SHAPER SHAPED

In days gone by I used to be
A potter who would feel
His fingers mould the yielding clay
To patterns on his wheel;

But now, through wisdom lately-won,
That pride has died away:
I have ceased to be the potter
And have learned to be the clay.
In bygone times I used to be
A poet through whose pen
Innumerable songs would come
To win the hearts of men;

But now, through new-got knowledge
Which I hadn’t had so long,
I have ceased to be the poet
And have learned to be the song.
I was a fashioner of swords,
In days that now are gone,
Which on a hundred battlefields
Glittered and gleamed and shone;

And now that I am brimming with
The silence of the lord,
I have ceased to be sword-maker
And have learned to be the sword.
In other days I used to be
A dreamer who would hurl
On every side an insolence
Of emerald and pearl;

But now that I am kneeling
At the feet of the supreme,
I have ceased to be the dreamer
And learned to be the dream.

---Harindranath Chattopadhyay

Laugh, and the world laughs with you

Laugh, and the world laughs with you:

Weep, and you weep alone;
For the sad old earth
Must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air;
The echoes bound
To a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go;
They want full measure
Of all your pleasure,
But they do not want your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all;
There are none to decline
Your nectar'd wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by;
Succeed and give,
And it helps you live,
But it cannot help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train;
But one by one
We must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

--- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
(from her poem Solitude published later in Poems of Passion)

जब भी अपने आपसे ग़द्दार हो जाते हैं लोग

जब भी अपने आपसे ग़द्दार हो जाते हैं लोग
ज़िन्दगी के नाम पर धिक्कार हो जाते हैं लोग

सत्य और ईमान के हिस्से में हैं गुमनामियाँ
साज़िशें बुन कर मगर अवतार हो जाते हैं लोग

बेच देते हैं सरे—बाज़ार वो जिस्मो—ज़मीर
भूख से जब भी कभी लाचार हो जाते हैं लोग

रात भर मशगूल रहते हैं अँधेरों में कहीं
और अगली सुबह का अखबार हो जाते हैं लोग

फिर कबीलों का न जाने हश्र क्या होगा, जहाँ
नोंक पर बंदूक की सरदार हो जाते हैं लोग

मतलबों की भीड़ जब—जब कुलबुलाती है यहाँ
हमने देखा है बड़े मक़्क़ार हो जाते हैं लोग

साहिलों पर बैठ तन्हा ‘द्विज’! भला क्या इन्तज़ार
आज हैं इस पार कल उस पार हो जाते हैं लोग

--- द्विजेन्द्र 'द्विज'