|
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 tidewrack stayed
Of shrivelled 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,
|
|
|
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
Ardhanarishwara
Eternal,
Infinite.
|
|
|
Stood in the chilly and falling feathers
Under the sycamore
|
My Journey
|
'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 fly
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 travellers
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.
Rumi
|
TOP
|
Fragrance
|
|
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.
Balraj Komal
|
|
Love Child
|
|
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.
|
|
|
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.
|
Little
Darlings
|
|
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
Today--
These stars in our eyes
These little darlings!
Sing
glory to your country!
Make its fabric strong
Sing unity--
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
T
|
On
the Bank of
the Seine
|
|
"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 juction
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 m
ind
that forever
wanders
Among the Dadigdiga
shrubs of the
Pagladia river,
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
ofmy 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
I see so I am,
I hear so I
am
I get smell,
I get flavour
I get warmth
|
The
Song
of the
Students
|
|
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
darkness
of 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
cloth
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!
Kazi
Nazrul
Islam
|
TOP
|
Dream
|
|
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.
Ganga
Prasad
Vimal
|
|
A
Leafless
Tree
|
|
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!
II
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--
then
Why
do
we
need
colours?
and
why
the
leaves?
III
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
theVoid!
IV
There's
eclectric
charge
in
the
network
of
its
branches,
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.
V
Oh
boughs!
Oh
branches!
Why
have
you
stretched
your
hands
towards
the
sky?
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
deeply.
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!
V.K.
Gokak
|
|
|
TOP
|
|
That
|
Beyond
the
Blue
|
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.
|
Him
|
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.
Shakti
Chattopadhyay
|
|
The
Night
of
Ravenous
Hair
|
|
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
world:
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.....
Girija
Kumar
Mathur
|
|
|
TOP
|
Amiya
Chakravarty
|
|
|
is why I am
And
I have loved
Asom like an
obstinate man
That is why
I am
To the world--my
salutations.
Ajit
Barua
|
|
|
hese
little darlings!
Atma
Singh Chitti
|
|
A human resplendence
prevails around.
Temples give out heavenly light.
Smiling gods
reign over skies.
The Ajanta figures frisk and
dance.
Caves
for ages mute
burst into song.
The bounty of spring for ever
abounds.
Beneficient 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.
Kaifi Azmi
|
|
|
TOP
|
TOP
|
|
, 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.
|
|
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 corc.
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.
|
|
|
|
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 ....
Balraj Komal
|
TOP
|
|
|
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 Dispensation.
The Lord blends in creation and breaks in
dissolution,
The Earth, Water, Fire, Air and Sky.
The blossom'd 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 Cod'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 compassion,
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 end.
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
Soul!
I am but a humble member of your company
of dancers called mankind.
Lord! the will to assign the role for me
is thine
And the duty to enact it so as to please
the world, is mine.
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 effect
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, mine;
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!
|
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.
Tirukkural
|
|
|
lloor Parameshwara Iyer (1877
- 1949)
|
|
|
|
TOP
|
|
