A Psalm of Life

What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist.

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

--- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली

मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !
स्पंदन में चिर निस्पंद बसा,
क्रंदन में आहत विश्व हँसा,
नयनो में दीपक से जलते,
पलकों में निर्झनी मचली !
मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !

मेरा पग पग संगीत भरा,
श्वांसों में स्वप्न पराग झरा,
नभ के नव रंग बुनते दुकूल,
छाया में मलय बयार पली !
मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !

मैं क्षितिज भृकुटी पर घिर धूमिल,
चिंता का भर बनी अविरल,
रज कण पर जल कण हो बरसी,
नव जीवन अंकुर बन निकली !
मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !

पथ न मलिन करते आना
पद चिन्ह न दे जाते आना
सुधि मेरे आगम की जग में
सुख की सिहरन हो अंत खिली !
मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !

विस्तृत नभ का कोई कोना
मेरा न कभी अपना होना
परिचय इतना इतिहास यही
उमटी कल थी मिट आज चली !
मैं नीर भरी दुःख की बदली !

-- Mahadevi Verma

Pity the nation

Pity the nation that is full of beliefs and empty of religion.

Pity the nation that wears a cloth it does not weave, eats a bread it does not harvest, and drinks a wine that flows not from its own wine-press.

Pity the nation that acclaims the bull as hero, and that deems the glittering conqueror bountiful.

Pity the nation that despises a passion in its dream, yet submits in its awakening.

Pity the nation that raises not its voice when it walks in a funeral, boasts not except among its ruins, and will rebel not save when its neck is laid between the sword and the block.

Pity the nation whose statesman is a fox, whose philosopher is a juggler, and whose art is the art of patching and mimicking.

Pity the nation that welcomes its new ruler with trumpetings and farewells him with hootings, only to welcome another with trumpetings again.

Pity the nation whose sages are dumb with years and whose strong men are yet in the cradle.

Pity the nation divided into fragments, each fragment deeming itself a nation.

--Khalil Gibran
The garden of the Prophet (1934)

Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said, "Speak to us of Children."

And he said:

Your children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts.

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as he loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

The poem is taken from 'The Prophet' a famous scholary work of Kahlil Gibran.

This Is What You Shall Do

This is what you shall do:

Love the earth and sun and the animals,

Despise riches, give alms to everyone that asks,

Stand up for the stupid and crazy,

Devote your income and labors to others,

Hate tyrants, argue not concerning God,

Have patience and indulgence toward the people,

Take off your hat to nothing known or unknown,

Or to any man or number of men,

Go freely with powerful uneducated persons,

And with the young and with the mothers of families,

Read these leaves in the open air,

Every season of every year of your life,

Reexamine all you have been told,

At school at church or in any book,

Dismiss whatever insults your own soul,

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.

-Walt Whitman

Ekla Chalo Re

यदि तोर डाक शुने केऊ न आसे
तबे एकला चलो रे।
एकला चलो, एकला चलो, एकला चलो रे!
यदि केऊ कथा ना कोय, ओरे, ओरे, ओ अभागा,
यदि सबाई थाके मुख फिराय, सबाई करे भय-
तबे परान खुले
ओ, तुई मुख फूटे तोर मनेर कथा एकला बोलो रे!


यदि सबाई फिरे जाय, ओरे, ओरे, ओ अभागा,
यदि गहन पथे जाबार काले केऊ फिरे न जाय-
तबे पथेर काँटा
ओ, तुई रक्तमाला चरन तले एकला दलो रे!


यदि आलो ना घरे, ओरे, ओरे, ओ अभागा-
यदि झड़ बादले आधार राते दुयार देय धरे-
तबे वज्रानले
आपुन बुकेर पांजर जालियेनिये एकला जलो रे!


If none heeds your cry to march together,
just walk alone, no if or whether.
If they answer not to thy call walk alone,


If they are afraid and cower mutely facing the wall,
O thou of evil luck,
open thy mind and speak out alone.


If they turn away, and desert you when crossing the wilderness,
O thou of evil luck,
trample the thorns under thy tread,
and along the blood-lined track travel alone.


If they do not hold up the light when the night is troubled with storm,
O thou of evil luck,
with the thunder flame of pain ignite thy own heart
and let it burn alone.

'Jodi Tor Dak Shune Keu Na Ashe' often shortened to Ekla Cholo Re (Walk Alone) is a song written by Rabindranath Tagore, part of the Rabindra Sangeet canon. It exhorts the listener to continue his or her journey, despite abandonment or lack of support from others. The song is often quoted in the context of political or social change movements;

Singing Across The Borders

We refuse to be enemies.
We refuse to use your words,
claim your politics,
accept your versions of history.
We will wear our anger
like a shroud,
we will hold our defiance
like a shield,
we will carry our compassion
like a sword.
We refuse to be enemies.
We refuse to believe
that hate is justified,
that peace is weak,
that conflict is endless.
We will sing
across the borders,
we will march
across the divisions,
we will fly our peace
like a flag.
We refuse to be enemies.

As a young undergraduate, Anasuya Sengupta famously wrote a poem, Silence, for Hillary Clinton during her 1995 India visit. It came to be quoted across the world by Clinton. A Rhodes scholar, PhD student and feminist, Anasuya continues to write poetry, and contributed this unpublished poem to Outlook's Independence Day issue.