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Shabaab (YOUTH)

Waqt ki andhiyon me udta ek khwab hai,
Zeest ke nisab ka ek haseen bab hai,
Jahan ki taqaton ka jo bus ek jawab hai,
Han yahi shabab hai, han yahi shabab hai.

Dagmate hain qadam antheron aur ujalo me,
Fans ke rah gaya her shakh husn ke sawalon me,
Zikr hai tera subh o sham ishq karne walo,
Chalte hain rahon me bus apne hi khayalo me.

Her qaum ki azmat ka wo jo ek nishaan hai,
Her inqalab ka jo hai dil aur uski shaan hai,
Rah-e-haq me badhne ko yun to her ek qurbaan,
Hai Khuda ko bhe fakhr agar aya koi jawaan hai.

poem by Mohammad Muzzammil
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Juleaftenen (Christmas Eve )

Hvo minnes ikke
et vær, han tror, ei himlen mer kan skikke?
et vær som om hver sjel, fra Kains til den,
Gud sist fordømte,
den jord forbannet, fra helvete rømte,
som fristet dem å svike himmelen?....
Et vær, hvis stemmes
forferdelser ei mere kan forglemmes?
Thi alle tenkte: det må være sendt
for min skyld ene;
orkanens tordner meg kun meg de mene;
min synd er blitt åndene bekjent...
Et vær, hvis styrke
kan lære prest og troende å dyrke
demoner i det element, hvis brak
den gamle høre
fra barnsben kan i sitt bemoste øre
et skyens jordskjelv, luftens dommedag?
Et vær, som rystet
den sterkes hjerte i dets skjul i brystet,
et himmelvær, hvori sitt eget navn
han påropt hørte
av ånder, stormene forbi ham førte,
mens hver en tretopp hylte som en ravn? Men ravnen gjemte
seg selv i klippen, ulven sulten temte,
og reven våget seg ikke ut.
I huset sluktes
hvert lys, og lenkehunden inneluktes....
I slikt vær, da får du bønner, Gud!

I slikt vær - det var en juleaften -
da natt det ble før dagens mål var fullt,
befant en gammel jøde, nær forkommen,
seg midt i Sverigs ørken, Tivedskogen.
Han ventedes til bygden denne side
fra bygdene på hin, for julens skyld,
av pikene med lengsel, thi i skreppen
lå spenner, bånd og alt hva de behøvde
for morgendagen, annen dag og nyttår.
Det gjorde lengselen spent, men ikke bange;
thi ennu hadde "Gamle-Jakob" aldri
dem sviktet noen jul: Han kom så visst
som juleaftenen selv.
"Tyss! var det atter stormen,
som hylte gjennom grenene? Det skrek.
Nu skriker det igjen." Og Gamle-Jakob
fluks stanser lyttende for annen gang.
Nu tier det. Thi stormen øker på,
som fossen drønner over den, der drukner.
Han vandrer atter. "Tyss! igjen en lyd!"

[...] Read more

poem by Henrik Wergeland
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Manden fra Paradiis

Der var engang en Enke -
Dog nei! jeg maa mig først betænke;
Hun havde været det, men var nu gift paany,
Med Een fra Thy;
(Det maae vi ikke glemme).

— En Aftenstund, da Manden ei var hjemme,
Sad hun med Haanden under Kind,
Selv Theemaskinen var en Smule sovet ind,
(Den ellers sang en Tone, reen og klar,
Og førte tidt ved Bordet den bedste Passiar).
Fra Jordens Taageland,
Fløi Tankerne til hendes første Mand;
Hun kunde ei den søde Sjæl forglemme,
Og ak! den anden var jo ikke hjemme,
— „Du har det godt!" udbrød hun, „fri for Nød
Du sidder i det abrahamske Skjød,
Og seer til os, der i den snevre Stue
Maa plages slemt af Hoste og af Snue!"

Hun taug og faldt igjen i Tanker,
Da hører hun, hvor det paa Døren banker;
Hun skotter hen til Krogen;
„Uh! er der Nogen?"
(Thi hun var bange for — ja det var hele Tingen -
At see en Aand i den, der havde før slet ingen).
Nu banker det igjen, og saa gaaer Døren op — -
Men det er ingen Aand, nei Een med Kjød og Krop!
Det er en Haandværkssvend, der nu har sprængt sit Buur,
Og gaaer fra By til By og seer paa Guds Natur;
Han gjør Visitter kun, for ei at smægte,
Sligt kalder man: at fægte.

Han var, det saae hun nok, en sælle Een,
Der gik i dette Liv paa sine egne Been;
Og som han sagde det, der noget laae i Tonen,
Der rørte Konen.
Hun spurgte ham, hvorfra han kom, hvorhen han gik;
Og Svaret, som hun fik,
Det var: han drog paa Bursche-Viis,
Nu gjennem Tydskland til Paris. -
Da blev hun i sit Hjerte glad,
Hun dækked' op med Øl og Mad,
Og sagde: „Sæt sig dog, og spiis!
Hvad, reiser han til Paradiis?
O, Herre Gud! i dette Land
Der har jeg jo min første Mand;
Hils ham fra mig og fra vor Datter,
Og hils ham ogsaa lidt fra Fatter!"

[...] Read more

poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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New Year Poem- Saal Naya Ho Deepak Kumar Deep

Is duniyan ki reet purani
baad subah ke hoti shaam
rang birangi is duniyan ka
hona ek din kam tamam.

Suraj chanda sabhi hain badle
badle dharti aur aasman
Jisam hain badle rab na badla
issi ko kahte hain bhagwan.

Prabhu amar aur avinashi
Iska kabhi bhi nash na hota
Issi se raushan duniyan sari
Bin iske prakash na hota.

karwat li hai waqut ne jab jab
Satyug, treta dwapar aaya
har yug me ye rup badlta
jaisa jab bhi samay hai aaya.

ho laddu kitna bhi tedda
par hum aam usse na kahte hain
jab raam ek hai is duniya ka
fir bhram me hum kyon rahte hain.

Apne bhi badal hain jaate
jab saya dukh ka aata hai
nirasha, dukh, takleef me
bas ye hi sath nibhata hai.

failao daman issi ke aage
sab issi ke mang ke khate hain
par murakh aur agyani log
kha ke iska isko aankh dikhte hain.

satguru pura rab dikhlata
har yug me ye aata hai
aaj bhi aaya ban hardev
aur gyan uzzala failata hai.

Aao satguru ke charnon me
ye hi rab dikhlayega
bhed tughe jo raam khuda me
uska bharam mitayega.

saal naya ho sabkikhatir
uzzawal aur mangalkari
bhukh garibi na ho kahi pe
deep, sukhi ho duniya sari.

[...] Read more

poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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School V/s College

Na hoti ye B. Tech, na hoti ye MD ki sheetey
Yaad aate hain yaaro, lamhe wo beetein

School ki wo masti yaad aati hai har pal
Yaad aata hain mujhko beet gaya jo kal

School mein jaate the padne hum saare
College mein jaate hain attendance ke maare

Teacher ko maante the tab hum guru
School mein jaate hi padhai shuru

Yahaan to chalti hai humari sarkar
Dooston ke sang maani kabhi na haar

School mein padte waqt hota tha competition
Yahaan aakar puchhte hain kab aayega math ka solution

School mein pocket mein hota tha pencil n rubber
Yahaan to class notes ki bhi nahi hai khabar

School mein jaate the hum sab padne, ghar pe sab kuch batana hain
College mein jana to girl friend dekhne ka ek bahana hain

School mein jaate waqt, har roj hote the paise
Yahaan purse to hain, lekin nahi hain paise

School mein hamesha jaane se pahle bag check kia
Yahaan to jo marji mila, wahe kagaj utha lia

Pen jeb mein hua nhi, ungli se kaam chalaya hai
Jisne ki hain college mein masti sukh to usne hi paaya hai

School mein hoti thi full attendance, yahhan to 60 ke liye bhi rote hain
Par sach bataun yaaro college mein hi sapne poore hote hain

poem by Ankit Gupta
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Gazal Badi Ajeeb hai ye Zindagi in hindi by deepak kumar deep

Badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi,
khushi ek pal ke liye
dukh verson baras ke liye
koi sukh chahta hai is jeevan me
to usse dukhon ki bhari bori hi mil jati hai
jahan foolon ke milne ki aaasha hai
wahan katon ki sej bich jati hai
Badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.....................

Kuch satya kuch ghooth
Kabhi aasha kabhi nirasha
kabhi sawpno ko pane ki lalasa
inhi me ulagh kar rah gayi hai zindagi
Badi ajeeb hai hai ye zindagi................

Kabhi jati kabhi varn
Kabhi bhasha kabhi dharm
viwadoke ghere me hai aaj ki sanskriti
kaise kahen, kya yahi hai zindagi?
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi...........

Pyar doge pyar milega
satkar doge samman milega
mehanat se har chij hai sambhav
kam se chori hai dukh ka anubhav
ham jaisa hain sochte nahi hai aisi zindagi?
fier bhi log kahte hain,
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.............

Manav jeevan ek baar hai mita
nahi milta hai barambar
har manav se pyar karen
nafrat ko de dutkar
Krodha chod dhairya apnayen
paap chod punya kamayen
ye dharti hai dharam ki
jitni marji fasal ugayen
Ek baar yatan kar dekhen-
Hai khusnasheeb ye zindagi
nahi hai ajeeb ye zindagifir bhi log kahte hai,
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.........

poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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The Regiment of Princes

Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse
Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde,
That othir thyng than fruyt of bittirnesse
Ne yildith naght, as I can undirstonde,
At Chestres In, right faste by the Stronde,
As I lay in my bed upon a nyght,
Thoght me byrefte of sleep the force and might. 1

And many a day and nyght that wikkid hyne
Hadde beforn vexed my poore goost
So grevously that of angwissh and pyne
No rycher man was nowhere in no coost.
This dar I seyn, may no wight make his boost
That he with thoght was bet than I aqweynted,
For to the deeth he wel ny hath me feynted.

Bysyly in my mynde I gan revolve
The welthe unseur of every creature,
How lightly that Fortune it can dissolve
Whan that hir list that it no lenger dure;
And of the brotilnesse of hir nature
My tremblynge herte so greet gastnesse hadde
That my spirites were of my lyf sadde.

Me fil to mynde how that nat longe agoo
Fortunes strook doun thraste estat rial
Into mescheef, and I took heede also
Of many anothir lord that hadde a fal.
In mene estat eek sikirnesse at al
Ne saw I noon, but I sy atte laste
Wher seuretee for to abyde hir caste.

In poore estat shee pighte hir pavyloun
To kevere hir fro the storm of descendynge 2
For shee kneew no lower descencion
Sauf oonly deeth, fro which no wight lyvynge
Deffende him may; and thus in my musynge
I destitut was of joie and good hope,
And to myn ese nothyng cowde I grope.

For right as blyve ran it in my thoght,
Thogh poore I be, yit sumwhat leese I may.
Than deemed I that seurtee wolde noght
With me abyde; it is nat to hir pay
Ther to sojourne as shee descende may.
And thus unsikir of my smal lyflode,
Thoght leide on me ful many an hevy lode.

I thoghte eek, if I into povert creepe,
Than am I entred into sikirnesse;

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Hoccleve
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The Canterbury Tales; the Wyves tale of Bathe

The Prologe of the Wyves tale of Bathe.

Experience, though noon auctoritee
Were in this world, were right ynogh to me
To speke of wo that is in mariage;
For, lordynges, sith I twelf yeer was of age,
Thonked be God, that is eterne on lyve,

Housbondes at chirche-dore I have had fyve-
For I so ofte have ywedded bee-
And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was toold, certeyn, nat longe agoon is,
That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but onis

To weddyng in the Cane of Galilee,
That by the same ensample, taughte he me,
That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
Herkne eek, lo, which a sharpe word for the nones,
Biside a welle Jesus, God and Man,

Spak in repreeve of the Samaritan.
'Thou hast yhad fyve housbondes,' quod he,
'And thilke man the which that hath now thee
Is noght thyn housbonde;' thus seyde he, certeyn.
What that he mente ther by, I kan nat seyn;

But that I axe, why that the fifthe man
Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
How manye myghte she have in mariage?
Yet herde I nevere tellen in myn age
Upon this nombre diffinicioun.

Men may devyne, and glosen up and doun,
But wel I woot expres withoute lye,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye;
That gentil text kan I wel understonde.
Eek wel I woot, he seyde, myn housbonde

Sholde lete fader and mooder, and take me;
But of no nombre mencioun made he,
Of bigamye, or of octogamye;
Why sholde men speke of it vileynye?
Lo, heere the wise kyng, daun Salomon;

I trowe he hadde wyves mo than oon-
As, wolde God, it leveful were to me
To be refresshed half so ofte as he-
Which yifte of God hadde he, for alle hise wyvys?
No man hath swich that in this world alyve is.

[...] Read more

poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Tentacles of Time

Sadho Ye Murdon Ka Gaon
Peer Mare, Pygambar Mari Hain
Mari Hain Zinda Jogi
Raja Mari Hain, Parja Mari Hain
Mari Hain Baid Aur Rogi
Chanda Mari Hain, Suraj Mari Hain
Mari Hain Dharni Akasa
Chaudan Bhuvan Ke Chaudhry Mari Hain
In Hun Ki Ka Asa
Nauhun Mari Hain, Dus Hun Mari Hain
Mari Hain Sahaj Athasi
Tethis Koti Devata Mari Hain
Badi Kaal Ki Bazi
Naam Anam Anant Rehat Hai
Duja Tatva Na Hoi
Kahe Kabir Suno Bhai Sadho
Bhatak Maro Mat Koi

English Translation

Oh Sadhu This is the Village of the Dead

The Saints Have Died, The God-Messengers Die
The Life-Filled Yogis Die Too |
The Kings Die, The Subjects Die
The Healers and the Sick Die Too ||

The Moon Dies, The Sun Dies
The Earth and Sky Die Too |
Even the Caretakers of the Fourteen Worlds Die
Why Hope For Any of These ||

The Nine Die, The Ten Die
The Eighty Eight Die Easily Too |
The Thirty Three Crore Devatas Die
It's a Big Game of Time ||

The Un-Named Naam Lives Without Any End
There is No Other Truth ||
Says Kabir Listen Oh Sadhu
Don't Get Lost and Die ||

poem by Kabir
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Ahead of the Stars

sitaaro.n se aage jahaa.N aur bhii hai.n
abhii ishq ke imtihaa.N aur bhii hai.n

taahii zindagii se nahii.n ye fazaaye.n
yahaa.N saika.Do.n kaaravaa.N aur bhii hai.n

kanaa'at na kar aalam-e-rang-o-bu par
chaman aur bhii, aashiyaa.N aur bhii hai.n

agar kho gayaa ek nasheman to kyaa Gam
maqaamaat-e-aah-o-fugaa.N aur bhii hai.n

tuu shahii.n hai parwaaz hai kaam teraa
tere saamane aasmaa.N aur bhii hai.n

isii roz-o-shab me.n ulajh kar na rah jaa
ke tere zamiin-o-makaa.N aur bhii hai.n

gae din kii tanhaa thaa mai.n a.njuman me.n
yahaa.N ab mere raazadaa.N aur bhii hai.n

poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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Do [Two] Ghazalein [ in Urdu]

-1-
Yeh zeest ke gham hain pyaloon mein na simtain ge
Oak se peete raho jab tak na dum nikley.
Ahsas toa hai tere dukh ka par aye dost main karoon kya
Duaien be-assar hain aur haath nahien kuchh mere.
Aaie jo laghzish-e-paa dikha na koi jo mujhe thaamey
Kahne ko toa rishton ka ik hajoom tha sang mere.
Musarat jo bhari jeevan mein ik bachhey ki kilkari nein
Paaband kiya siyaad nein go laakh hum tadpe.
Vaisey toa parvar nein bahut kuchh hai diya lekin
Mayusi ka yeh aalam hai mayusi hai sang mere.
-
-2-
Miltay hain jo dukh ahsasaat se janmein hain
Kisi aur ko dukh de kar rahat ko na tum dhoondo.
Go har shakhs begaana hai dukhoon mein ghira hai
Baaiss kisi ke dukh ka tum toa nahien sochho.
Dard ki tashadad se go umad aiengey aansoo
Palkon ko bana baand iss sailab ko tum roko.
Zarorat hi aadhaar hai rishton ki pakad ka
Tum toa iss tashkeek se hatt kar zara jee lo.
-
Jhoot aur fareb panaptey hain nafrat ki bunyaadon par
Rishton ki imarat kabhi in par nahien khadi hoti.
- [2012]

poem by Om Chawla
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Hindi Poem- Chehra

Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
Kitabo Ke Panne Palat Te Hue,
Kuch Khwab Bunte Hue,
Palko Tale Kuch Aansu Samete Hue,

Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
In Nain Naksho Ko Niharte Hue,
Apni Kamiyo Ko Dhundhte Hue,
Apni Majburi Par Rote Hue,

Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Kiya Tha Maine,
Kyu Kiya Tha Maine,
Kya Achi Nahi Thi Sirf Vo Jaan Pehchaan,
Ki Dena Chaha Use Mohabbat Ka Naam Maine,

Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kyu Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kara Gaya Mujhe Meri Badsurti,
Meri Kamiyo Ka Ehsas,
Aur Thukra Gaya Mujhe Itni Asani Se,

Kya Dil Nahi Tha Uske Paas,
Ya Un Shabdo Ki Mithaas Kahi Kho Gayi Thi,
Aakhir Kiya Kya Maine,
Jo Mere Ehsaso Ki Zamane Bhar Me Khilli Udayi Gayi Thi,
Bas Pyar Hi To Kiya Tha,
Use Apna Dil Hi To Diya Tha,
Phir Bhi Kyu Sabke Samne Ek Mazaak Ban Kar Reh Gayi Thi,

Par Galti To Thi Hi Meri,
Ki Uski Neeli Aankho Me Dubti Chali Gayi Thi,
Uski Har Hasi Me Ek Sapna Bunti Chali Gayi Thi,

Dosh Uska Nahi Mera Hain,
Sirf Main Aur Mera Yeh Badsurat Chehra Hain,
Phir Bhi Kyun Aaj Khud Ko Bikhra Sa Mehsus Karti Hu,
Shayad Is Chehre Ke Karan Kisi Ko Ab Apna Dil Dene Se Darti Hu,
Kyunki Bahut Gehra Hota Hain Is Dard Ka Ehsas,
Par Ab Karti Hu Yahi Ardas,
Ki Ae Khuda!

Is Chehre Ko Vo Noor De,
Ki Dekhne Vala Aur Kuch Soch Hi Na Paye,
Par Is Dil Ko Dildar De,
Jiske Pyar Ke Liye Yeh Umar Bhi Kam Pad Jaye,
Aur Jisne Mujhe Thukraya,
Use Khud Koi 'Na' Keh Jaye,
Aur Tab Shayad Use Apni Galti...

[...] Read more

poem by Apurva Jain
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Battle Of Hastings - I

O CHRYSTE, it is a grief for me to tell;
HOW manie a nobil erle and valrous knyghte
In fyghtynge for Kynge Harrold noblie fell,
Al sleyne in Hastyngs feeld in bloudie fyghte.
O sea! our teeming donore han thy floude,
Han anie fructuous entendement,
Thou wouldst have rose and sank wyth tydes of bloude,
Before Duke Wyllyam's knyghts han hither went;
Whose cowart arrows manie erles sleyne,
And brued the feeld wyth bloude as season rayne.

And of his knyghtes did eke full manie die,
All passyng hie, of mickle myghte echone,
Whose poygnant arrowes, typp'd with destynie,
Caus'd manie wydowes to make myckle mone.
Lordynges, avaunt, that chycken-harted are,
From out of hearynge quicklie now deparle;
Full well I wote, to synge of bloudie warre
Will greeve your tenderlie and mayden harte.
Go, do the weaklie womman inn mann's geare,
And scond your mansion if grymm war come there.

Soone as the erlie maten belle was tolde,
And sonne was come to byd us all good daie,
Bothe armies on the feeld, both brave and bolde,
Prepar'd for fyghte in champyon arraie.
As when two bulles, destynde for Hocktide fyghte,
Are yoked bie the necke within a sparre,
Theie rend the erthe, and travellyrs affryghte,
Lackynge to gage the sportive bloudie warre;
Soe lacked Harroldes menne to come to blowes,
The Normans lacked for to wielde their bowes.

Kynge Harrolde turnynge to hys leegemen spake;
My merrie men, be not caste downe in mynde;
Your onlie lode for aye to mar or make,
Before yon sunne has donde his welke, you'll fynde.
Your lovyng wife, who erst dyd rid the londe
Of Lurdanes, and the treasure that you han,
Wyll falle into the Normanne robber's honde,
Unlesse with honde and harte you plaie the manne.
Cheer up youre hartes, chase sorrowe farre awaie,
Godde and Seyncte Cuthbert be the worde to daie.

And thenne Duke Wyllyam to his knyghtes did saie;
My merrie menne, be bravelie everiche;
Gif I do gayn the honore of the daie,
Ech one of you I will make myckle riche.
Beer you in mynde, we for a kyngdomm fyghte;
Lordshippes and honores echone shall possesse;

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Kuch Naya Sa

Pee ke ladkhadana
aur ladkhada ke sambhal jana to saaki
Purani aadat thi,
Youn bin piye ladkhadana
aur ladkhadayee he jaana
yeh,
nayee bala hai.

Chot khakar dard me tadpna
aur tadap kar roo jana
to theek tha,
youn bina chot dard me chatpatana
aur chatpatahat mei chein pana,
yeh,
naya marz hai.

Jang me jeetna aur
uska jashn manana
Riwaz hai purana,
Youn bin lade sabkuch haar jaana
Phir haar ka jashn manana,
yeh,
Naya dastoor hai.

Kuch paana, aur paakar khona
Toh samajh aata hai,
Youn bin kuch paaye hi sab kuch khoo dena
yeh,
Naya sa ahsas hai.

Pee ke ladkhadana
aur ladkhada ke sambhal jana to saaki
Purani aadat thi,
Youn bin piye ladkhadana
aur ladkhadayee he jaana
yeh,
nayee bala hai.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Awareness poem in Hindi by Deepak kumar deep

Sadiyon se khamosh ye dharti
Pata dhoondh rahi hai insanon ka
Kash! Kahin koi mil jaye
Kya shahar hai ye veerano ka?

Dhadhak rahen hai dil par hoth hain band
Iltaza hai kuch kahne ki
Par! sari nakam koshish
Mai chala gaya tha mudon ke shahar me
The naam wahan gude huwe sunhare patthron par

Wo bebas the, chilla rahe the,
Ro rahe the apni lachari par
Zuban na thepaas unke, kuch kahne ko
Kyonki wo bebas the lachar the……
Jane laga jab wahan se main
Pukar rahi thi wo sari lashen mughe
Chilla chilla kar kar kah rahi thi-
Mat banna aise, jaise the mere karm
Yaad kar un baton ko, aati mughe abs harm
Banna tha jab narm mughe, huwa main narm
Andhvishwashon me ghira tha mera apna dharm….

Jao jakar bata do unko
Meri tarah hi unka hoga haal
Maine ta umernahi ki bhakti, sirf kiya dikhawa
Jo bana aaj ka sawal
Maine apna waqut gawaya, duniyawi such ko pane me
Shareer ko sajane me,
Imarte banana me,
Danga fasad karne karane me
Par zara bhi na diya dhyan
Manav jeevan sawarne me.

Murakhta aur pagalpan ki bhi had hoti hai
Maine samay ke satguru ko nahi pahchana
Sirf libas dekha, shaklon par dhokha khakar
Har yug me maine mara taana.

Main bhi kitna badnaseeb tha
Manjeel mere karib tha
Phir bhi daud raha tha paglon ki tarah
Wo waqut bhi kaisa ajeeb tha.
Khair! Min to apne kiye ki bhugat raha hoon
Par jao jakar kahna un ghamandi, ahankari, papai,
durachari, anachari, Vyabhichari, atyachari logon se

Kyon kar raha hai apne aap se gaddaari.
Kar le apne aapki pahchan
Kaun hai tu? Kya hai tera asthan?

[...] Read more

poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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Phagoon Ki Raasta Khoi Hawa

Kya dhoondhte hai?
Kyoun dhoondhte hai?
Kise dhoondhte hai?

Sara jahan hai..
Kabi mutthi me,
To kabhi
Kadmo tale,
Phir bhi jaane kya chahte hai?
Na jaane kis ki khoj me rehta hai,
dil bechara.

Kyon aasthir hai?
Itna asantust,
Itna vyakul ye mann mera?
Peeneko toh puri dariya hai
Na jaane phir kyoun lout aate hai
Pyase he kinare se
Lekar koi naam anjana.

Kyoun nahi chal paate hai
Un raasto par
Jis par chalta hai jag sara?
Na jaane kyoun bhatakte phirte hai
Pagdandi, pagdandi
Jangal, khalihan sara?

Shayad phagoon ki
Rasta khoyee hawa hain,
Kabhi ek tinke se jala dete hai
tamam umar ki kamaiee,
Kabhi usi tinke koi bana lete hai
Doobte ki parchyee.

Kya dhoondhte hai?
Kyoun dhoondhte hai?
Kise dhoondhte hai?

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Neither I

Hamne nahi chhoda ummedo ka sagar
Per nadiyonse bhi lagav rakha hai, pyar
Vo jahan bhi mil jaye bus apana hai
Baki samjo sab dusreka aur paraya hai

Neither have I left the hope for happy ocean
Not given up the attachment for rivers
They belong to me for wherever they are
Rest all belong to some one and not me

Lut machi hai to machne do
Ham to man chale hai aur man ko khub machalnedo
Sathhiyoko chhod janedo aur bhul janedo
Waqt ko thoda aaram to denedo

Let there be looting spree AND GO ONND GO ON
WE ARE WORRY FREE AND NEVER FROWN UPON
LET FRIENDS DESERT AND FORGET US
TIME MSUT BE GIVEN AIR CHANCE AND TIME

Hum gale laga lenge yedi koi mil jata hai
Saath ho pal bharka fir bhi manjur hai
Payar ko pana hi to mushkil hai
Baki sub kuchh to aaasan hai

I shall greet if someone meets on the way
Even if that is for quite few moment
Love is difficult to attain or get
I care little as it doesn’t belong to met

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Magic Bus

Every day I get in the queue (too much, magic bus)
To get on the bus that takes me to you (too much, magic bus)
Im so nervous, I just sit and smile (too much, magic bus)
You house is only another mile (too much, magic bus)
Thank you, driver, for getting me here (too much, magic bus)
Youll be an inspector, have no fear (too much, magic bus)
I dont want to cause no fuss (too much, magic bus)
But can I buy your magic bus? (too much, magic bus)
Nooooooooo!
I dont care how much I pay (too much, magic bus)
I wanna drive my bus to my baby each day (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ... (you cant have it!)
Thruppence and sixpence every day
Just to drive to my baby
Thruppence and sixpence each day
cause I drive my baby every way
Magic bus, magic bus, magic bus ...
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I said, now Ive got my magic bus (too much, magic bus)
I drive my baby every way (too much, magic bus)
Each time I go a different way (too much, magic bus)
I want it, I want it, I want it, I want it ...
Every day youll see the dust (too much, magic bus)
As I drive my baby in my magic bus (too much, magic bus)

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Halke Halke se

Ye hume halke halke se
Kya hone laga hai?
Kora kagaz humara
Rangoo se bharne laga hai,
Ya humari nazre hi rangeen ho chali hai?

Hum badal rahe hai,
Ya aaina badal gaya hai,
Kuch din huai
Bada raas aane laga hai.

Dekhte hai, nayano me
Kajal khoob bhane laga hai,
Ye humare nayan badal gaye hai
Ya phir kajal hi badal chala hai.

Tum sang,
Choori ke chand lamho mei
Jee lete hai aapni,
Aarso ki jindagi,
Ye lamhe jindagi ban chale hai,
Ya jindagi lamho mei simat chalee hai.

Tum me hum me hai janmoo ka phasla
Tum parayee,
Hum ek doosri duniya me base basayee.
Ye kya hone laga hai?
Janmoo ka phasla kam ho raha hai,
Ya, tamam janm ise janam me mil gaya hai.

Tum parayee hokar bhi,
Aapne se lag rahe ho.
Ye parayee aapne ho gaye hai,
Ya hum khud se parayee ho chale hai.

Ye hume halke halke se
Kya hoone laga hai…..?

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Na Janee

Na janee kitna kah gayee
Aur
Kitna chipaa gaye.
Na janee kya kya likh gayee
Aur
Kitna mittaa gaye.
Manzil nahi hai
Aur
Na koi raasta
Phir bhi,
Anjaan se rahoo mai
Na janee kyon nikal pade.
Na janee Kaha se nikle the
Aur
Kaha pahuch gaye.
Na janee kya gila hai
Aur
Kis se shikwa kare
Belabz dastan hai
Na janee kis kis ko
Kya kya bayan kare.
Na janee dhadkanee aapni hi hai
Ya hai paraiee
Bahut toka humne
phir bhi
Na janee kyon yo betok dhadak gayee.
Dard ka shouk nahi hai,
Na gamo se koiee wasta,
Phir bhi
Na janee kyon dard shoukh se ban rahe hai
Aur
Gamoo se kuch nata sa ho chala hai.
Na janee kaha ko nikle the
Na janee kaha pahuch gayee..-anjali

poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Canterbury Tales; the Seconde Nonnes Tale

The Prologe of the Seconde Nonnes Tale.

The ministre and the norice unto vices,
Which that men clepe in Englissh ydelnesse,
That porter of the gate is of delices,
To eschue, and by hir contrarie hir oppresse,
(That is to seyn by leveful bisynesse),
Wel oghten we to doon al oure entente,
Lest that the feend thurgh ydelnesse us shente.

For he, that with hise thousand cordes slye
Continuelly us waiteth to biclappe,
Whan he may man in ydelnesse espye,
He kan so lightly cacche hym in his trappe,
Til that a man be hent right by the lappe,
He nys nat war the feend hath hym in honde.
Wel oghte us werche, and ydelnesse withstonde.

And though men dradden nevere for to dye,
Yet seen men wel by resoun, doutelees,
That ydelnesse is roten slogardye,
Of which ther nevere comth no good encrees;
And seen that slouthe hir holdeth in a lees,
Oonly to slepe, and for to ete and drynke,
And to devouren al that othere swynke.

And for to putte us fro swich ydelnesse,
That cause is of so greet confusioun,
I have heer doon my feithful bisynesse,
After the legende, in translacioun
Right of thy glorious lyf and passioun,
Thou with thy gerland wroght with rose and lilie,
Thee meene I, mayde and martir, seint Cecilie.

Invocacio ad Mariam.

And thow that flour of virgines art alle,
Of whom that Bernard list so wel to write,
To thee at my bigynnyng first I calle,
Thou confort of us wrecches, do me endite
Thy maydens deeth, that wan thurgh hir merite

The eterneel lyf, and of the feend victorie,
As man may after reden in hir storie.

Thow mayde and mooder, doghter of thy sone,
Thow welle of mercy, synful soules cure,
In whom that God for bountee chees to wone,
Thow humble and heigh, over every creature
Thow nobledest so ferforth oure nature,

[...] Read more

poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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