Even if My Life Be in Hell

Bhima Bhoi

Ordained by our holiness,

we shall kindle the initiatory sacred flame

by singing your glory.

Having bought this slave

why are you forsaking him midway?

I have no confidence

and have lost all courage.

What must I do?

Ministering to the Universe,

nurturing the devotees,

heedful of your devotees' sorrow,

you bear the entire burden.

Here they are at your holy feet

for you to bear the load

of your devotees' woes on your back.

You have yoked prosperity and misery,

salvation and damnation together.

Who will carry?

the burden of sin and sorrow?

Let it continue to lie at your feet.

Having manifested yourself

why are you apathetic?

Where shall I flee and hide?

Today shall I unfasten

the burden of my sins?

and lay them out at your feet.

Having surrendered themselves,

all the wailing devotees

are prostrate at your feet.

Forgiving all their sins and crimes,

O master, nurture them carefully.

How do you endure

your importuning devotees,

and their endless sorrows?

Even if my life be consigned to hell

let the world be saved.


Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathy


Love- Patriotism


On the Bank of the Seine

(What the Homesick Man said)

Ajit Barua


"Tell him I have bought

four karas worth of land at the

Chila Hill. I shall not go."


I have loved Asom like an obstinate man

With the world I have little to do.

So, on the blank of the Seine

In beautiful Spring

I am sitting right in the middle of the day

In the month of Bohag,

Under a forlorn Saora tree

In the village of Ajara.

(Where sunshine looks that rain

Have you ever looked that far

Over endless fields?)

I am seeing in the junction of Farkating

A night train stopped for eternity.

My place is not here

My place is by the side of the Borsilla bil

On the bank of the Kaldia river

On the broken bridge of the Kolong.

In the tea garden of Rongagora.


The intoxication that grows

In the chalky land of Champagne---the perfume

In the ochre land of the Darjeeling hill

Does not grow in any other place.

The mind that grew in the mud of the Luit,

The mind that forever wanders

Among the Dadigdiga shrubs of the Pagladiariver,

That mind will find salvation only on its banks.


Whatever little have I seen of the Earth's loveliness,

In the same measure my longing increased

For the Bokul flower picked from the ground

In the knot of my mother's shawl.


I have no use for looking at the float of History

Going down the Seine

I want to see without a drop of my eyelid,

Without knowing what I did

The sun going down over the bamboo leaves.

I have no use for looking at the gallop

Of horse in the museum of modern art

I want only to see

The grass boiling in a broken pot

For our red-black cow.

I have no use for the Seine,

For the Loire, for the Isere-chained rivers.

I see the Disang in flood

In the month of Ahar

The swirl spinning the ferry-boat

Crushing on the river's bank.


Rene Descartes, Comte, Sartre

You think, therefore you are

I see so I am, I hear so I am

I get smell, I get flavour I get warmth

That is why I am


I have loved Asom Like a obstinate man

That is why I am

To the world-my salutation:


Translated from Assamese by the author.


Love - Patriotism

The Song of the Students

Kazi Nazrul Islam


We are the power and the strength--

we the students.

The storm dies under our feet,

above us are the sky, the storm and rain.

We are the students.


We march barefooted in the darknessof night on a difficult road,

with the impact of our terrific march

we redden the hard earth with blood!

In age after age our blood has wetted the soil of the earth

-the blood of us students.

Our souls fly unbounded almost like the unorbited comet.

We are ever the sacrifices at the altar of the Goddess of Luck.

When Goddess Lakshmi ascends to heaven

We reach the limitless blue below,

we students.

We hold the reins of the sacrificial horse of the king of death

our deaths record the annals of our lives!

we erode the banks.

We the young make the road

slippery with our blood in the dreadful night,

we the students.

The lamp of wisdom shines in our eyes,

our hearts are full of illuminating speech,

the call of eternity rings in our confident voices.

We have reddened with fresh blood

the white lotus of Goddess Saraswati,

we the students.

These days of revolt of the masses

we lay down our heads,

in us cries the liberation of the century!

We have filled the verdant train

of the mother's clothe with tears of glory,

we the students.

We build the future of love and hope,

the galaxy in the sky points our way to heaven,

May the dreams of all the world's men and women

be fulfilled in our visions:

the visions of us- students!


Translated from Bengali by Basudha Chakrabarty




Rakshat Puri

The storm that blows in me blows nowhere else.

It's kind of you to listen to me say so

though kindness is a gain that love cancels.

A gathering of metaphysical laughter repels

the platitude about what comes must go.

The storm that blows in me blows nowhere else.

The argument in massed design, that tells

of a dragging maze is the decorated door

to kindness which is a gain that love cancels.

The lush in the dark assembles many spells

to call forward a shape kinetic below

the storm that blows in me and nowhere else.

Dream or nightmare, each in turn compels

a complex construction on what love may show.

Though kindness is a gain that love cancels.

A passing thought of brave universals

signs to words lost symbol-sung gestures ago.

The storm that blows in me blows nowhere else

though kindness is a gain that love cancels.




Bulleh Shah


Damn prayer

Throw mud on religious fasting,

Black out the kalma with ink!

I found my Love when I returned


People search clueless.


Translated from Punjabi by Rakshat Puri.





Dr. J .P. Das

All the experiments with truth

turned into slogans.

Life's philosophy stuck to

the statue's blind eye.

Achievement was

circumsized by definitions.

The soul was taken over

by crass opportunism.

For the entrenchment religion

war was fought

For the maintenance of peace

slums of the oppressed were gutted.

Swearing by the art of deception,

the testimony of truth was probed.

Harijans were ostracized.

The lowest of the low

Sunk even lower.

There are no more seekers after truth.

No one bothers about the means.

Everyone eyes the spurious end.

The relics the capital of

Good conduct has been spend

in the relentless black-marked

of unequivocal profit and loss.

The imperialists have gone away

looking for new colonies.

Peace prices have been awarded

to warmongers.

The old pocket watch can not cross

the poverty line.

The horror of the painted truth

is no more visible

though the thick glasses.

The scant loin cloth can not hide

the obscenity of absolute power.

The savage ferocity of the terrorist

can not be stopped by the

lathi to support a frail body.

All the clocks are dead and mute.

Echoes of prayers are silent.

History takes leave.

Religion returns to its shame

Freeing himself from stone statues.

disciplines of definitions.

movies and anniversaries,

he walks away in brisk pace

towards the raised guns of

a new band of assassins.


Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathy



Night of the Scorpion


I remember the night my mother

was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours

of steady rain had driven him

to crawl beneath a sack of rice.

Parting with his poison flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room

he risked the rain again.

The peasants came like swarms of flies

and buzzed the Name of God a hundred times

to paralyse the Evil One.

With candles and with lanterns

throwing giant scorpion shadows

on the sun-baked walls

they searched for him: he was not found.

They clicked their tongues.

With every movement that the scorpion made

his poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.

May he sit still, they said.

May the sins of your previous birth

be burned away tonight, they said.

May your suffering decrease

the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.

May the sum of evil

balanced in this unreal world

against the sum of good

become diminished by your pain.

May the poison purify your flesh

of desire, and your spirit of ambition,

they said, and they sat around

on the floor with my mother in the centre,

the peace of understanding on each face.

More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,

more insects, and the endless rain.

My mother twisted through and through

groaning on a mat.

My father, sceptic, rationalist,

trying every curse and blessing,

powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.

He even poured a little paraffin

upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.

I watched the flame feeding on my mother.

I watched the holy man perform his rites

to tame the poison with an incantation.

After twenty hours

it lost its sting.

My mother only said:

Thank God the scorpion picked on me and spared my children.



Love Child

Makhdoor Mohiuddin


You may hide love at the bottom of a well,

But a voice will haunt you.

Sometimes as song on moonlit nights,

Sometimes as black laughter from the mad-house.

A voice will haunt you,

It will haunt you.

That voice,

A child, rejected, fatherless,

One day,

Borne along on crosses,

Led forth the children of this world

And became God.

A mother,

Long years ago,

Fearful of society,

Abandoned her beloved child

On the roadside.

That child, rejected, fatherless,

One day,

Borne along on crosses,

Led forth the children of this world

And became God.


Translated from Urdu by Balraj Komal.




Dom Moraes


When they moved into the house It was winter.

In the garden a sycamore stood.

No other root nor shoot, but wild nettles

Good only for a bitter soup. He planned

Flowers around the sycamore for summer,

The great splayed rose, the military tulip,

All colours, smell of sun, himself with spade

Drinking cold beer with his wife. Spring came.

He rooted up the nettles with his hands.

He burnt them all, stamped on the clotted ash,

Tamping new seeds in, fingering stones aside.

This work he wanted, his hands came alive.

They wanted flowers to touch. But from his care

Only the tough nasturtiums came. They crawled

In sullen fire by the wall a week.

But the soil was sour, the roots went unfed.

Even they ceased to clutch, their heads fell forward.

All summer was the same. He fed the soil,

Flicking out stones, plucking the few sparse shoots.

The trapped flowers were trying to escape.

But died in their cells, and winter came.

Next year he planted early. Spring brought up

Over fussed tussocks, a green scanty surf.

Then it receded, but a tide wrack stayed

Of shriveled leaves, shoots like dead dragonflies.

Then nettles crawled back. Now he didn't care.

His hands were useless, the earth was not his.

It did things to him, never he to it.

He watched the nettles with a little smile.

Then in the snowdrift of a summer bed

He planted himself, and a child came-

-News that he knew early one winter day.

He came home dumbly from the hospital.

The garden gate was open. He went out,

Stood by the sycamore, watched the clouds moult,

Stood in the chilly and falling feathers

Under the sycamore, and not knowing why

He felt his hands become alive, and touched

The tree’s smooth body with a kind of joy,

Thinking next summer it would have new leaves.




To begin to love

is to set out to sea

in a small boat,

destination unknown.

You may get far out

into that wide ocean,

or be castaways on a dangerous island.

You may be smashed upon the rocks

nearer the shore,

or drown in that deep

treacherous water,

or survive

clinging to the sides of the boat.

You may even sink forever

clutching at one another,

innocent voyage undertaken so lightly.

But love is always

a stretching out into

unknown water.

It is the charting of

unmapped territory,

And the discovery of forgotten lands.

It was Siva, her primordial lover,

Whom she had met before the dawning of days.

At such moments their love was intense

And they became one

The androgynic God


Eternal, Infinite.



(It may be changed to Non-Violence- Spirit of Enquiry or Peace- Purity of Thought)


My Journey

Ali Sardar Jafri


'Like the grass, I have sprouted a hundred times'


The day will come

When the eye-lamps will fade

The hand-lotuses wilt

And the butterfly of speech forever flies

The flower of tongue.

All faces blossoming like buds,

Laughing like flowers,

Will one day, disappear

To the shadowy depths of the sea.

All pulsing blood, all beating hearts,

All melodies will be hushed.

On the velvet of blue sky

This-shining gem,-

This heaven, this earth of mine,

Without knowing, understanding,

Will weep tears of dew.

On the handful of dust that is man.

From the temples of memories

Every single thing will have gone.

Then no one will ask:

Where is Sardar?

But I'll come here again,

Speak through children's voices,

Sing in the calls of birds.

When seeds smile under the earth

And seedlings, with nimble fingers

Caress the layers of soil

I'll open my eyes

Through every bud, each blade of grass.

On my green palm

I'll balance the droplets of dew.

I'll become the glow of cheeks,

The beat of melodies.

Like the blush of the modest bride,

I'll sparkle through every veil.

When the wintry winds blow

And autumn leaves fall

Under the lively feet of travelers

My laughter will sound

In the crunching of dry leaves.

All golden streams of the earth,

All blue lakes of the sky

Will be filled with my being.

And the world will see

That every tale is my tale,

Every lover Sardar here,

And every love Sultana*.

I am a fleeting moment

From the magic house of time.

I am a restless droplet

Busy travelling

From the flask of the past

To the cup of the future.

I sleep and awaken

And fall asleep again.

I am a play, centuries old,

Death makes me live forever.


Translated from Urdu by Baidar Bakht and Kathleen Grant Jaegar.


Love- Friendship


Balraj Komal

When the delicate fragrance

Of your hand

Passing through your fingers to my fingers

Permeated my palm

I gathered it

In my possessive fist

As if I would retain for ever

Only for myself

Your blossoming face -

Your resplendent beauty.


I felt you

From probability to a pleasant dream

And was bathed in light

From head to foot.


I unlock today

My yearning fingers

And set you free, O fragrance!

You may freely fly now

In azure expanse

May kiss the skies,

Alight on stars,

Take elements in your arms -

You are fragrance, colour, light

An opening bud,

An awakening new life.


Translated from Urdu by the author.


Love- Friendship

The Moment

Kaifi Azmi


Whenever I kiss her beautiful eyes,

a hundred lamps light up in the dark.

The heart is drawn to dry lips.

A thousand mirrors dance in the blood.

Blossoms, buds, the moon, the stars,

even my foes

stoop down

and touch my feet.

The mind is aflame,

the soul afire.

A human resplendence

prevails around.

Temples give out heavenly light.

Smiling gods

reign over skies.

The Ajanta figures frisk and dance.


for ages mute

burst into song.

The bounty of spring for ever abounds.

Beneficent clouds float in the sky.

The world for a moment

sheds its angry malevolent face.

The stones for a moment

cover themselves

with a radiant smile.


Translated from Urdu by Balraj Komal.



Love- Sincerity


Ganga Prashad Vimal

Ever seen snow fall? ----

without fuss

whole fields are lost

from sight,

and whiteness overcomes

wide forests.

But, detained in dream

I see a wood of deep green;

on the pinnacles of Shrikanth temple

flutter multicoloured banners.

Then the scene changes,

there are sky supporting mountains---

and, on snow, the sun's dazzling linen.

Like paper-landscapes

clinging to house-walls

a ravishing tableaux

is screened on the cliffs of my thoughts.

Slowly the day-dream

goes out, and like an apparition

a mere remembrance lingers on

in memory's dim rooms.


Translated from Hindi by Keshav Malik



A Leafless Tree

Dr. V. K. Gokak



It doesn't have a single leaf

and that itself is its beauty!

My heart rushes towards it

continuously with joy!

My soul-bird flies about it

among its leafless boughs

freely, expecting nothing

neither buds nor flowers nor fruit.

The naked form, with innumerable angles---

That is more than enough, I think!



The mathematics of angles---

ah! What great gymnastics!

Boughs rising from the trunk,

branches shooting from the boughs,

and tendrils sprouting at the ends

in subtle patterns!

From the trunk to the top there are

a hundred forms, projecting

the entire series of Euclid's theorems:

triangle, radius, square, circumference,

diameter, diagonal--


Why do we need colours?

and why the leaves?



My love went down to the bare roots

and coursed up everywhere.

Beauty streamed through all the boughs

and turned into leaves, animating the tree,

inviting the breezes: it's life's juice

budding, sprouting, red and beautiful---

my love turning to raw fruits and ripe

loading the tree till it swayed about.

It's magic fructifying the Void!



There's electric charge in the network of its


but no lightning of creepers in it.

This is a ready made veena; the Spring,

the player hasn't fingered it yet.

It's a skeleton made by the machine-yogi:

blood hasn't coursed through it.

This is Arjuna's chariot, with no Krishna

driving it triumphantly.

It's not the Spring-chariot of joy

with a garland of tender leaves.

The magician west wind hasn't come

and uttered the mantras of Spring.



Oh boughs! Oh branches!

Why have you stretched your hands towards the


Do you think the rain of mercy

will fall from the sky and nourish you?

What use that army of clouds

wandering like vagabonds?

You'd better stretch your roots a little more


Life is

in the depths.

The rain of grace which had fallen once

is now a subterranean stream:

it will nourish you, and tomorrow

the Spring rain might come down,

like Dharma, to protect and bless!


Translated from Kannada by S.K.Desai.


Love- Friendship

Beyond the Blue

Amiya Chakravarty


Leave a little void somewhere

Within your life so full--

The solitary temple of a moment

Where, in utter seclusion

You are all your own

Keep away your happy consciousness

And remain awhile

With just your own thoughts.

Encase the eternal solitude

With precious creations

Of such inaccessible moments,

Evoking the one who dwells

Within your heart of hearts

Perhaps some day

I shall open the silent door

Of your tender solitude

And share your thoughts

In your quiet meditation

Laying bare my heart

To its boundless charm!

So keep a little void

Deep within your heart.


Translated from Bengali by Swapna Dutta.


Love- Devotion



Shakti Chattopadhayay


I have sought Him in the sea

At times in rocks

At times in autumn

In the tranquil storm within my heart

In rain, in drought

In flowers, in roots

At times

Someone has seemed to whisper

Just look and hear

But say nothing

Do not step out

Just remain where you are

It's not for you

To shake the roots

And pull up trees---

You are here to hoard your desires

All the rest

Which does not touch your existence

Means nothing at all.

At times

I've sought Him in the sea

At times in rocks

At times in autumn

In the tranquil storm

Within my heart.


Translated from Bengali by Swapna Dutta.



The Night of Ravenous Hair

Girija Kumar Mathur


Ah, the shadow of your dark black magic has pervaded

my being: within me your body keeps time

to the tune of some wild song's floating melody.

Even during sleep its echoes reverberate;

and in the same place its melody pulsates.


Ah, the shadow of your wonder has permeated my


My calm eyes see

strange fantasies and things

receding into the distance

acquire a new meaning.

Dust settling on age lifts up

as the incomplete monument within myself

moves towards consummation

In this exhausting boredom of superfluous work

you with the night of flowering hair, suddenly come...


Ah, you are the flower clinging to my colourless

lonely existence :

my words like fragrance hang upon your arms.

My colourful words are but imprints

of your lips.

The intensity of my voice

reflects the warmth of your rising desires.

In this emptiness

this denuded time...

you are a pungent taste

lingering in me....


Ah, you are a dark shadow pervading my being.....


Translated from Hindi by Tavishi Tiwari


Love- Patriotism/Humanism.

Little Darlings

Atma Singh Chitti

These stars in our eyes

These little darlings-

Keeps safe the joy and laughter

Keep safe your love for the other

No outcaste among you

Keep safe and with all share goodness

These stars in our eyes

These little darlings---

Take our love now

Take our love

Brace us when age overtakes

Stay close to us now, stay close to us then

Read write play


These stars in our eyes

These little darlings!


Blessings comfort wisdom to you!

Love, do not hate---

These stars in our eyes

These little darlings!


Raise high your thinking, my children

Raise high your country’s worth

Raise high yourself from pettiness

These stars in our eyes

These little darlings.


Translated from Punjabi by Swarn Singh




In Exchange

Brajnath Rath


In exchange of

my tears

I bought a flower,

a flower of affection.

I planted that flower

in every soul.

I know not

if ever anyone will

give it its worth.


In exchange of my blood

I got a bird,

a bird of peace.

I release that bird

into the sky around the world.

I known not if

it will usher in

the rains of new hope.


In exchange of my dream

I plucked a star,

a star from the sky.

I lit my earthen lamp

with that star.

I know not if

it will light a flame

in every soul.


In exchange of my heart

I got a woman,

a woman of unsuppressed beauty,

and I dedicated my all

to her.

I know not if

she has fathomed

my innermost core.


The flower I got

in exchange of my tears,

the bird I got

in exchange of my blood.

the star I plucked

in exchange of my dream.

The woman I got

In exchange of my soul:

Will these turn my mud-hut

into a heaven?

Or will they turn the world into my hut?

in exchange of everything

I have hopes of getting all.


Swimming in the light of hope

Quivering to the song of life

I bide my days and nights.


Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathy


Love- Tolerance.

The Mother

Balraj Komal


The burden

on my mother's bent back

grows heavier and heavier

as dawn heralds

a new-born day.


The children she bore-

my brothers, sisters

near and dear ones-

all my own

now cover the earth

far and away

and keep on

unloading on her bowed down back

countless measures of rotting debris

of their time-old sins.

The mother, they think

will carry her burden

to the end of the road.


But the mother is now

so heavily weighed down

under the mounting load

on her back

it's likely that

the protective distance

that so far saved her

from her death

may eventually come

to a mournful naught.


But she, the Mother

never she falters

never she stops on her way.

Oblivious of things

quiet and serene

beyond all weariness

at her usual pace

on she struggles

on she trudges

and on and on ....


Translated from Urdu by the author.


Love- Devotion

Hymn of Love

Ullor Parmeshwara Iyer



The world has but one religion-Love, which is its life,

A full moon that feeds us all on the nectar-milk.

The supreme cosmic power assuming different forms-Devotion,

Love, Compassion and the like-

Sheds its lustre on all this earth.

Hate, its foe, is nothing but atheistic faith;

Lo! the world fallen to its darkness reaps premature death.

A fatal deity it is that turns bridal-chamber into a funeral pyre;

Floral garden into wasteland and Heaven into Hell.



A sentence conveys sense only when words are put in order,

A song becomes melodious to the car when tune and timing blend.

Is not the entire world of the animate and the inanimate

An embodiment of countless groups of infinite atoms?

Even an insect has nowhere to live apart from others;

Even the omnipotent is on Nature dependent in Universal


The Lord blends in creation and breaks in dissolution,

The Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Sky.

The blossomed flower needs the bee to make this earth a Heaven.

The people of the world are but noble fruit

Of the celestial tree of mutual love planted in virtuous couples.

The pregnant mother for whom even a flower on her hair is a weight,

Carries the unbearable child-in-womb in joy.

Surrounded as we are by service-minded people

Like father, mother, brothers, relations and friends

As well as wife, sons, servants and the like, all bound alike by love.



We rejoice that the sea of mundane life a green meadow.

The mirror of the Universe reflects our moods

The cave of the Universe echoes our voice;

The Universe is a parrot well-versed in repeating our words:

The Universe is an actor who cleverly imitates our inner moods;

The Universal soil yields us the fruit of the seed we have sown:

The Universe offers bouquets or brickbats in return for our deeds

The entire world is full of light to him that has light within him.

And it is ever more full of deathless joy to him that has virtue

shining in him.

Nothing in this world is beautiful if there is no spectator:

Wherein is this relative sense present, in God's creation?

The natural mood present in matter is mutual attraction;

The primary virtue inherent in all creatures is mutual love.

Prostrate, we rise; sowing, we eat; giving, we gain;

We are ourselves the architects of our heaven and our hell.

Men rise to godhead if they wipe away the world's sorrows

By suffusing their minds, eyes, tongue and hands with great


Nature shines around us as the donor of supreme joy

Appearing as she does in different forms like stone,

shrubs, medicines, birds, animals and the like.

Those who have eyes to see can see in us as well as in them,

Our supreme Father who shines as the embodiment of love.

They can hear the holy preceptor chanting all too loudly

The Upanishad of service in the best school that is this world.

Brothers are we, all sprung of the same loins;

And all creatures are but the warp and woof of the fabric of earth.

What wonder is there if God, the formless, is invisible

To those who have no eyes to see their brethren standing by?

O! victory to the world's foundations divine and wonderful

Indivisible, unimaginable in glory and without beginning, middle or


In the low-born Pulaya as well as in the high-born Brahmin

In the small insect as well as in the sun-its radiance is manifest

Little difference is there between King and King and between slave

and slave;

In them burns alike the same flame called 'soul' lit from it.



Prostrations to thee, my Life-giver, O Cosmic Dancer! O! Supreme


I am but a humble member of your company of dancers called


Lord! the will to assign the role for me is thine

And the duty to enact it so as to please the world, is


It is acting well one's part, not the costume,  that's great, no doubt.

Though the king may spoil the stage while the attendant enhances its


From within me but not to others known

You lead my feet to the steps of your choice

When I follow tlie lead you give

I become an expert dancer, showering glory

On my fellow-actors and spectators

O! Supreme of Souls! accessible as thou art only through devotion

Who without eyes anointed with universal love can see thee?

The happiness of others is, of course, my happiness; their sorrow,


You and I and others-aren't these but one and the same?

At your disposal is my body as well as my life; pleased be thou

To make it useful to others day and night: I salute thee O Lord!


Translated from Malayalam by N.K. Seshan.


Love- Devotion.

 The Nature of Love



Can love be contained by a bolt? A tear

makes known the great love within.


The loveless are self-centred; the loving

give all themselves to others.


The present union of soul and body

derive from the need for love.


From love to the forging of kindred minds:

that's the secret of friendship.


Domestic joy here and bliss hereafter

depend on a life of love.


The naive say that love aids virtue, but love

safeguards against vice as well.


As the fierce sun burns up the boneless worm,

virtue withers the loveless.


A lack-love householder ekes out his life

like a parched-up desert-tree.


When, denied love, the soul within is maimed

vain are the fair outer limbs.


The body ruled by love houses a soul;

loveless, it is skin and bone.


Translated from Tamil by K.R. Srinivasa Iyer.



New Story

Bachan Singh Bhullar


Tell me a story, Grandma

Tell me a doll a story

My doll wants to hear a story

And I want to hear it too!


Once upon a time

There lived a King and his Queen---

But this is an old, old story Grandma!

Tell us a story of today

Something new, something fresh

Something of the independence struggle

Of Bose, Jawaharlal and Gandhi

Of some marvellous revolution

Of Udham, Bhagat and Sarabha

Of some soldier who died young for us

Or some worker working to produce in some mill

Or some peasant tilling a field.


Or some other tale, fresh, very new

Tell us a story of today.


Translated from Punjabi by Swarn Singh.


Love- Tolerance and readiness to co-operate

Orchard Of Ram



In the land of Ram, in Ram's farmsteads

Let us not stamp our separate tags.


Master Ram's corn is scattered in this world's birdpark

And over it you have spread a fine net of intrigue

Do not scare away the birds from seeds of grace.


Orchard of Ram belongs to the entire village unfenced

If your might rules, try barricading the sky

By building boundaries blemish not the horizon.


Justly watering let us savour Ram's garden

We will relish Ram's fruit sharing slices with all

Let us plenish our plates along with everyone.


Translated from Gujarati by Dileep Javeri


Love -Patriotism

Folk Songs on Bhagat Singh


The night his mother bore Bhagat Singh

That night was born nobody elso.


And when Bhagat Singh was born

The jungle echoed to the lion’s roar!


Twelve years he went away to work

And brought his earnings home

Bhagat Singh went to the Assembly

And burst a blasting bomb!


Foreigner you will not rule here long

You have killed Bhagat Singh

You will not last here long!


Translated from Punjabi by Swarn Singh.


Love- Patriotism

Impetuous Virtue

Krishanlal Sridharani


A mutiny declared

The flag that had slithered down

Was raised again by upsurging hands; the enemy shuddered

But the fate did not quaver

Goodwill was yet incapable

To extract the essence from future.


Columns of warriors lying

A line marked by history

But the downlaids smile from within;

‘Someday this rout will turn into victory'

Inopportune to the Destiny

the challenge without gauging the enemy strength

remains merely a shade.


A star sank

The mutiny was muted

Shrouded by earth, decaying to become compost

(The new dawn: night's abortion)

The stroke marking the forehead of the defeated

will ultimately strike victory.


Impetuous virtue: sometimes the universal order

Is hindered certainly

What tumbled down from the Time's arithmatic table

rested in stone bellies

With Death forged on every brick

ultimately it will rise to the dome

and will touch the high skies resembling God's topaz soles.


What you did was your feat

What we did espoused us

At the end of a century

We dedicate back to you

What you had begun.


Plucked unripe?

Only in the lap of the Fortunate

falls the fruit ripened by itself.


On the centenary of 1857 rebellion


Translated from Gujarati by Dileep Jhaveri.


Love- Friendship and Humanism


In The Years That Are Remaining

Uma Shankar Joshi


In the years that are remaining, dear, sip heartily

The beauty of the world, do not wander around dejected.

From companionships occasionally acquired along the way

Forge endearing amities.

No, not for you is destined any demonic world.

Oh, you motley world! How to glean you?

Naively I try to alter you and I am changed.

Steeped in the self, down the abyss this step slips.

But if abjuring the self I abide, cordially you comply.

This soft sunlight beckons me, the south breeze,

Smiles of the four directions, glorious peaks of mountains.

The elixir of moonlight in a corner of night condenses on the heart.

The ultimate play of Truth rejoices in the rise and ebb of Mankind.

Imbibing all the love, brimmingly I will declare to the Heavens

From the years allotted to me I bring the nectar of the Earth.


Translated from Gujarati by Dileep Javeri.


Love- Friendship

Poem from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore


Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame,- is such thy fate, my heart! Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful, and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and rain is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs in me,- I know not its meaning.

A moment’s flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight, and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of desire! It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The night is black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.


Translated from Bengali by the author.



Poem from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore


This is my prayer to thee, my lord-

strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.

And give me the strength to surrender.

my strength to thy with love.


Translated from Bengali by the author.



Poem from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore


Light, my light, the world-filling light,

the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!

Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the centre

of my life; the light strikes, my darling,

the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind

runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.

The light is shattered into gold on every cloud,

my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.


Translated from Bengali by the author.



Poem from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore


Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song-

The joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess

Of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death,

Dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest,

Shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with

Its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.


Translated from Bengali by the author.



Poem from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore.


Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.

O thou beautiful, there in the nest it is thy

Love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours.


There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand

Bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.


And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by the herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.


But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day or night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.


Translated from Bengali by the author. 



May be Victory of My Country!

Dr. Hari Dutt Sharma


May be victory of my country.

Snow made crown adorns its pious forehead

It wears the garlands of holy Ganga and Yamuna

The ocean cleans its large feet

How lovely its costume!

May my country get triumph

In monsoon the clouds are decorated with lightning

In sarad the sky is whitened by the lights of moon and by stars

In spring the beauty is created by trees, plants, leaves and flowers

Six seasons’ play of joy

May my country be victorious

Here are poured nectar-currents of Ved-mantras

The holy words cover the whole world

by beating sounds of drums of Sanskrit and culture

it makes humming

In India and abroad…

May be triumph of my country.


Go to light from darkness is the first sound,

Here is one and only one religion ‘humanity’,

The message of holy ‘Gita’ is carried on head.

May my country spread the theory of ‘Karma’

May win my country forever.

See, the new sun has risen,

It is the first dawn

The gentle breeze of culture is blowing softly

My country is the sun,

spreading its light

For ignorant people living in darkness

May win my country always.


Translated from Sanskrit by Dr. Harshdev Madhav.



O’ Humanity

Dr. Hari Dutt Sharma


Oh humanity! Start new assault

Leave old wretched way

You are cheated by casteism, untouchability and colour-prejudice

You also walked on bloody earth.

Bread the pavilion of war-hatred

Because of the differences of

Hindu-Muslim-Sikh-Christian religions,

Because of the differences of

White black-upper-lower castes,

Your ancient culture has broken.

Oh humanity! Start new revolution.

May pour on the world love-cloud’s stream

May be the earth be without mud of hatred

Have a complete bath in affection pound.

Oh humanity! Start new movement.

May not be attacked the weak by the strong

May not be crushed the poor by the rich

There my not any sense of exploiter and exploited

May not be any one here wretched and poor

May not be any one without food, hut and clothes

May not anyone die of hunger.

Oh humanity! Start new assault.

Materialism is spread all over

The world has lost its liveliness

Machines destroy self-realization.

Oh humanity! Start new evolution.

The science became destroyer

By bombs and nuclear energy

By weapons and poisonous chemical

Oh humanity! You are the only one to save ourselves

The inner world has lost insight because of outer glamour

It doesn’t peep in toits own darkness

Please enlight the soul with thy new candle

Oh humanity! Start new movement.

The People run after the wealth

They gain sadness, agony and lamentation.

Please bring the people to the height of characters.

Oh humanity! Start new revolution.

May every heart shine with divine light

May every face bloom with the smile of happiness

May your glory spread in every direction,

Oh humanity! Start new movement.


Translated from Sanskrit by Dr. Harshdev Madhav.



National Unity

V. Kutumb Shashtri


Endless is the sky, the wind blows everywhere

water flows all round the earth,

so spreads the rays of the sun

The earth is the kind mother.

The man is made of Five ‘Mahabhutas’(elements),

There is no reason-

Why the man makes such self destroying differences?


The whole world is pervaded by the God

and the Almighty, and has given all things

He pertains every soul, whole is subject of all objects

He is the idol of mercy

If such is the condition-

Why may he not answer, called by anyone?

If the condition is not such,

Then what will happen by His destruction?


People divide the land to develop whole parts of it

So that the water may flow in upper and lower fields

It is the truth;

But some people, blind with the Feelings of discrimination

carry revenge;

What can be done?


Indiscriminate people have gone from truth to untruth

The ‘Vedas’ and all ‘shrutis’ say that

The Ultimate truth is ‘non-duality’

But the fool sees duality, dirty with name and shape

According to the ‘Upanishadas’ there is danger in duality,

But people find safety in it

What can be done?


Reverse-sense people has gone from truth to untruth.

The devotee of duality experiences that

The view of ‘non-duality’ is not inactive,

Duality if divider;

He-who realizes the non-duality-

is the real enjoyer of life.


Wrongly are put the various characteristics and qualities

Beyond all characteristics

and in the cause of whole universe

The eternal truth lies,

If leaving other vain thing

one observes own self

One will definitely feel evenmindedness

in all beings.

When all is full of ‘Brahman’

Where lies the difference?

Why does one kills another?

Why is envy for others?

Thinking logically there must be no discrimination.

So it is the best shelter of ‘shastras’

To achieve the unity of nation.


When there were more than five hundred kings in this country,

There was unity of people joined by the thread of culture and religion;

When there is one government,

The people are divided by countless differences;

So the rule is unable to develop

The emotional integrity of the nation,

Religion and culture as well as Sanskrit

Are the means of harmony

Efforts should be done to develop them.


In the undeveloped prehistoric age

Vedas announce ‘The whole world is a single family’

Now in the time when all physical differences of countries

Have been wiped out,

Let us achieve the blessings of the Vedas.

The people have left the language and knowledge,

which have built the bridge between

‘Rameswar and Vishveswar’

Now the language and knowledge

are attended upon-

Which create many partitions;


How is possible the real unity of nation

Without integrity?

Neither only rule, nor only good conduct,

Neither only law nor only wealth

Is able for it,


‘Shastras’ deep study and culture

are enough to achieve

the unity of nation

So let’s follow

The religion and culture-

let’s know Sanskrit-the divine language

which  are capable

to unify the nation.

Translated from Sanskrit by Dr. Harshdev Madhav.




After an Earthquake

Dr. Harshdev Madhav

And then

cracks were born

in my heart also.

The summit of my patience

was pulled down,

my mind

torn to pieces

The river of sensibility

dried and vanished

The desires of life

became ruins of dreams.

My love

was buried

under the soul-less dead humanity.

The Earth

can show

her tremors


How can I show

What is happening

under my existence?

(On hearing the news of the earth- quake in Maharashtra).


Translated from Sanskrit by the author.



Adoration of the mother

Kuntala Kumari Sabat


Come, brothers and sisters,

be you a Hindu, Muslim,

Jain or Buddhist,

to the feet of

the mother as one soul!

Children of Bharat,

you are not different from each other.

You all have the same anguished mother.


You live in the same country,

have the same wish

the same love and devotion,

faith and karma

the same happiness,

sorrow, peace and salvation.

You all have the

same anguished mother.


Why kill your own brother

for petty, selfish reasons,

and tarnish the image

of your mother

with the blood of your brother?

You all have the same anguished mother.


Singing the high mantra of unity

embrace each other as brothers

whether friends or strangers,

this is the holy land,

we the teeming millions of us, as one!


Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi.





Dhani Ram Chatrik

Beauty and blessings,

Palaces and minarets,

Fairs and people

The elegant scenes


But when signs of freedom came

All the joy and pain of this charm

And love

Absorbed in the drive

Of independence.

Translated from Punjabi by Prof. Swarn Singh.