A Maypole / Jonathan Swift

Deprived of root, and branch and rind,
Yet flowers I bear of every kind:
And such is my prolific power,
They bloom in less than half an hour;
Yet standers-by may plainly see
They get no nourishment from me.
My head with giddiness goes round,
And yet I firmly stand my ground:
All over naked I am seen,
And painted like an Indian queen.
No couple-beggar in the land
E'er joined such numbers hand in hand.
I joined them fairly with a ring;
Nor can our parson blame the thing.
And though no marriage words are spoke,
They part not till the ring is broke;
Yet hypocrite fanatics cry,
I'm but an idol raised on high;
And once a weaver in our town,
A damned Cromwellian, knocked me down.
I lay a prisoner twenty years,
And then the jovial cavaliers
To their old post restored all three -
I mean the church, the king, and me.

क़िताब / इला प्रसाद

कम्प्यूटर के सामने बैठकर
पत्र, पत्रिकाएँ पढ़ते
सीधे- कुबड़े, बैठे- बैठे
जब अकड़ जाती है देह
दुखने लगती है गर्दन
धुँधलाने लगते हैं शब्द
और गड्ड्मड्ड होने लगती हैं तस्वीरें
तो बहुत जरूरी लगता है
किताब का होना ।

किताब,
जिसे औंधे - लेटे
दीवारों से पीठ टिकाए
कभी भी, कहीं भी
गोदी में लेकर
पढ़ा जा सकता था
सीएडी* के तमाम खतरो को
नकारते हुए ।

किताब जो जाने कब
चुपके से
गायब हो गई
मेरी दुनिया से
बहुत याद आई आज !

*Computer Aided Disease

Forget Not The Field / Thomas Moore

Forget not the field where they perish'd,
The truest, the last of the brave,
All gone -- and the bright hope we cherish'd
Gone with them, and quench'd in their grave!

Oh! could we from death but recover
Those hearts as they bounded before,
In the face of high heaven to fight over
That combat for freedom once more; --

Could the chain for an instant be riven
Which Tyranny flung round us then,
No, 'tis not in Man, nor in Heaven,
To let Tyranny bind it again!

But 'tis past -- and, though blazon'd in story
The name of our Victor may be,
Accurst is the march of that glory
Which treads o'er the hearts of the free.

For dearer the grave or the prison,
Illumed by one patriot name,
Than the trophies of all who have risen
On Liberty's ruins to fame

आज फिर चाँद उस ने माँगा है / इन्दिरा वर्मा

आज फिर चाँद उस ने माँगा है
चाँद का दाग़ फिर छुपाना है

चाँद का हुस्न तो है ला-सानी
फिर भी कितना फ़लक पे तन्हा है

काश कुछ और माँगता मुझ से
चाँद ख़ुद गर्दिशों का मारा है

दूर है चाँद इस ज़मीं से बहुत
फिर भी हर शब तवाफ़ करता है

बस्तियों से निकल के सहरा में
जुस्तुजू किस की रोज़ करता है

किस ख़ता की सज़ा मिली उस को
किस लिए रोज़ घटता बढ़ता है

चाँद से ये ज़मीं नहीं तन्हा
ऐ फ़लक तू भी जगमगाया है

आज तारों की बज़्म चमकी है
चाँद पर बादलों का साया है

रौशनी फूट निकली मिसरों से
चाँद को जब ग़ज़ल में सोचा है

Preparations for Victory / Edmund Blunden

My soul, dread not the pestilence that hags
The valley; flinch not you, my body young.
At these great shouting smokes and snarling jags
Of fiery iron; as yet may not be flung
The dice that claims you. Manly move among
These ruins, and what you must do, do well;
Look, here are gardens, there mossed boughs are hung
With apples who bright cheeks none might excel,
And there's a house as yet unshattered by a shell.

"I'll do my best," the soul makes sad reply,
"And I will mark the yet unmurdered tree,
The tokens of dear homes that court the eye,
And yet I see them not as I would see.
Hovering between, a ghostly enemy.
Sickens the light, and poisoned, withered, wan,
The least defiled turns desperate to me."
The body, poor unpitied Caliban,
Parches and sweats and grunts to win the name of Man.

Days or eternities like swelling waves
Surge on, and still we drudge in this dark maze;
The bombs and coils and cans by strings of slaves
Are borne to serve the coming day of days;
Pale sleep in slimy cellars scarce allays
With its brief blank the burden. Look, we lose;
The sky is gone, the lightless, drenching haze
Of rainstorms chills the bone; earth, air are foes,
The black fiend leaps brick-red as life's last picture goes.

उम्र / पंखुरी सिन्हा

जैसे सुबह उठकर कोई शीशे में देखे,
कि कुछ बाल कनपटी पर सफ़ेद हो गए हैं,
कि एक रेखा खिंचती है गालों में, अब हँसने पर,
वैसे सुबह उठकर लड़की ने शीशे में देखा,
कि अब वह बिल्कुल प्यार नहीं करती,
उस आदमी से, जिसके साथ,
उसका तथाकथित प्यार का रिश्ता है,
और ज़िन्दगी उसके लिए आसान हो गई।

आते-जाते वक़्त एक तय मुस्कुराहट,
रात का एक सुदीर्घ चुम्बन,
और हस्ताक्षर, ढेर सारे हस्ताक्षर,
ढेर सारे काग़ज़ों पर वही तय हस्ताक्षर,
बैंक के, दफ़्तर के, हास्पिटल के, टैक्स के,
बच्चों के स्कूल के,
काग़ज़ों पर हस्ताक्षर
करते हुए,
एक दिन लड़की ने जाना,
ज़िन्दगी प्यार नहीं,
ज़िन्दगी व्यवस्था है।

Just Walking Around / John Ashbery

What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some,
But you are too preoccupied
By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
To say much and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others.
It gets to be kind of lonely
But at the same time off-putting.
Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way,
The one that looped among islands, and
You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
And now that the end is near

The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
There is light in there and mystery and food.
Come see it.
Come not for me but it.
But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.