The Rhodra

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals fallen in the pool
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that, if eyes were made for seeing,
Then beauty is its own excuse for Being;
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask; I never knew;
But in my simple ignorance suppose
The self-same power that brought me there, brought you.

-The Rhodora is an poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson. It is a response to the question "whence is the flower". The poem is about the rhodora, a common flowering shrub, and the beauty of this shrub in its natural setting.

"What Is Success"

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded.

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Friendship

And a youth said, "Speak to us of Friendship."

Your friend is your needs answered.

He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay."

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, you grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

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

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

"Invictus" is a short poem by the English poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903).

My ancestors

You said
The Shudra is born from the feet of Brahma
And the Brahmin from his head
And they did not ask you
Where was Brahma born from?

You said
Service is the duty of the Shudra
They did not ask
What will you give for it?

You were happy
You now had slaves
They were happy too
Happy for you
They had put all their power
In your hands.

The body unclothed
The stomach unfed
Hurt, and yet
They smiled
For they saw you smiled.

They did not know
How to loot
The weak and the innocent!

Did not know
That murder
Is the badge of courage
That robbery is not a crime
It is but culture.

How innocent they were
My ancestors
Humane
Yet untouchable

- By Dalit poet and fiction writer, Omprakash Valmiki ; Translated from the Hindi by Pratik Kanjilal. [Source]

What would you do?

If you
Are thrown out of your village
Cannot draw water from the well
Are abused
In the screaming, echoing afternoon
Told to break stones
In place of real work
Are given leavings to eat
What would you do?


If you
Are told to drag away
Animal carcasses
And
Carry away the filth
Of a whole family
Given hand-me-downs to wear
What would you do?


If you
Are kept far from books
Far from the threshold
Of the temple of learning
If you are hung up like Jesus
On a blackened wall
In the light of an oil-lamp
What would you do?


If you
Have to live
In a hut of mud and straw
Which can be flattened by a breath
Or swept away in a night of rain
If you are told to sleep
In knee-deep water
What would you do?


If you
Have to swim against the current
To open the doors of pain
And do battle with hunger
Send your newlywed women
To the landlord’s mansion
On the first night
What would you do?


If you
Are denied in your own land
Made slave labour
Stripped of your rights
Your civilisation burned away
The pages of your glorious history
Torn to shreds
And thrown away
What would you do?


If you
Cannot vote
Are beaten bloody
Beaten in the name of democracy
And at every step reminded of
How insignificant your race is
If your life stinks
If your hands are raw
And yet they tell you
Dig canals, dig drains
What would you do?


If you
Are insulted in public
Your property is snatched away
In the name of religion
Your women told
To become devdasis
And made prostitutes
What would you do?


Your fair complexion
Would be burned black
Your eyes would be dry, dead
You could not write on paper
Satyam, Shivam, Sundaram.
Descendant of the gods, you
Would be lame, a cripple
If you had to live thus for ages
Like me
What would you do?

By Dalit poet and fiction writer, Omprakash Valmiki; Translated from the Hindi by Pratik Kanjilal. [Source]

भिक्षुक

वह आता--
दो टूक कलेजे के करता पछताता
पथ पर आता।

पेट पीठ दोनों मिलकर हैं एक,
चल रहा लकुटिया टेक,
मुट्ठी भर दाने को-- भूख मिटाने को
मुँह फटी पुरानी झोली का फैलाता--
दो टूक कलेजे के करता पछताता पथ पर आता।

साथ दो बच्चे भी हैं सदा हाथ फैलाये,
बायें से वे मलते हुए पेट को चलते,
और दाहिना दया दृष्टि-पाने की ओर बढ़ाये।
भूख से सूख ओठ जब जाते
दाता-भाग्य विधाता से क्या पाते?--
घूँट आँसुओं के पीकर रह जाते।
चाट रहे जूठी पत्तल वे सभी सड़क पर खड़े हुए,
और झपट लेने को उनसे कुत्ते भी हैं अड़े हुए!

- By Suryakant Tripathi Nirala