who seeks a place
Without success, thus tells his case:
Why should he longer mince the matter?
He fail'd because he could not flatter;
He had not learn'd to turn his coat,
Nor for a party give his vote:
His crime he quickly understood;
Too zealous for the nation's good:
He found the ministers resent it,
Yet could not for his heart repent it.

The chaplain vows he cannot fawn,
Though it would raise him to the lawn:
He pass'd his hours among his books;
You find it in his meagre looks:
He might, if he were worldly wise,
Preferment get and spare his eyes:
But own'd he had a stubborn spirit,
That made him trust alone in merit:
Would rise by merit to promotion;
Alas! a mere chimeric notion.

The doctor, if you will believe him,
Confess'd a sin; and God forgive him!
Call'd up at midnight, ran to save
A blind old beggar from the grave:
But see how Satan spreads his snares;
He quite forgot to say his prayers.
He cannot help it for his heart
Sometimes to act the parson's part:
Quotes from the Bible many a sentence,
That moves his patients to repentance:
And, when his med'cines do no good,
Supports their minds with heav'nly food,
At which, however well intended,
He hears the clergy are offended;
And grown so bold behind his back,
To call him hypocrite and quack.
In his own church he keeps a seat;
Says grace before and after meat;
And calls, without affecting airs,
His household twice a day to prayers.
He shuns apothecaries' shops;
And hates to cram the sick with slops:
He scorns to make his art a trade;
Nor bribes my lady's fav'rite maid.
Old nurse-keepers would never hire
To recommend him to the squire;
Which others, whom he will not name,
Have often practis'd to their shame.

The statesman tells you with a sneer,
His fault is to be too sincere;
And, having no sinister ends,
Is apt to disoblige his friends.
The nation's good, his master's glory,
Without regard to Whig or Tory,
Were all the schemes he had in view;
Yet he was seconded by few:
Though some had spread a hundred lies,
'Twas he defeated the Excise.
'Twas known, though he had borne aspersion,
That standing troops were his aversion:
His practice was, in ev'ry station,
To serve the King, and please the nation.
Though hard to find in ev'ry case
The fittest man to fill a place:
His promises he ne'er forgot,
But took memorials on the spot:
His enemies, for want of charity,
Said he affected popularity:
'Tis true, the people understood,
That all he did was for their good;
Their kind affections he has tried;
No love is lost on either side.
He came to Court with fortune clear,
Which now he runs out ev'ry year:
Must, at the rate that he goes on,
Inevitably be undone:
Oh! if his Majesty would please
To give him but a writ of ease,
Would grant him licence to retire,
As it hath long been his desire,
By fair accounts it would be found,
He's poorer by ten thousand pound.
He owns, and hopes it is no sin,
He ne'er was partial to his kin;
He thought it base for men in stations
To crowd the Court with their relations;
His country was his dearest mother,
And ev'ry virtuous man his brother;
Through modesty or awkward shame
(For which he owns himself to blame),
He found the wisest man he could,
Without respect to friends or blood;
Nor ever acts on private views,
When he hath liberty to choose.

The sharper swore he hated play,
Except to pass an hour away:
And well he might; for, to his cost,
By want of skill he always lost;
He heard there was a club of cheats,
Who had contriv'd a thousand feats;
Could change the stock, or cog a die,
And thus deceive the sharpest eye:
Nor wonder how his fortune sunk,
His brothers fleece him when he's drunk.

I own the moral not exact;
Besides, the tale is false in fact;
And so absurd, that could I raise up
From fields Elysian fabling Aesop;
I would accuse him to his face
For libelling the four-foot race.
Creatures of ev'ry kind but ours
Well comprehend their natural pow'rs;
While we, whom reason ought to sway,
Mistake our talents ev'ry day.
The ass was never known so stupid
To act the part of Tray or Cupid;
Nor leaps upon his master's lap,
There to be strok'd, and fed with pap,
As Aesop would the world persuade;
He better understands his trade:
Nor comes, whene'er his lady whistles;
But carries loads, and feeds on thistles.
Our author's meaning, I presume, is
A creature bipes et implumis;
Wherein the moralist design'd
A compliment on human kind:
For here he owns, that now and then
Beasts may degenerate into men.

A Boundless Moment / Robert Frost

He halted in the wind, and - what was that
Far in the maples, pale, but not a ghost?
He stood there bringing March against his thought,
And yet too ready to believe the most.

'Oh, that's the Paradise-in-bloom,' I said;
And truly it was fair enough for flowers
had we but in us to assume in march
Such white luxuriance of May for ours.

We stood a moment so in a strange world,
Myself as one his own pretense deceives;
And then I said the truth (and we moved on) .
A young beech clinging to its last year's leaves.

परंपरा / रामधारी सिंह "दिनकर"

परंपरा को अंधी लाठी से मत पीटो
उसमें बहुत कुछ है
जो जीवित है
जीवन दायक है
जैसे भी हो
ध्वंस से बचा रखने लायक है

पानी का छिछला होकर
समतल में दौड़ना
यह क्रांति का नाम है
लेकिन घाट बांध कर
पानी को गहरा बनाना
यह परम्परा का नाम है

परम्परा और क्रांति में
संघर्ष चलने दो
आग लगी है, तो
सूखी डालों को जलने दो

मगर जो डालें
आज भी हरी हैं
उन पर तो तरस खाओ
मेरी एक बात तुम मान लो

लोगों की आस्था के आधार
टुट जाते है
उखड़े हुए पेड़ो के समान
वे अपनी जड़ों से छूट जाते है

परम्परा जब लुप्त होती है
सभ्यता अकेलेपन के
दर्द मे मरती है
कलमें लगना जानते हो
तो जरुर लगाओ
मगर ऐसी कि फलो में
अपनी मिट्टी का स्वाद रहे

और ये बात याद रहे
परम्परा चीनी नहीं मधु है
वह न तो हिन्दू है, ना मुस्लिम

आश्चर्य / छगनलाल सोनी

भीष्म नहीं चाहते थे
परिवार का बिखराव
कृष्ण नहीं चाहते थे
एक युग की समप्ति
धृतराष्ट्र नहीं चाहते थे
राज-पतन
द्रौपदी नहीं चाहती थी-
चीर हरण।

इसके बावजूद
वह सब हुआ
जो नहीं होना था

आज हमारा न चाहना
हमारी चुप्पी में
चाहने की स्वीकृति ही तो है

तालियों से झर रही है शर्म
उतर रहे हैं कपड़े
और देख रहे हैं हम
आश्चर्य की श्रृंखला में
जुड़ते हुए अपने नाम।

All For The Cause / William Morris

Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!

He that dies shall not die lonely,
many an one hath gone before;
He that lives shall bear no burden
heavier than the life they bore.

Nothing ancient is their story,
e’en but yesterday they bled,
Youngest they of earth’s beloved,
last of all the valiant dead.

E’en the tidings we are telling,
was the tale they had to tell,
E’en the hope that our hearts cherish,
was the hope for which they fell.

In the grave where tyrants thrust them,
lies their labour and their pain,
But undying from their sorrow
springeth up the hope again.

Mourn not therefore, nor lament it,
that the world outlives their life;
Voice and vision yet they give us,
making strong our hands for strife.

Some had name, and fame, and honour,
learn’d they were, and wise and strong;
Some were nameless, poor, unlettered,
weak in all but grief and wrong.

Named and nameless all live in us;
one and all they lead us yet
Every pain to count for nothing,
every sorrow to forget.

Hearken how they cry, “O happy,
happy ye that ye were born
In the sad slow night’s departing,
in the rising of the morn.

“Fair the crown the Cause hath for you,
well to die or well to live
Through the battle, through the tangle,
peace to gain or peace to give.”

Ah, it may be! Oft meseemeth,
in the days that yet shall be,
When no slave of gold abideth
’twixt the breadth of sea to sea,

Oft, when men and maids are merry,
ere the sunlight leaves the earth,
And they bless the day beloved,
all too short for all their mirth,

Some shall pause awhile and ponder
on the bitter days of old,
Ere the toil of strife and battle
overthrew the curse of gold;

Then ’twixt lips of loved and lover
solemn thoughts of us shall rise;
We who once were fools defeated,
then shall be the brave and wise.

There amidst the world new-builded
shall our earthly deeds abide,
Though our names be all forgotten,
and the tale of how we died.

Life or death then, who shall heed it,
what we gain or what we lose?
Fair flies life amid the struggle,
and the Cause for each shall choose.

Hear a word, a word in season,
for the day is drawing nigh,
When the Cause shall call upon us,
some to live, and some to die!

चलो ज़िन्दगी को मुहब्बत बना दें / हरकीरत हीर

चलो ज़िन्दगी को मुहब्बत बना दें
जहां से ज़ुलम औ' सितम हम मिटा दें

अहम की दिवारें नहीं मीत अच्छी
बनाई हमीं ने हमीं अब गिरा दें

दिलों में अदावत जो पाली है हम ने
गले मिल चलो अब उसे हम भुला दें

न हिन्दू , मुस्लिम, न सिख, ना इसाई
नया धर्म अपना मुहब्बत चला दें

अमीरी गरीबी में दुनियां बँटी है
ये कैसी लकीरें इन्हें हम मिटा दें

जहाँ खिल न पाये कभी फूल कोई
बहारों को अब उस चमन का पता दें

चलें डाल कर हम तो' बाहों में' बाहें
सभी खार नफ़रत के' चुन-चुन हटा दें

खुले नफरतों के ठिकाने जहाँ पर
वहाँ न्याय की बस्तियाँ हम बना दें

मुहब्बत ख़ुदा की नियामत अगर है
शमा प्रेम की 'हीर' दिल में जला दें

अजनबी / दीप्ति नवल

अजनबी रास्तों पर
पैदल चलें
कुछ न कहें

अपनी-अपनी तन्हाइयाँ लिए
सवालों के दायरों से निकलकर
रिवाज़ों की सरहदों के परे
हम यूँ ही साथ चलते रहें
कुछ न कहें
चलो दूर तक

तुम अपने माजी का
कोई ज़िक्र न छेड़ो
मैं भूली हुई
कोई नज़्म न दोहराऊँ
तुम कौन हो
मैं क्या हूँ
इन सब बातों को
बस, रहने दें

चलो दूर तक
अजनबी रास्तों पर पैदल चलें।

The End And The Beginning / Wislawa Szymborska

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won’t
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall.
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it’s not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

We’ll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.

सहर्ष स्वीकारा है / गजानन माधव मुक्तिबोध

ज़िन्दगी में जो कुछ है, जो भी है
सहर्ष स्वीकारा है;
इसलिए कि जो कुछ भी मेरा है
वह तुम्हें प्यारा है।
गरबीली ग़रीबी यह, ये गंभीर अनुभव सब
यह विचार-वैभव सब
दृढ़्ता यह, भीतर की सरिता यह अभिनव सब
मौलिक है, मौलिक है
इसलिए के पल-पल में
जो कुछ भी जाग्रत है अपलक है--
संवेदन तुम्हारा है !!

जाने क्या रिश्ता है,जाने क्या नाता है
जितना भी उँड़ेलता हूँ,भर भर फिर आता है
दिल में क्या झरना है?
मीठे पानी का सोता है
भीतर वह, ऊपर तुम
मुसकाता चाँद ज्यों धरती पर रात-भर
मुझ पर त्यों तुम्हारा ही खिलता वह चेहरा है!

सचमुच मुझे दण्ड दो कि भूलूँ मैं भूलूँ मैं
तुम्हें भूल जाने की
दक्षिण ध्रुवी अंधकार-अमावस्या
शरीर पर,चेहरे पर, अंतर में पा लूँ मैं
झेलूँ मै, उसी में नहा लूँ मैं
इसलिए कि तुमसे ही परिवेष्टित आच्छादित
रहने का रमणीय यह उजेला अब
सहा नहीं जाता है।
नहीं सहा जाता है।
ममता के बादल की मँडराती कोमलता--
भीतर पिराती है
कमज़ोर और अक्षम अब हो गयी है आत्मा यह
छटपटाती छाती को भवितव्यता डराती है
बहलाती सहलाती आत्मीयता बरदाश्त नही होती है !!!

सचमुच मुझे दण्ड दो कि हो जाऊँ
पाताली अँधेरे की गुहाओं में विवरों में
धुएँ के बाद्लों में
बिलकुल मैं लापता!!
लापता कि वहाँ भी तो तुम्हारा ही सहारा है!!
इसलिए कि जो कुछ भी मेरा है
या मेरा जो होता-सा लगता है, होता सा संभव है
सभी वह तुम्हारे ही कारण के कार्यों का घेरा है, कार्यों का वैभव है
अब तक तो ज़िन्दगी में जो कुछ था, जो कुछ है
सहर्ष स्वीकारा है
इसलिए कि जो कुछ भी मेरा है
वह तुम्हें प्यारा है ।

धूप से सर्दियों में ख़फ़ा कौन है / बल्ली सिंह चीमा

धूप से सर्दियों में ख़फ़ा कौन है ?
उन दरख़्तों के नीचे खड़ा कौन है ?

बह रही हो जहाँ कूलरों की हवा,
पीपलों को वहाँ पूछता कौन है ?

तेरी जुल्फ़ों तले बैठकर यूँ लगा,
अब दरख़्तों तले बैठता कौन है ?

आप जैसा हँसी हमसफ़र हो अगर,
जा रहे हैं कहाँ सोचता कौन है ?

रात कैसे कटी और कहाँ पर कटी,
अजनबी शहर में पूछता कौन है ?

आप भी बावफ़ा ’बल्ली’ भी बेगुनाह,
सारे किस्से में फिर बेगुनाह कौन है ?

An Old Life / Donald Hall

Snow fell in the night.
At five-fifteen I woke to a bluish
mounded softness where
the Honda was. Cat fed and coffee made,
I broomed snow off the car
and drove to the Kearsarge Mini-Mart
before Amy opened
to yank my Globe out of the bundle.
Back, I set my cup of coffee
beside Jane, still half-asleep,
murmuring stuporous
thanks in the aquamarine morning.
Then I sat in my blue chair
with blueberry bagels and strong
black coffee reading news,
the obits, the comics, and the sports.
Carrying my cup twenty feet,
I sat myself at the desk
for this day's lifelong
engagement with the one task and desire.

I Know No Better World / Ingeborg Bachmann

Who knows of a better world should step forward.
Alone, no longer out of bravery, not wiping away this saliva,
this saliva worn upon the cheek
as if to a coronation, as if redeemed, whether at communion
or among comrades. The weak rabbit,
the rat, and those fallen there, all of them,
no longer alone, but as one, though still afraid,
the dream of returning home
in the dream of armament, in the dream
of returning home.

किसान / मैथिलीशरण गुप्त

हेमन्त में बहुदा घनों से पूर्ण रहता व्योम है
पावस निशाओं में तथा हँसता शरद का सोम है

हो जाये अच्छी भी फसल, पर लाभ कृषकों को कहाँ
खाते, खवाई, बीज ऋण से हैं रंगे रक्खे जहाँ

आता महाजन के यहाँ वह अन्न सारा अंत में
अधपेट खाकर फिर उन्हें है काँपना हेमंत में

बरसा रहा है रवि अनल, भूतल तवा सा जल रहा
है चल रहा सन सन पवन, तन से पसीना बह रहा

देखो कृषक शोषित, सुखाकर हल तथापि चला रहे
किस लोभ से इस आँच में, वे निज शरीर जला रहे

घनघोर वर्षा हो रही, है गगन गर्जन कर रहा
घर से निकलने को गरज कर, वज्र वर्जन कर रहा

तो भी कृषक मैदान में करते निरंतर काम हैं
किस लोभ से वे आज भी, लेते नहीं विश्राम हैं

बाहर निकलना मौत है, आधी अँधेरी रात है
है शीत कैसा पड़ रहा, औ’ थरथराता गात है

तो भी कृषक ईंधन जलाकर, खेत पर हैं जागते
यह लाभ कैसा है, न जिसका मोह अब भी त्यागते

सम्प्रति कहाँ क्या हो रहा है, कुछ न उनको ज्ञान है
है वायु कैसी चल रही, इसका न कुछ भी ध्यान है

मानो भुवन से भिन्न उनका, दूसरा ही लोक है
शशि सूर्य हैं फिर भी कहीं, उनमें नहीं आलोक है

क्षणभंगुर सुख / प्रेरणा सारवान

एक क्षण का
सुख रूपी बादल
बनकर
यदि तुम बरसते नहीं
तो आसान था
मेरे लिए
सूख जाना
मगर अब
मुश्किल है
बरसे पानी से
जमी काई का
बरसों यह
गीलापन सहना
और रेत बनकर
अस्थिर बहते रहना।

Touched by an Angel / Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

Do Not Be Afraid / Claire Ann Pajo Sansolis

Do not be afraid my darling because
I am willing to share what you are going through
If you think that love is not right
When you are not prepared
I’d say love stays for better or worse

Do not be afraid to speak it all out
I will not judge you
I will not reject you

Do not be afraid of what I will think
You know that I love you
You know that I’ll be there for you

Do not be afraid of what the future holds
With God on our side
We will always win in life

Do not be afraid that I will leave you
If you want me now
I willingly would stay

Do not be afraid to take a risk
Because life is so short
To avoid what can be

Do not be afraid because love never fears
We would go through things together
You are never alone

Do not be afraid to ask
For when you don’t
That is the time to be afraid
Because you never did anything
To open your door
I may just walk away
Thinking you shut me forever
Just because you’re afraid

Knowledge /Louise Bogan

Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,--

I'll lie here and learn
How, over their ground
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.

A Night-Rain In Summer / Rita Dove

Open the window, and let the air
Freshly blow upon face and hair,
And fill the room, as it fills the night,
With the breath of the rain's sweet might.
Hark! the burthen, swift and prone!
And how the odorous limes are blown!
Stormy Love's abroad, and keeps
Hopeful coil for gentle sleeps.

Not a blink shall burn to-night
In my chamber, of sordid light;
Nought will I have, not a window-pane,
'Twixt me and the air and the great good rain,
Which ever shall sing me sharp lullabies;
And God's own darkness shall close mine eyes;
And I will sleep, with all things blest,
In the pure earth-shadow of natural rest.

मिलने की तरह मुझ से वो पल भर नहीं मिलता / नसीर तुराबी

मिलने की तरह मुझ से वो पल भर नहीं मिलता
दिल उस से मिला जिस से मुक़द्दर नहीं मिलता

ये राह-ए-तमन्ना है यहाँ देख के चलना
इस राह में सर मिलते हैं पत्थर नहीं मिलता

हमरंगी-ए-मौसम के तलबगार न होते
साया भी तो क़ामत के बराबर नहीं मिलता

कहने को ग़म-ए-हिज्र बड़ा दुश्मन-ए-जाँ है
पर दोस्त भी इस दोस्त से बेहतर नहीं मिलता

कुछ रोज़ 'नसीर' आओ चलो घर में रहा जाए
लोगों को ये शिकवा है कि घर पर नहीं मिलता

Failure and Success / David Harris

Failure is the penalty,
for continually getting things wrong.

Success on the other hand is the award,
for getting things continually right.

Failure puts you down in despair.
Success sends you soaring among the clouds.

Therefore, I look at myself and wonder,
am I a success or failure.
Then maybe I am a bit of both.
Whichever way the hammer falls
only you can decide.

फिर छिड़ी रात बात फूलों की / मख़दूम मुहिउद्दीन

फिर छिड़ी रात बात फूलों की
रात है या बरात फूलों की

फूल के हार फूल के गजरे
शाम फूलों की रात फूलों की

आप का साथ साथ फूलों का
आप की बात बात फूलों की

नज़रें मिलती हैं जाम मिलते हैं
मिल रही है हयात फूलों की

कौन देता है जान फूलों पर
कौन करता है बात फूलों की

वो शराफ़त तो दिल के साथ गई
लुट गई काएनात फूलों की

अब किसे है दिमाग़-ए-तोहमत-ए-इश्क़
कौन सुनता है बात फूलों की

मेरे दिल में सुरूर-ए-सुब्ह-ए-बहार
तेरी आँखों में रात फूलों की

फूल खिलते रहेंगे दुनिया में
रोज़ निकलेगी बात फूलों की

ये महकती हुई ग़ज़ल 'मख़दूम'
जैसे सहरा में रात फूलों की

गुरु-महिमा / कबीर

गुरु सो ज्ञान जु लीजिये, सीस दीजये दान।
बहुतक भोंदू बहि गये, सखि जीव अभिमान॥१॥

गुरु की आज्ञा आवै, गुरु की आज्ञा जाय।
कहैं कबीर सो संत हैं, आवागमन नशाय॥२॥

गुरु पारस को अन्तरो, जानत हैं सब सन्त।
वह लोहा कंचन करे, ये करि लये महन्त॥३॥

कुमति कीच चेला भरा, गुरु ज्ञान जल होय।
जनम - जनम का मोरचा, पल में डारे धोया॥४॥

गुरु कुम्हार शिष कुंभ है, गढ़ि - गढ़ि काढ़ै खोट।
अन्तर हाथ सहार दै, बाहर बाहै चोट॥५॥

गुरु समान दाता नहीं, याचक शीष समान।
तीन लोक की सम्पदा, सो गुरु दीन्ही दान॥६॥

जो गुरु बसै बनारसी, शीष समुन्दर तीर।
एक पलक बिखरे नहीं, जो गुण होय शारीर॥७॥

गुरु को सिर राखिये, चलिये आज्ञा माहिं।
कहैं कबीर ता दास को, तीन लोकों भय नाहिं॥८॥

गुरु सो प्रीतिनिवाहिये, जेहि तत निबहै संत।
प्रेम बिना ढिग दूर है, प्रेम निकट गुरु कंत॥९॥

गुरु मूरति गति चन्द्रमा, सेवक नैन चकोर।
आठ पहर निरखत रहे, गुरु मूरति की ओर॥१०॥

गुरु मूरति आगे खड़ी, दुतिया भेद कुछ नाहिं।
उन्हीं कूं परनाम करि, सकल तिमिर मिटि जाहिं॥११॥

ज्ञान समागम प्रेम सुख, दया भक्ति विश्वास।
गुरु सेवा ते पाइए, सद् गुरु चरण निवास॥१२॥

सब धरती कागज करूँ, लिखनी सब बनराय।
सात समुद्र की मसि करूँ, गुरु गुण लिखा न जाय॥१३॥

पंडित यदि पढि गुनि मुये, गुरु बिना मिलै न ज्ञान।
ज्ञान बिना नहिं मुक्ति है, सत्त शब्द परमान॥१४॥

कहै कबीर तजि भरत को, नन्हा है कर पीव।
तजि अहं गुरु चरण गहु, जमसों बाचै जीव॥१५॥

सोई सोई नाच नचाइये, जेहि निबहे गुरु प्रेम।
कहै कबीर गुरु प्रेम बिन, कितहुं कुशल नहिं क्षेम॥१६॥

तबही गुरु प्रिय बैन कहि, शीष बढ़ी चित प्रीत।
ते कहिये गुरु सनमुखां, कबहूँ न दीजै पीठ॥१७॥

अबुध सुबुध सुत मातु पितु, सबहिं करै प्रतिपाल।
अपनी ओर निबाहिये, सिख सुत गहि निज चाल॥१८॥

करै दूरी अज्ञानता, अंजन ज्ञान सुदये।
बलिहारी वे गुरु की हँस उबारि जु लेय॥१९॥

साबुन बिचारा क्या करे, गाँठे वाखे मोय।
जल सो अरक्षा परस नहिं, क्यों कर ऊजल होय॥२०॥

राजा की चोरी करे, रहै रंक की ओट।
कहै कबीर क्यों उबरै, काल कठिन की चोट॥२१॥

सतगुरु सम कोई नहीं, सात दीप नौ खण्ड।
तीन लोक न पाइये, अरु इकइस ब्रह्मणड॥२२॥

सतगुरु तो सतभाव है, जो अस भेद बताय।
धन्य शिष धन भाग तिहि, जो ऐसी सुधि पाय॥२३॥

सतगुरु मिला जु जानिये, ज्ञान उजाला होय।
भ्रम का भाँडा तोड़ी करि, रहै निराला होय॥२४॥

मनहिं दिया निज सब दिया, मन से संग शरीर।
अब देवे को क्या रहा, यो कथि कहहिं कबीर॥२५॥

जेही खोजत ब्रह्मा थके, सुर नर मुनि अरु देव।
कहैं कबीर सुन साधवा, करू सतगुरु की सेवा॥२६॥

जग में युक्ति अनूप है, साधु संग गुरु ज्ञान।
तामें निपट अनूप है, सतगुरु लगा कान॥२७॥

डूबा औधर न तरै, मोहिं अंदेशा होय।
लोभ नदी की धार में, कहा पड़ा नर सोय॥२८॥

केते पढी गुनि पचि मुए, योग यज्ञ तप लाय।
बिन सतगुरु पावै नहीं, कोटिन करे उपाय॥२९॥

सतगुरु खोजे संत, जीव काज को चाहहु।
मेटो भव के अंक, आवा गवन निवारहु॥३०॥

यह सतगुरु उपदेश है, जो माने परतीत।
करम भरम सब त्यागि के, चलै सो भव जलजीत॥३१॥

जाका गुरु है आँधरा, चेला खरा निरंध।
अन्धे को अन्धा मिला, पड़ा काल के फन्द॥३२॥

जनीता बुझा नहीं बुझि, लिया नहीं गौन।
अंधे को अंधा मिला, राह बतावे कौन॥३३॥

अंतहीन यात्राओं का अंत / संगीता गुप्ता

मन झूम रहा
जाना है
यात्रा पर

बरसों की तलाश,
यहाँ से वहाँ
भटकने की त्रासदी,
शेष कर देगी दोनों को
यात्रा पर जाना है

जानती है वह
उस तक पहुँच
अंतहीन यात्राओं का ही
अंत
फिर भी
मन झूम रहा है

Between Going And Coming / Octavio Paz

Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

Long-felt Desires / Louise Labe

Long-felt desires, hopes as long as vain--
sad sighs--slow tears accustomed to run sad
into as many rivers as two eyes could add,
pouring like fountains, endless as the rain--
cruelty beyond humanity, a pain
so hard it makes compassionate stars go mad
with pity: these are the first passions I've had.
Do you think love could root in my soul again?
If it arched the great bow back again at me,
licked me again with fire, and stabbed me deep
with the violent worst, as awful as before,
the wounds that cut me everwhere would keep
me shielded, so there would be no place free
for love. It covers me. It can pierce no more.

रो लो, पुरुषों / पल्लवी त्रिवेदी

बड़ा कमज़ोर होता है
बुक्का फाड़कर रोता हुआ आदमी
मज़बूत आदमी बड़ी ईर्ष्या रखते हैं इस कमज़ोर आदमी से

****

सुनो लड़की
किसी पुरुष को बेहद चाहती हो?
तो एक काम ज़रूर करना
उसे अपने सामने फूट-फूट कर रो सकने की सहजता देना

****

दुनिया वालों
दो लोगों को कभी मत टोकना
एक दुनिया के सामने दोहरी होकर हँसती हुई स्त्री को
दूसरा बिलख-बिलख कर रोते हुए आदमी को
ये उस सहजता के दुर्लभ दृश्य हैं
जिसका दम घोंट दिया गया है

****

ओ मेरे पुरुष मित्र
याद है जब जन्म के बाद नहीं रोये थे
तब नर्स ने जबरन रुलाया था यह कहते हुए कि
"रोना बहुत ज़रूरी है इसके जीने के लिए"
बड़े होकर ये बात भूल कैसे गए दोस्त?

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रो लो पुरुषो, जी भर के रो लो
ताकि तुम जान सको कि
छाती पर से पत्थर का हटना क्या होता है

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ओ मेरे प्रेम
आखिर में अगर कुछ याद रह जाएगा तो
वह तुम्हारी बाहों में मचलती पेशियों की मछलियाँ नहीं होंगी
वो तुम्हारी आँख में छलछलाया एक कतरा समन्दर होगा

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ओ पुरुष
स्त्री जब बिखरे तो उसे फूलों-सा सहेज लेना
ओ स्त्री
पुरूष को टूटकर बिखरने के लिए थोड़ी-सी ज़मीन देना