The Barbarous Chief / Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There was a kingdom known as the Mind, 
A kingdom vast as fair, 
And the brave king, Brain, had the right to reign, 
In royal splendor there. 
Oh! that was a beautiful, beautiful land, 
Which unto this king was given; 
Filled with everything good and grand, 
And it reached from earth to heaven. 

But a savage monster came one day 
From over a distant border; 
He warred with the king and disputed his sway, 
And set the whole land in disorder. 
He mounted the throne, which he made his own,
He sunk the kingdom in grief. 
There was trouble and shame from the hour he came- 
Illtemper, the barbarous chief. 


He threw down the castles of love and peace, 
He burned up the altars of prayers. 
He trod down the grain that was planted by Brain, 
And scattered thistles and tares. 
He wasted the store-house of knowledge and drove 
Queen Wisdom away in fright; 
And a terrible gloom, like the cloud of doom, 
Shrouded that land in night. 


Bent on more havoc away he rushed 
To the neighboring kingdom, Heart; 
And the blossoms of kindness and hope he crushed- 
And patience he pierced with his dart, 
And he even went on to the Isthmus Soul, 
That unites the mind with God, 
And its beautiful bowers of fragrant flowers 
With a ruthless heel he trod. 


To you is given this wonderful land 
Where the lordly Brain has sway; 
But the border ruffian is near at hand, 
Be on your guard, I pray. 
Beware of Illtemper, the barbarous chief, 
He is cruel as vice or sin, 
And your beautiful kingdom will come to grief 

If once you let him in.

नई औरत / पंखुरी सिन्हा

वह क्षण भर भी नहीं
उसका एक बारीक़-सा टुकड़ा था बस,
जब लगाम मेरे हाथ से छूट गई थी,
और सारी सड़क की भीड़ के साथ-साथ
गाड़ियों के अलग-अलग हार्न की मिली जुली
चीख़ के बीचोंबीच,
अचानक ब्रेक लगने से घिसटकर रुकते टायरों के नीचे से,
लाल हो गई ट्रैफ़िक की बत्ती के ऊपर से,
चील की तरह, बाज की तरह,
तुम भी मेरे खुले कंधों पर झपट पड़े थे,
मैं दिखाऊंगी नहीं तुम्हें,
पर मेरे कंधों पर तुम्हारे पंजों की खरोंच के निशान हैं,
और क्यों रखूँ मैं इन्हें?
सिर्फ़ इसलिए कि ये तुम्हारे दिए हुए निशान हैं?
नहीं, मैं बताऊंगी नहीं तुम्हें,
पर मैं धो रही हूँ इन्हें,
दूब की नर्मी से,
ओस की ठंडक से,
धो रही हूँ तुम्हारे खुरों के निशान,
अपने कंधों पर से
दुर्घटना सड़क पर नहीं, मेरे अन्दर घटी है,
पर मैं बताऊंगी नहीं तुम्हें
अब तुम मेरे राजदार नहीं रहे...

How The Little Kite Learned To Fly? / Katherine Pyle

"I never can do it," the little kite said,
As he looked at the others high over his head.

"I know I should fall if I tried to fly." 
"Try," said the big kite, only try!
Or I fear you never will learn at all." 
But the little kite said : "I'm afraid I'll fall."
The big kite nodded : "Ah, well, good-by; 
I am off." And he rose toward the tranquil sky.

Then the little kite's paper stirred at the sight.
And trembling he shook himself free for flight.
First whirling and frightened, then braver grown,
Up, up he rose through the air alone, 
Till the big kite looking down could see
The little one rising steadily.

Then how the little kite thrilled with pride,
As he sailed with the big kite side by side!
While far below he could see the ground,
And the boys like small spots moving round.
They rested high in the quiet air, 
And only the birds and clouds were there. 

"Oh, how happy I am,'.' the little kite cried.
"And all because I was brave and tried."

My Mother at Sixty-Six / Kamla Das

Driving from my parent’s
home to Cochin last Friday
morning, I saw my mother, 
beside me, 
doze, open mouthed, her face
ashen like that
of a corpse and realised with pain
that she was as old as she
looked but soon
put that thought away, and
looked out at Young
Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
out of their homes, but after the airport’s
security check, standing a few yards
away, I looked again at her, wan, pale
as a late winter’s moon and felt that old
familiar ache, my childhood’s fear, 
but all I said was, see you soon, Amma, 
all I did was smile and smile and
smile...... 

My Dead Dream / Sarojini Naidu

Have you found me, at last, O my Dream? 

Seven eons ago 

You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow. 
Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep 
And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep? 


Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands of leaves? 
Would you scare the white, nested, wild pigeons of joy from my eaves? 
Would you touch and defile with dead fingers the robes of my priest? 
Would you weave your dim moan with the chantings of love at my feast? 

Go back to your grave, O my Dream, under forests of snow, 
Where a heart-riven child hid you once, seven eons ago. 
Who bade you arise from your darkness? I bid you depart! 
Profane not the shrines I have raised in the clefts of my heart.

वैष्णव जन तो तेने कहिये / नरसी मेहता

वैष्णव जन तो तेने कहिये जे, पीड़ पराई जाने रे |
पर दुख्खे उपकार करे तोये, मन अभिमान न आने रे ||

सकल लोक मान सहने वन्दे, निंदा न करे केनी रे |
वाच काछ मन निश्छल राखे, धन धन जननी तेनी रे ||

सम दृष्टि ने तृष्णा त्यागी, परस्त्री जेने मात रे |
जिव्हा थकी असत्य न बोले, पर धन नव झाली हाथ रे ||

मोह माया व्यापे नहीं जेने, दृढ वैराग्य जेना मन मा रे |
राम नाम शून ताली लागी, सकल तीरथ तेना तन मान रे ||

वन लोभी ने कपट रहित छे, काम क्रोध निवार्य रे |
भने नरसैय्यो तेनुं दर्शन करत, कुल एकोतेर तार्य रे ||

The Chimney Sweeper / William Blake

When my mother died I was very young, 

And my father sold me while yet my tongue 

Could scarcely cry " 'weep! 'weep! 'weep! 'weep!" 

So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep. 

There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head 

That curled like a lamb's back, was shaved, so I said, 

"Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head's bare, 

You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair." 

And so he was quiet, & that very night, 

As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight! 

That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack, 

Were all of them locked up in coffins of black; 

And by came an Angel who had a bright key, 

And he opened the coffins & set them all free; 

Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run, 

And wash in a river and shine in the Sun. 

Then naked & white, all their bags left behind, 

They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind. 

And the Angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy,

He'd have God for his father & never want joy.

And so Tom awoke; and we rose in the dark 

And got with our bags & our brushes to work. 

Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm; 

So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.