ईन्तेसाब - आज के नाम

ईन्तेसाब
आज के नाम

आज के नाम
और
आज के ग़म के नाम
आज का ग़म कि है ज़िन्दगी के भरे गुलसिताँ से ख़फ़ा
ज़र्द पत्तों का बन
ज़र्द पत्तों का बन जो मेरा देस है
दर्द का अंजुमन जो मेरा देस है
किलर्कों की अफ़सुर्दा जानों के नाम
किर्मख़ुर्दा दिलों और ज़बानों के नाम
पोस्ट-मैंनों के नाम
टांगेवालों के नाम
रेलबानों के नाम
कारख़ानों के भोले जियालों के नाम
बादशाह्-ए-जहाँ, वालि-ए-मासिवा, नएबुल्लाह-ए-फ़िल-अर्ज़, दहकाँ के नाम

जिस के ढोरों को ज़ालिम हँका ले गये
जिस की बेटी को डाकू उठा ले गये
हाथ भर ख़ेत से एक अंगुश्त पटवार ने काट ली है
दूसरी मालिये के बहाने से सरकार ने काट ली है
जिस के पग ज़ोर वालों के पाँवों तले
धज्जियाँ हो गयी हैं

उन दुख़ी माँओं के नाम
रात में जिन के बच्चे बिलख़ते हैं और
नींद की मार खाये हुए बाज़ूओं से सँभलते नहीं
दुख बताते नहीं
मिन्नतों ज़ारियों से बहलते नहीं

उन हसीनाओं के नाम
जिनकी आँखों के गुल
चिलमनों और दरिचों की बेलों पे बेकार खिल खिल के
मुर्झा गये हैं
उन ब्याहताओं के नाम
जिनके बदन
बेमोहब्बत रियाकार सेजों पे सज-सज के उकता गये हैं
बेवाओं के नाम
कतड़ियों और गलियों, मुहल्लों के नाम
जिनकी नापाक ख़ाशाक से चाँद रातों
को आ-आ के करता है अक्सर वज़ू
जिनकी सायों में करती है आहो-बुका
आँचलों की हिना
चूड़ियों की खनक
काकुलों की महक
आरज़ूमंद सीनों की अपने पसीने में जलने की बू

पड़नेवालों के नाम
वो जो असहाब-ए-तब्लो-अलम
के दरों पर किताब और क़लम
का तकाज़ा लिये, हाथ फैलाये
पहुँचे, मगर लौट कर घर न आये
वो मासूम जो भोलेपन में
वहाँ अपने नंहे चिराग़ों में लौ की लगन
ले के पहुँचे जहाँ
बँट रहे थे घटाटोप, बे-अंत रातों के साये
उन असीरों के नाम
जिन के सीनों में फ़र्दा के शबताब गौहर
जेलख़ानों की शोरीदा रातों की सर-सर में
जल-जल के अंजुम-नुमाँ हो गये हैं

आनेवाले दिनों के सफ़ीरों के नाम
वो जो ख़ुश्बू-ए-गुल की तरह
अपने पैग़ाम पर ख़ुद फ़िदा हो गये हैं

--- फ़ैज़ अहमद फ़ैज़
This is the video weblink of the poetry reading .

एक बूँद सहसा उछली

मैने देखा :

एक बूँद सहसा

उछली सागर के झाग से -

रंगी गयी छण भर

ढलते सूरज की आग से !

- मुझको दीख गया :

हर आलोक-छुआ अपनापन

है उन्मोचन

नश्वरता के दाग से !

--- अज्ञेय

Breathes there the man...

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
“This is my own, my native land!”
Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

- Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832). It is a fragment from his narrative poem, “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” (1805)

The Mask of Anarchy

Percy Bysshe Shelley - Written on the occasion of the massacre carried out by the British Government at Peterloo, Manchester 1819

As I lay asleep in Italy
There came a voice from over the Sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

I met Murder on the way -
He had a mask like Castlereagh -
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven blood-hounds followed him:

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed the human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Eldon, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knocked out by them.

Clothed with the Bible, as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like Sidmouth, next, Hypocrisy
On a crocodile rode by.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like Bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

Last came Anarchy: he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

And he wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
On his brow this mark I saw -
'I AM GOD, AND KING, AND LAW!'

With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he passed,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoring multitude.

And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.

And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the Pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down;
Till they came to London town.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
The hired murderers, who did sing
'Thou art God, and Law, and King.

'We have waited, weak and lone
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our Purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold.'

Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed;
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering - 'Thou art Law and God.' -

Then all cried with one accord,
'Thou art King, and God and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!'

And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education
Had cost ten millions to the nation.

For he knew the Palaces
Of our Kings were rightly his;
His the sceptre, crown and globe,
And the gold-inwoven robe.

So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned Parliament

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair,
And she cried out in the air:

'My father Time is weak and gray
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!

He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me -
Misery, oh, Misery!'

Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting, with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.

When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak, and frail
Like the vapour of a vale:

Till as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crowned giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

It grew - a Shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.

On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the Morning's, lay;
And those plumes its light rained through
Like a shower of crimson dew.

With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men - so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked, - but all was empty air.

As flowers beneath May's footstep waken,
As stars from Night's loose hair are shaken,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

And the prostrate multitude
Looked - and ankle-deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:

And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death tameless as wind
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.

A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense awakening and yet tender
Was heard and felt - and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose

As if their own indignant Earth
Which gave the sons of England birth
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe

Had turned every drop of blood
By which her face had been bedewed
To an accent unwithstood, -
As if her heart had cried aloud:

'Men of England, heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty Mother,
Hopes of her, and one another;

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.

'What is Freedom? - ye can tell
That which slavery is, too well -
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

'Tis to work and have such pay
As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell,

'So that ye for them are made
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade,
With or without your own will bent
To their defence and nourishment.

'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak,
When the winter winds are bleak, -
They are dying whilst I speak.

'Tis to hunger for such diet
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye;

'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from Toil a thousandfold
More that e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old.

'Paper coin - that forgery
Of the title-deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.

'Tis to be a slave in soul
And to hold no strong control
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.

'And at length when ye complain
With a murmur weak and vain
'Tis to see the Tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you -
Blood is on the grass like dew.

'Then it is to feel revenge
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood - and wrong for wrong -
Do not thus when ye are strong.

'Birds find rest, in narrow nest
When weary of their wingèd quest
Beasts find fare, in woody lair
When storm and snow are in the air.

'Asses, swine, have litter spread
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one -
Thou, Oh, Englishman, hast none!

'This is slavery - savage men
Or wild beasts within a den
Would endure not as ye do -
But such ills they never knew.

'What art thou Freedom? O! could slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand - tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery:

'Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the cave of Fame.

'For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread
From his daily labour come
In a neat and happy home.

'Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude -
No - in countries that are free
Such starvation cannot be
As in England now we see.

'To the rich thou art a check,
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim, thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.

'Thou art Justice - ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold
As laws are in England - thou
Shield'st alike the high and low.

'Thou art Wisdom - Freemen never
Dream that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue
Of which Priests make such ado.

'Thou art Peace - never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul.

'What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth, even as a flood?
It availed, Oh, Liberty,
To dim, but not extinguish thee.

'Thou art Love - the rich have kissed
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free
And through the rough world follow thee,

'Or turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy belovèd sake
On wealth, and war, and fraud - whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.

'Science, Poetry, and Thought
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.

'Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless
Art thou - let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.

'Let a great Assembly be
Of the fearless and the free
On some spot of English ground
Where the plains stretch wide around.

'Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be
Witness the solemnity.

'From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every hut, village, and town
Where those who live and suffer moan,

'From the workhouse and the prison
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young and old
Groan for pain, and weep for cold -

'From the haunts of daily life
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares
Which sows the human heart with tares -

'Lastly from the palaces
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around

'Those prison halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wail
As must make their brethren pale -

'Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold -

'Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free -

'Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.

'Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.

Let the charged artillery drive
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.

'Let the fixèd bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood
Looking keen as one for food.

'Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.

'Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war,

'And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armèd steeds
Pass, a disregarded shade
Through your phalanx undismayed.

'Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute,

'The old laws of England - they
Whose reverend heads with age are gray,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo - Liberty!

'On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.

'And if then the tyrants dare
Let them ride among you there,
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew, -
What they like, that let them do.

'With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay
Till their rage has died away.

'Then they will return with shame
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek.

'Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand -
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street.

'And the bold, true warriors
Who have hugged Danger in wars
Will turn to those who would be free,
Ashamed of such base company.

'And that slaughter to the Nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular;
A volcano heard afar.

'And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -

'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'

कभी कभी

कभी कभी मेरे दिल में ख्याल आता है

के ज़िंदगी तिरी जुल्फों के नर्म सायों में
गुजरने पाती तो शादाब हो भी सकती थी
ये तीरगी जो मेरी जीस्त का मुकद्दर है
तेरी नज़र कि शुआयों में खो भी सकती थी

अजब ना था कि मैं बेगाना-ऐ-आलम रह कर
तिरी जमाल कि रानाइयों में खो रहता
तिरा गुदाज़ बदन तेरी नीमबाज़ आंखें
इन्हीं हसीन फसानों में महव हो रहता

पुकारती मुझे जब तल्खियां ज़माने की
तिरे लबों से हलावत के घूँट पी लेता
हयात चीखती फिरती बरहना सर और मैं
घनेरी ज़ुल्फ के साए में छुप के जी लेता

मगर ये हो ना सका और अब ये आलम है
के तू नहीं, तिरा गम ,तेरी जुस्तजू भी नहीं
गुज़र रही है कुछ इस तरह ज़िंदगी जैसे
इसे किसी के सहारे कि आरजू भी नहीं

ज़माने भर के दुखों को लगा चुका हूँ गले
गुज़र रहा हूँ कुछ अनजानी रह गुजारों से
मुहीब साए मेरी सम्त बढ़ते आते हैं
हयात-ओ-मौत के पुरहौल खारज़ारों से

ना कोई जादा, ना मंजिल, ना रोशनी का सुराग
भटक रही है खलायों में जिंदगी मेरी
इन्हीं खलायों में रह जाऊंगा कभी खोकर
मैं जानता हूँ मेरी हमनफस मगर यूंही

कभी कभी मेरे दिल में ख़याल आता है

---साहिर लुध्यानवी

एक असैनिक व्यथा...

दोस्त मेरे !
अच्छे लगते हो
अपनी आवाज बुलंद करते हुये
मुल्क के हर दूसरे मुद्दे पर
जब-तब, अक्सर ही
कि
शब्द तुम्हारे गुलाम हैं
कि
कलम तुम्हारी है कनीज़

बहुत भाते हो तुम
ओ कामरेड मेरे !
कवायद करते हुये
सूरज को मिलते अतिरिक्त धूप के खिलाफ
बादल को हासिल अनावश्यक पानी के विरूद्ध

बुरे तब भी नहीं लगते,
यकीन जानो,
जब तौलते हो तुम
चंद गिने-चुनों की कारगुजारियों पर
पूरी बिरादरी के वजन को
और तब भी नहीं
इंगित करते हो अपनी ऊँगलियाँ जब
दमकती वर्दी की कलफ़ में लगे
कुछ अनचाहे धब्बों पर

बेशक
शेष वर्दी कितनी ही
दमक रही हो,
तुम्हारी पारखी नजरें
ढ़ूँढ़ ही निकालती हैं धब्बों को

पसंद आता है
ये पैनापन तुम्हारी
नजरों का
कि
प्रेरित होता हूँ मैं इनसे
इन्हीं की तर्ज पर
पूरे दिल्लीवालों को
बलात्कारी कहने के लिये

नहीं, मैं नहीं कहता,
आँकड़े कहते हैं
"मुल्क की राजधानी में होते हैं
सबसे अधिक बलात्कार"
तुम्हारे शब्दों को ही उधार लेकर
पूरी दिल्ली को ये विशेषण देना
फिर अनुचित तो नहीं...?

कुछ इरोम शर्मिलाओं संग
एक मुट्ठी भर नुमाइंदों द्वारा
की गयी नाइंसाफी का तोहमत
तुम भी तो जड़ते हो
पूरे कुनबे पर

सफर में हुई चंद बदतमिजियों
की तोहमतें
तुम भी तो लगाते हो
तमाम तबके पर

...तो क्या हुआ
कि उन मुट्ठी भर नुमाइंदों के
लाखों अन्य भाई-बंधु
खड़े रहते हैं शून्य से नीचे
की कंपकपाती सर्दी में भी
मुस्तैद सतर्क चपल
चौबीसों घंटे

...तो क्या हुआ
कि उन चंद बदतमिजों के
हजारों अन्य संगी-साथी
तुम्हारे पसीने से ज्यादा
अपना खून बहाते हैं
हर रोज

तुम्हें भान नहीं
मित्र मेरे,
कि
इन लाखों भाई-बंधु
इन हजारों संगी-साथी
की सजग ऊँगलियाँ
जमी रहती हैं राइफल के ट्रिगर पर
तो शब्द बने रहते हैं गुलाम तुम्हारे
तो बनी रहती है कनीज़ तुम्हारी कलम
तो हक़ बना रहता है तुम्हारा
खुद को बुद्धिजीवी कहलाने का

सच कहता हूँ
जरा भी बुरे नहीं लगते तुम
हमसाये मेरे
कि
तुम्हारे गुलाम शब्दों का दोषारोपन
तुम्हारी कनीज़ कलम के लगाये इल्जाम
प्रेरक बनते हैं
मेरे कर्तव्य-पालन में
तुम्हीं कहो
कैसे नहीं अच्छे लगोगे
फिर तुम,
ऐ दोस्त मेरे...

--- गौतम राजरिशी

Poem taken from his blog and can be read there also.

If

f you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

--- Rudyard_Kipling

Can you imprison poetry?

‘While briefly chilled, I want to tell
without vengeance and what’s more with joy
how from my bed in Buenos Aires
the police took me to prison.
It was late, we had just arrived from Chile,
and without saying anything to us
they plundered my friend’s papers,
they offended the house in which I slept,
My wife vented her disdain
but there were orders to be executed
and in a moving car we roved about
the tyrannous black night.
They it was not Peron, it was another,
a new tyrant for Argentina
and by his orders doors opened,
bolt after bolt was unlocked
in order to swallow me, the patios passed,
forty bars and the infirmary,
but still they took me up into a cell,
the most impenetrable and hidden:
only there did they feel protected
from the exhalations of my poetry.’

--- Pablo Neruda

AUF WIEDERSEHEN (Until we meet again!)

Of the familiar words, that men repeat
At parting in the street.
Ah yes, till then! but when death intervening
Rends us asunder, with what ceaseless pain
We wait for the Again!

The friends who leave us do not feel the sorrow
Of parting, as we feel it, who must stay
Lamenting day by day,
And knowing, when we wake upon the morrow,
We shall not find in its accustomed place
The one beloved face.

It were a double grief, if the departed,
Being released from earth, should still retain
A sense of earthly pain;
It were a double grief, if the true-hearted,
Who loved us here, should on the farther shore
Remember us no more.

Believing, in the midst of our afflictions,
That death is a beginning, not an end,
We cry to them, and send
Farewells, that better might be called predictions,
Being fore-shadowings of the future, thrown
Into the vast Unknown.

Faith overleaps the confines of our reason,
And if by faith, as in old times was said,
Women received their dead
Raised up to life, then only for a season
Our partings are, nor shall we wait in vain
Until we meet again!


--- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Written in memory of the Poet's long time friend and publisher, Mr James T. Fields..)

आंसू

आंखों में पानी देख

 कहीं तुम्हे रोने का भ्रम ना हो जाए

 तुम नहीं जानते कि रोते हुए , 

आंसू बाहर नहीं अन्दर गिरते हैं 

 --- गुरमीत बराङ

Concert in the Garden

Concert in the Garden

It rained.
The hour is an enormous eye.
Inside it we come and go like reflections.
The river of music
enters my blood.
If I say body, it answers wind.
If I say earth, it answers where?

The world, a double blossom, opens:
sadness of having come,
joy of being here.

I walk lost in my own center.


by Octavio Paz
from The Collected Poems 1957-1987;
Carcanet Press Limited

Concierto en el Jardín

Llovío.
La hora es un ojo inmenso.
En ella andamos como reflejos.
El río de la música
entra en mi sangre.
Si digo: cuerpo, contesta: viento.
Si digo: tierra, contesta: ¿dónde?

Se abre, flor doble, el mundo:
tristeza de haber venido,
alegría de estar aquí.

Ando perdido en mi propio centro.

Octavio Paz

कभी ख़ुद पे, कभी हालात पे रोना आया

कभी ख़ुद पे, कभी हालात पे रोना आया ।
बात निकली तो हर एक बात पे रोना आया ॥

हम तो समझे थे कि हम भूल गए हैं उन को ।
क्या हुआ आज, यह किस बात पे रोना आया ?

किस लिए जीते हैं हम, किसके लिए जीते हैं ?
बारहा ऐसे सवालात पे रोना आया ॥

कौन रोता है किसी और की ख़ातिर, ऐ दोस्त !
सब को अपनी ही किसी बात पे रोना आया ॥

--- Sahir ludhianvi

कुछ इशारे थे जिन्हें दुनिया समझ बैठे थे हम

कुछ इशारे थे जिन्हें दुनिया समझ बैठे थे हम
उस निगाह-ए-आशना को क्या समझ बैठे थे हम

रफ़्ता रफ़्ता ग़ैर अपनी ही नज़र में हो गये
वाह री ग़फ़्लत तुझे अपना समझ बैठे थे हम

होश की तौफ़ीक़ भी कब अहल-ए-दिल को हो सकी
इश्क़ में अपने को दीवाना समझ बैठे थे हम

बेनियाज़ी को तेरी पाया सरासर सोज़-ओ-दर्द
तुझ को इक दुनिया से बेगाना समझ बैठे थे हम

भूल बैठी वो निगाह-ए-नाज़ अहद-ए-दोस्ती
उस को भी अपनी तबीयत का समझ बैठे थे हम

हुस्न को इक हुस्न की समझे नहीं और ऐ 'फ़िराक़'
मेहरबाँ नामेहरबाँ क्या क्या समझ बैठे थे हम |

--- Firaq Gorakhpuri

I Don't Wield Weapons:

I Don't Wield Weapons:
Mother
When I came out of your
womb no sword was gifted
nor gun
nor bomb;
you endowed me only a life.
Now
should I protest in regret
Condemning you
Pulling you out of the
grave!

--- Thoudam Netrajit Singh

Khwaab Martay Naheen

ख़्वाब मरते नहीं
ख़्वाब दिल हैं न आँखें न साँसें कि जो
रेज़ा-रेज़ा[1] हुए तो बिखर जाएँगे
जिस्म की मौत से ये भी मर जाएँगे
ख़्वाब मरते नहीं
ख़्वाब तो रोशनी हैं नवा हैं[2] हवा हैं
जो काले पहाड़ों से रुकते नहीं
ज़ुल्म के दोज़खों से भी फुकते नहीं
रोशनी और नवा के अलम
मक़्तलों[3] में पहुँचकर भी झुकते नहीं
ख़्वाब तो हर्फ़[4] हैं
ख़्वाब तो नूर[5] हैं
ख़्वाब सुक़रात [6] हैं
ख़्वाब मंसूर[7]हैं.

--- अहमद फ़राज़

1-↑ कण-कण
2-↑ आवाज़
3-↑ वधस्थल
4-↑ अक्षर
5-↑ प्रकाश
6-↑ जिन्हें सच कहने के लिए ज़ह्र का प्याला पीना पड़ा था
7- ↑ एक वली(महात्मा) जिन्होंने ‘अनलहक़’ (मैं ईश्वर हूँ) कहा था और इस अपराध के लिए उनकी गर्दन काट डाली गई थी

(Dreams Do Not Die)
Dreams are not heart, nor eyes or breath
Which shattered, will scatter (or)
Die with the death of the body.

Dreams do not die.
But dreams are light, voice, wind,
Which cannot be stopped by mountains black,
Which do not perish in the hells of cruelty,
Ensigns of light and voice and wind,
Bow not, even in abattoirs.

But dreams are letters,
But dreams are illumination,
Dreams are Socrates,
Dreams - Divine Victory!'

आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी

आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी,
यही हुई है राय जवाहरलाल की
रफ़ू करेंगे फटे-पुराने जाल की
यही हुई है राय जवाहरलाल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

आओ शाही बैण्ड बजायें,
आओ बन्दनवार सजायें,
खुशियों में डूबे उतरायें,
आओ तुमको सैर करायें--
उटकमंड की, शिमला-नैनीताल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

तुम मुस्कान लुटाती आओ,
तुम वरदान लुटाती जाओ,
आओ जी चांदी के पथ पर,
आओ जी कंचन के रथ पर,
नज़र बिछी है, एक-एक दिक्पाल की
छ्टा दिखाओ गति की लय की ताल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

सैनिक तुम्हें सलामी देंगे
लोग-बाग बलि-बलि जायेंगे
दॄग-दॄग में खुशियां छ्लकेंगी
ओसों में दूबें झलकेंगी
प्रणति मिलेगी नये राष्ट्र के भाल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

बेबस-बेसुध, सूखे-रुखडे़,
हम ठहरे तिनकों के टुकडे़,
टहनी हो तुम भारी-भरकम डाल की
खोज खबर तो लो अपने भक्तों के खास महाल की !
लो कपूर की लपट
आरती लो सोने की थाल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

भूखी भारत-माता के सूखे हाथों को चूम लो
प्रेसिडेन्ट की लंच-डिनर में स्वाद बदल लो, झूम लो
पद्म-भूषणों, भारत-रत्नों से उनके उद्गार लो
पार्लमेण्ट के प्रतिनिधियों से आदर लो, सत्कार लो
मिनिस्टरों से शेकहैण्ड लो, जनता से जयकार लो
दायें-बायें खडे हज़ारी आफ़िसरों से प्यार लो
धनकुबेर उत्सुक दीखेंगे उनके ज़रा दुलार लो
होंठों को कम्पित कर लो, रह-रह के कनखी मार लो
बिजली की यह दीपमालिका फिर-फिर इसे निहार लो

यह तो नयी नयी दिल्ली है, दिल में इसे उतार लो
एक बात कह दूं मलका, थोडी-सी लाज उधार लो
बापू को मत छेडो, अपने पुरखों से उपहार लो
जय ब्रिटेन की जय हो इस कलिकाल की !
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !
रफ़ू करेंगे फटे-पुराने जाल की
यही हुई है राय जवाहरलाल की
आओ रानी, हम ढोयेंगे पालकी !

--- नागार्जुन

दिल मिले या न मिले हाथ मिलाए रहिए

बात कम कीजिए, ज़हानत को छुपाते रहिये
अजनबी शहर है यह, दोस्त बनाते रहिये

दुश्मनी लाख सही, ख़त्म न कीजिए रिश्ता
दिल मिले या न मिले हाथ मिलाते रहिये

ये तो चेहरे का फ़क़त अक्स है तस्वीर नहीं
इस पे कुछ रंग अभी और चढाते रहिये

गम है आवारा अकेले मैं भटक जाता है
जिस जगह रहिये वहां मिलते मिलाते रहिये

जाने कब चाँद बिखर जाए घने जंगल मैं
अपने घर के दर-ओ-दीवार सजाते रहिये

--- निदा फ़ाज़ली

Be the best of whatever you are!

If you can't be a pine on the top of the
Be a scrub in the valley--but be
The best little scrub by the side of the rill;
Be a bush if you can't be a tree.
If you can't be a bush be a bit of the grass,
And some highway some happier make;
If you can't be a muskie then just be a bass--
But the liveliest bass in the lake!
We can't all be captains, we've got to be crew,
There's something for all of us here.
There's big work to do and there's lesser to do,
And the task we must do is the near.
If you can't be a highway then just be a trail,
If you can't be the sun be a star;
It isn't by size that you win or you fail--
Be the best of whatever you are!
--- Douglas Malloch

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost

Noon

The noon a mystic dog with paws of fire
Runs through the sky in ecstasy of drouth
Licking the earth with tongue of golden flame
Set in a burning mouth

It floods the forest with loud barks of light
And chases its own shadow on the plains
Some secret Master-hand hath set it free
Awhile from silver chains

At last towards the cinctured end of day
It drinks cool draughts from sunset-mellowed rills,
Then chained to twilight by the Master's hand
It sleeps among the hills.

--- Harindranath Chattopadhyay

ये दाग-दाग उजाला

ये दाग दाग उजाला, ये शब-गजीदा सहर,
वो इंतज़ार था जिसका, ये वो सहर तो नहीं

ये वो सहर तो नहीं जिस की आरजू लेकर
चले थे यार कि मिल जायेगी कहीं न कहीं
फ़लक के दश्त में तारों कि आखरी मंजिल

कहीं तो होगा शब-ऐ-सुस्त मौज का साहिल
कहीं तो जा के रुकेगा सफीना-ऐ-गम-ऐ-दिल
जवां लहू की पुर-असरार शाहराहों से

चले जो यार तो दामन पे कितने हाथ पड़े
दयार-ऐ-हुस्न की बे-सब्र खाब-गाहों से
पुकारती रहीं बाहें, बदन बुलाते रहे

बहुत अज़ीज़ थी लेकिन रुख-ऐ-सहर की लगन
बहुत करीं था हसीना-ऐ-नूर का का दामन
सुबुक सुबुक थी तमन्ना , दबी दबी थी थकन


सुना है हो भी चुका है फिराक-ऐ-जुल्मत-ऐ-नूर
सुना है हो भी चुका है विसाल-ऐ-मंजिल-ओ-गाम

बदल चुका है बहुत अहल-ऐ-दर्द का दस्तूर
निशात-ऐ-वस्ल हलाल-ओ-अजाब-ऐ-हिज़र-ऐ-हराम
जिगर की आग, नज़र की उमंग, दिल की जलन

किसी पे चारा-ऐ-हिज्राँ का कुछ असर ही नहीं
कहाँ से आई निगार-ऐ-सबा , किधर को गई
अभी चिराग-ऐ-सर-ऐ-राह को कुछ ख़बर ही नहीं

अभी गरानी-ऐ-शब में कमी नहीं आई
नजात-ऐ-दीदा-ओ-दिल की घड़ी नहीं आई
चले चलो की वो मंजिल अभी नहीं आई
- फैज़ अहमद फैज़.

Blowin' In The Wind

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, 'n' how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
And pretend that he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, 'n' how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

- Bob Dylan

The Times They Are a-Changin'

Come gather 'round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You'll be drenched to the bone.
If your time to you
Is worth savin'
Then you better start swimmin'
Or you'll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won't come again
And don't speak too soon
For the wheel's still in spin
And there's no tellin' who
That it's namin'.
For the loser now
Will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come senators, congressman
Please heed the call
Don't stand in the doorway
Don't block up the hall
For he who gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There's a battle outside
And it is ragin'.
It'll soon shake your windows
And rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin'.

Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
You old road is
Rapidly agin'.
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.

The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is
Rapidly fadin'.
And the first one now
Will later be last
For the times they are a-changin'.

--- Bob Dylan

हम देखेंगे

हम देखेंगे
लाज़िम है के हम भी देखेंगे
वो दिन की जिसका वादा है
जो लौहे-अज़ल पे लिखा है

जब जुल्मो-सितम के कोहे-गरां
रूई की तरह उड़ जाएंगे
हम महकूमों के पांव तले
ये धरती धड़-धड़ धड़केगी
और अहले-हिकम के सर ऊपर
जब बिजली कड़-कड़ कड़केगी

जब अर्ज़े-खुदा के काबे से
सब बुत उठवाए जाएंगे
हम अहले-सफा मर्दूदे-हरम
मसनद पे बिठाए जाएंगे
सब ताज उछाले जाएंगे
सब तख्त गिराए जाएंगे

बस नाम रहेग अल्लाह का
जो गायब भी है, हाज़िर भी
जो मंज़र भी है, नाज़िर भी
उठ्ठेगा अनलहक़ का नारा
जो मैं भी हूं और तुम भी हो
और राज़ करेगी खल्क़े-खुदा
जो मैं भी हूं और तुम भी हो |

- फैज़ अहमद फैज़.

लौह a tablet, a board, a plank; महकूम a subject, a subordinate; अहले-सफा pure people; अज़ल eternity, beginning (opp abad); मंज़र spectacle, a scene, a view; नाज़िर spectator, reader अनलहक़ I am Truth, I am God. Sufi Mansoor was hanged for saying it; खल्क़ the people, mankind, creation;

आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूंढता फिरता है ख्याल

आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूंढता फिरता है ख्याल
मदभरा हर्फ़ कोई, ज़हर भरा हर्फ़ कोई

हर्फ़ = paper, ख्याल = imagination, idea, फिर = again, ढूंढता = finding, ढूंढता फिरता = finding here and there, मदभरा = filled with eulogy, ज़हर = poison, भरा = filled with

दिलनशी हर्फ़ कोई, क़हर भरा हर्फ़ कोई
आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूंढता फिरता है ख्याल

दिलनशी = intoxicating love, क़हर = disaster

हर्फ़-ऐ-उल्फत कोई दिलदार नज़र हो जैसे
जिससे मिलती है नज़र बोसा-ऐ-लब की सूरत

उल्फत = love, हर्फ़-ऐ-उल्फत = letter (paper) of/with love, नज़र = in front of eyes, बोसा = kiss, लब = lips, बोसा-ऐ-लब = kissed with lips, सूरत = image (also means face, but image is most appropriate)

इतना रौशन की सरे मौज-ऐ-ज़र हो जैसे
सौहबतें यार में आगाज़-ऐ-तरब की सूरत

इतना = so much, रौशन = bright, सरे = in public, out there, मौज = surge, wave, ज़र = gold, मौज-ऐ-ज़र = surge (wave) of gold, सौहबतें = in company, यार = beloved, आगाज़ = start, beginning, तरब = joy, happiness

हर्फ़-ऐ-नफरत कोई शमशीरे गज़ब हो जैसे
आज एक हर्फ़ को फिर ढूंढता फिरता है ख्याल|

नफरत = hate, शमशीरे = swords, गज़ब = very strong, powerful

-फैज़ अहमद फैज़.

Thanks to the user for such detailed explanation of poem. You will find youtube video of the movie 'In custody' in the weblink where poem is used.

Statement

In the ruins of memory the house breathes
through its mouldy surface
touched by strangers' looks
surrenders
lowering eyelids in abandoned
defenselessness

Time cracks inside the ripened walls
It tears off with fragile flakes
Swollen with history the heart of hearts
bestows its place on silence

More and more
transparent
caring walls
sheltering walls
define our confinement.

- Joanna Hoffman

Sarfaroshi ki Tamanna...

सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है

(ऐ वतन,) करता नहीं क्यूँ दूसर कुछ बातचीत,
देखता हूँ मैं जिसे वो चुप तेरी महफ़िल में है
ऐ शहीद-ए-मुल्क-ओ-मिल्लत, मैं तेरे ऊपर निसार,
अब तेरी हिम्मत का चरचा ग़ैर की महफ़िल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

वक़्त आने पर बता देंगे तुझे, ए आसमान,
हम अभी से क्या बताएँ क्या हमारे दिल में है
खेँच कर लाई है सब को क़त्ल होने की उमीद,
आशिकों का आज जमघट कूचा-ए-क़ातिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

है लिए हथियार दुश्मन ताक में बैठा उधर,
और हम तैयार हैं सीना लिए अपना इधर.
ख़ून से खेलेंगे होली गर वतन मुश्क़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

हाथ, जिन में है जूनून, कटते नही तलवार से,
सर जो उठ जाते हैं वो झुकते नहीं ललकार से.
और भड़केगा जो शोला सा हमारे दिल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

हम तो घर से ही थे निकले बाँधकर सर पर कफ़न,
जाँ हथेली पर लिए लो बढ चले हैं ये कदम.
ज़िंदगी तो अपनी मॆहमाँ मौत की महफ़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

यूँ खड़ा मक़्तल में क़ातिल कह रहा है बार-बार,
क्या तमन्ना-ए-शहादत भी किसी के दिल में है?
दिल में तूफ़ानों की टोली और नसों में इन्कलाब,
होश दुश्मन के उड़ा देंगे हमें रोको न आज.
दूर रह पाए जो हमसे दम कहाँ मंज़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है

वो जिस्म भी क्या जिस्म है जिसमे न हो ख़ून-ए-जुनून
क्या लड़े तूफ़ान से जो कश्ती-ए-साहिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में

English Translation:
The desire for sacrifice is now in our hearts
We shall now see what strength there is in the boughs of the enemy.

Hey country, Why is no one speaking to each other?
Whoever I see, is gathered quiet in my party...
O martyr of country, of nation, I submit myself to thee
For yet even the enemy speaks of thy courage
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...

When the time comes, we shall show thee, O heaven
For why should we tell thee now, what lurks in our hearts?
We have been dragged to service, by the hope of blood, of vengeance
Yea, by our love for nation divine, we go to the streets of the enemy
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...

Armed does the enemy sit, ready to open fire
Ready too are we, our bosoms thrust out to him
With blood we shall play Holi, if our nation need us
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...

No sword can sever hands that have the heat of battle within,
No threat can bow heads that have risen so...
Yea, for in our insides has risen a flame,
and the desire for struggle is in our hearts...

Set we out from our homes, our heads shrouded with cloth,
Taking our lives in our hands, do we march so...
In our assembly of death, life is now but a guest
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...

Stands the enemy in the gallows thus, asking,
Does anyone wish to be sacrificed?...
With a host of storms in our heart, and with revolution in our breath,
We shall knock the enemy cold, and no one shall stop us...

What good is a body that does not have passionate blood,
How can one conquer a storm while in a shored boat.

The desire for struggle is in our hearts,
We shall now see what strength there is in the boughs of the enemy.

--- बिस्मिल अज़ीमाबादी (Wrongly cited for Ram Prasad Bismil)

I was born with agonies

I was born with agonies
I will die with griefs
(I want) (you) to write my agonies
up on my gravestone

I will climb on a mountain
I will get down in the dark caves
my eyes to extinguish
not to be able to see the sun

I will get down in the garden
to those dewy flowers
to that scarlet rose
to that early white basil.

Original Text:

So maki sum se rodil jas
So zalosti jas ke si umram
Makite da mi gi napisite
Ozgora na grobot moj.

Ke se kacam na planina
Ke slezam v temni pesteri
Ocite da mi paraldisaat
Sonceto da ne go vidam

Ke slezam dolu v gul bavca,
Kaj tie rosni cvekinja
Kaj toj katmer alov trendafil
Kaj toj ran bel bosilok.

- Toše Proeski

तेरा हिज्र मेरा नसीब है

तेरा हिज्र मेरा नसीब है तेरा ग़म ही मेरी हयात है
मुझे तेरी दूरी का ग़म हो क्यों तू कहीं भी हो मेरे साथ है

मेरे वास्ते तेरे नाम पर कोई हर्फ़ आये नहीं नहीं
मुझे ख़ौफ़-ए-दुनिया नहीं मगर मेरे रू-ब-रू तेरी ज़ात है

तेरा वस्ल ऐ मेरी दिलरुबा नहीं मेरी किस्मत तो क्या हुआ
मेरी महजबीं यही कम है क्या तेरी हसरतों का तो साथ है

तेरा इश्क़ मुझ पे है मेहरबाँ मेरे दिल को हासिल है दो जहाँ
मेरी जान-ए-जाँ इसी बात पर मेरी जान जाये तो बात है |

- निदा फ़ाज़ली

I celebrate myself

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes—the shelves are crowded with perfumes;
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it;
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume—it has no taste of the distillation—it is odorless;
It is for my mouth forever—I am in love with it;
I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undisguised and naked;
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

- Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass

Flow

Life dealt them with many a hard blow...
But it never diminished their inherent glow!
A purpose to be extremely proud of,
A reason to be always happy and laugh!
An intoxicated affair with life as a whole,
A mysterious relationship with one's own soul.
A well balanced approach pregnant with equanimity,
Equal attention to both the self and society.
Goal followed by effort followed by another goal...
Little concern for the consequences or the toll!
Placing a positive interpretation on every event,
No time to regret, worry or repent!
A single minded pursuit worthy of intense admiration,
Based on self-discovery & leading to true elation!
A life of meaning and harmony...
Far away from the world of money.
Many more lives they are certain to inspire,
Tearing them away from being a victim of banal desire.
No chances of a break-down whatsoever...
Enthusiasm and passion more than the need to be clever!
No chances of giving in to adversity...
Always turning around a situation with positivity!
That, in a nutshell, is the story of Flow,
Always on a high and never once low!

- Taken from 'Flow' by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. Thanks Nimmy for this poem.

What Teachers Make

What Teachers Make, or
Objection Overruled, or
If things don't work out, you can always go to law school

By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com


He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

वो लोग बहुत खुश-किस्मत थे

वो लोग बहुत खुश-किस्मत थे
जो इश्क़ को काम समझते थे
या काम से आशिकी करते थे

हम जीते जी मसरूफ रहे
कुछ इश्क़ किया, कुछ काम किया
काम इश्क के आड़े आता रहा
और इश्क से काम उलझता रहा
फिर आखिर तंग आ कर हमने
दोनों को अधूरा छोड दिया

--- फ़ैज़ अहमद फ़ैज़

नाम में अक्सर मजहब का ज़िक्र होता है

नाम में अक्सर मजहब का ज़िक्र होता है
मेरा नाम जगदीश यानी हिन्दू
उसका नाम अशरफ था, ज़ाहिरन मुसलमान था
मैंने आदाब कहा उसने नमस्कार
हम दोनों के लिबाज़ तकरीबन एक जैसे थे
अछी बात है लिबाज़ आजकल मज़हब की अलामत नहीं
वो अपने गुमशुदा भाई की तलाश में आया था
मैं उसे अपने घर ले आया
हम पांच दिन साथ साथ रहे
वो मेरी अम्मी अबा के पाँव छूता
अपनी अम्मी अबा को याद करता
रोता हमें भी रुलाता
माँ कहती तेरे नैन नक्श अशरफ जैसे है
में पूछता फिर ये धर्म में फर्क कैसे है
में मज़ाक करता, कही में तो नहीं इसका खोया हुआ भाई
माँ मुस्कराती, अशरफ भी
उसका भाई छोटा था बीस साल का -- मुसलमा
और में तब था तीस का हिन्दू
उसका भाई नहीं मिला
मेरा भाई पाकिस्तान लौट गया
तब से अम्मी मुझे जगदीश अशरफ कह के पुकारती है
अब मेरे नाम में मज़हब का नहीं मुहबत का ज़िक्र होता है

--- रचनाकार: जगदीश रावतानी आनंदम »

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

- W. H. Auden

स्पर्श (Sparsh)

कुरान हाथों में लेके नाबीना एक नमाज़ी
लबों पे रखता था
दोनों आँखों से चूमता था
झुकाके पेशानी यूँ अक़ीदत से छू रहा था
जो आयतें पढ़ नहीं सका
उन के लम्स महसूस कर रहा हो

मैं हैराँ-हैराँ गुज़र गया था
मैं हैराँ हैराँ ठहर गया हूँ

तुम्हारे हाथों को चूम कर
छू के अपनी आँखों से आज मैं ने
जो आयतें पढ़ नहीं सका
उन के लम्स महसूस कर लिये हैं
- Gulzar

Amir Khusro's Ghazal

ज़िहाल-ए मिस्कीं मकुन तगाफ़ुल,
दुराये नैना बनाये बतियां
कि ताब-ए-हिजरां नदारम ऎ जान,
न लेहो काहे लगाये छतियां

शबां-ए-हिजरां दरज़ चूं ज़ुल्फ़
वा रोज़-ए-वस्लत चो उम्र कोताह,
सखि पिया को जो मैं न देखूं
तो कैसे काटूं अंधेरी रतियां

यकायक अज़ दिल, दो चश्म-ए-जादू
ब सद फ़रेबम बाबुर्द तस्कीं,
किसे पडी है जो जा सुनावे
पियारे पी को हमारी बतियां

चो शमा सोज़ान, चो ज़र्रा हैरान
हमेशा गिरयान, बे इश्क आं मेह
न नींद नैना, ना अंग चैना
ना आप आवें, न भेजें पतियां

बहक्क-ए-रोज़े, विसाल-ए-दिलबर
कि दाद मारा, गरीब खुसरौ
सपेट मन के, वराये राखूं
जो जाये पांव, पिया के खटियां

The English translation is:
Do not overlook my misery
Blandishing your eyes, and weaving tales;
My patience has over-brimmed, O sweetheart,
Why do you not take me to your bosom.

The nights of separation are long like tresses,
The day of our union is short like life;
When I do not get to see my beloved friend,
How am I to pass the dark nights?

Suddenly, as if the heart, by two enchanting eyes
Is beset by a thousand deceptions and robbed of tranquility;
But who cares enough to go and report
To my darling my state of affairs?

The lamp is aflame; every atom excited
I roam, always, afire with love;
Neither sleep to my eyes, nor peace for my body,
neither comes himself, nor sends any messages

In honour of the day of union with the beloved
who has lured me so long, O Khusrau;
I shall keep my heart suppressed,
if ever I get a chance to get to his place

- Amir Khusrau.
The phrase "Zeehaal-e-miskeen" comes from a poem of Amir Khusrau. The unique thing about this poem is that it is a macaronic, written in Persian and Brij Bhasha. In the first verse, the first line is in Persian, the second in Brij Bhasha, the third in Persian again, and the fourth in Brij Bhasha. In the remaining verses, the first two lines are in Persian, the last two in Brij Bhasha.

Na kisi ki aankh kaa nuur hoon

न किसी की आँख का नूर हूँ न किसी के दिल का करार हूँ
जो किसी के काम न आ सके मैं वो एक मुश्त- ऐ -गुबार हूँ

न तो मैं किसी का हबीब हूँ न तो मैं किसी का मैं हूँ
जो बिगड़ गया वो नसीब हूँ जो उजाड़ गया वो दयार हूँ

मेरा रंग-रूप बिगाड़ गया मेरा यार मुझ से बिछड़ गया
जो चमन फिजां मैं उजाड़ गया मैं उसी की फसल-इ-बहार हूँ

पाए फातेहा कोई आये क्यूं कोई चार फूल चदाये क्यूं
कोई आके शम्मा जलाए क्यूं मैं वो बेकसी का मज़ार हूँ

मैं नहीं हूँ नगमा-इ-जान_फिझाएं मुझे सुन क्यूं कोई करेगा क्या
मैं बड़े बरोग की हूँ सदा मैं बड़े दुःख की पुकार हूँ

- Bahadur Shah Jafar

Baat karani mujhe mushkil kabhii aisi to na thii

बात करनी मुझे मुश्किल कभी ऎसी तो न थी
जैसी अब है तेरी महफ़िल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

ले गया छीन के कौन आज तेरा सब्र-ओ-करार
बेक़रारी तुझे ऐ दिल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

चश्म-इ-कातिल मेरी दुश्मन थी हमेशा लेकिन
जैसे अब हूँ गई कातिल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

उन की आँखों ने खुदा जाने किया क्या जादू
के तबीयत मेरी माँ'इल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

अक्स-इ-रुख-इ-यार ने किस से है तुझे चमकाया
ताब तुझ मैं माह-इ-कामिल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

क्या सबाब तू जो बिगड़ता है "ज़फर" से हर बार
खू तेरी हूर-इ-शमा_इल कभी ऎसी तो न थी

- Bahadur Shah Jafar

Epilogue

We all live in darkness, kept apart from each other
by walls easily crossed but full of fake doors;
money drawn for light spending on friends or love
......our arguments
about the inexhaustible don't even graze it
just when it's time to start talking again, and take
a different road to get to the same place.

We have to get used to knowing how
to live from day to day, each one on his own,
as in the best of all possible worlds.
Our dreams prove it: we're cut off.

We can feel for each other,
and that's more than enough: that's all, and it's hard
to bring our stories closer together
trimming off from the excess we are,
yo get our minds off the impossible and on the things
.......we have in common,
and not to insist, not to insist too much:
to be a good storyteller who plays his role
between clown and preacher.

- by Enrique Lihn

from The Dark Room and Other Poems; New Directions Books, 1963

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

Longing for the south

If I had an eagle's wings
I would rise and fly with them
To our own shores, to our own climes,
To see Stamboul, to see Kukuš,
And to watch the sunrise: is it
Dismal there, as it is here?

If the sun still rises dimly,
If it meets me there as here,
I'll prepare for further travels,
I shall flee to other shores
Where the sunrise greets me brightly
And the sky is sewn with stars.

It is dark here, dark surrounds me,
Dark fog covers all the earth;
Here are frosts and snows and ashes,
Blizzards and harsh winds abound.
Fog everywhere, the earth is ice,
And in the breast are cold, dark thoughts.

No, I cannot stay here, no,
I cannot look upon these frosts.
Give me wings and I will don them;
I will fly to our own shores,
Go once more to our own places,
Go to Ohrid and to Struga.

There the sunrise warms the soul,
The sunset glows on wooded heights;
There are gifts in great profusion
Richly spread by nature's power.
Watch the clear lake stretching white
Or bluely darkened by the wind,
Look upon the plains or mountains:
Beauty's everywhere divine.

To pipe there to my heart's content!
Ah! let the sun set, let me die.

From "Longing for the south" by Konstantin Miladinov’s;(english translation by Graham W. Reid))

ArdhSatya

चक्रव्यूह मैं घुसने से पहले,
कौन था मैं और कैसा था,
यह मुझे याद ही न रहेगा.
चक्रव्यूह मैं घुसने के बाद,
मेरे और चक्रव्यूह के बीच,
सिर्फ एक जानलेवा निकट’ता थी,
इसका मुझे पता ही न चलेगा.
चक्रव्यूह से निकलने के बाद,
मैं मुक्त हूँ जाऊं भले ही,
फिर भी चक्रव्यूह की रचना मैं
फर्क ही न पड़ेगा.
मरुँ या मारून,
मारा जाऊं या जान से मार्डून.
इसका फैसला कभी न हूँ पायेगा.
सोया हुआ आदमी जब
नींद से उठकर चलना शुरू करता है,
तब सपनों का संसार उसे,
दोबारा दिख ही न पायेगा.
उस रौशनी मैं जो निर्णय की रौशनी है
सब कुछ स’मान होगा क्या?
एक पलड़े मैं नपुंसकता,
एक पलड़े मैं पौरुष,
और ठीक तराजू के कांटे पर
अर्ध सत्य।


Ardh Satya (Half Truth) is a 1983 film directed by Govind Nihalani. The English Translation of poem can be found on wikipedia.

Aadmi Nama

दुनिया मैं बादशाह है सो है वोह भी आदमी
और मुफलिस ओ गदा है सो है वोह भी आदमी
जार दर बे नवा है सो है वोह भी आदमी
नेमत जो खा रहा है सो है वोह भी आदमी
टुकड़े जो मांगता है सो है वोह भी आदमी

अब्दाल ओ कुतब ओ घुस ओ वाली आदमी हुई
मुनकर भी आदमी हुए और कुफ्र से भरे
क्या क्या करिश्मे कश्फ़ ओ करामत के किये
हद ता के अपने जोर ओ रियाज़त के जोर पे
खालिक से जा मिला है सो है वोह भी आदमी

फिर'औं ने किया था जो दावा खुदाई का
शाद्दाद भी बहिश्त बना कर हुआ खुदा
नमरूद भी खुदा ही कहाता था बार माला
यह बात है समझने की आगे कहूं मैं क्या
यां तक जो हूँ चूका है सो है वोह भी आदमी

यां आदमी ही नार है और आदमी ही नूर
यां आदमी ही पास है और आदमी ही दूर
कुल आदमी का हुस्न ओ काबा मिएँ है यान ज़हूर
शैतान भी आदमी है जो करता है मकर ओ जोर
और हादी, रहनुमा है सो है वोह भी आदमी

मस्जिद भी आदमी ने बने है यां मियां
बनते हैं आदमी ही इमाम और खुतबा ख्वान
पढ़ते हैं आदमी ही नमाज़ और कुरान यां
और आदमी ही उन की चुराते हैं जूतियाँ
उनको जो ताड़ता है सो है वोह भी आदमी

यां आदमी पे जान को वारे है आदमी
और आदमी ही तेग से मारे है आदमी
पगड़ी भी आदमी की उतारे है आदमी
चिल्ला के आदमी को पुकारे है आदमी
और सुन के दौड़ता है सो है वोह भी आदमी!

Here is an excerpt from "Aadmi Nama" ; Rediscovering Nazir Akbarabadi through Agra Bazaar.