Death Be Not Proud

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more, death, thou shalt die.

 --- John Donne

लगता नहीं है दिल मेरा

लगता नहीं है दिल मेरा उजड़े दयार में 
किस की बनी है आलम-ए-ना पायेदार में

कह दो इन हसरतो से कहीं और जा बसें
इतनी जगह कहाँ है दिल-ए-दागदार में

उम्र-ए-दराज़ मांग कर लाये थे चार दिन
दो आरज़ू  में कट गए दो इंतज़ार में 

कितना है बदनसीब 'ज़फर' दफ्न के लिए
दो गज ज़मीं भी न मिली कु-ए-यार में

--- बहादुर शाह 'ज़फर'

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me. 

  -- Maya Angelou

Life Exam

In this difficult multiple-choice exam,
which is tailored for you alone,
You get ample choices in questions,
(But often you get just two.)
No answer can fetch full marks, and
You can try but not guess, what comes next.
At times, you can only make a blind guess,
as you can't skip one question.

All means, fair or unfair, are allowed,
however, at your own risk.
Feedback, if desired, is available,
you may get a chance for
correction, but, at a price.
You are your own examiner, for
the questions already answered.

You like it or not, but this exam
may abruptly end anytime,
without a further question,
without giving any choice.

Knowing this beforehand
might help you do well
in this exam
called Life.

Nothing twice

Nothing can ever happen twice.
In consequence, the sorry fact is
that we arrive here improvised
and leave without the chance to practice. 

Even if there is no one dumber,
if you're the planet's biggest dunce,
you can't repeat the class in summer:
this course is only offered once. 

No day copies yesterday,
no two nights will teach what bliss is
in precisely the same way,
with precisely the same kisses. 

One day, perhaps some idle tongue
mentions your name by accident:
I feel as if a rose were flung
into the room, all hue and scent. 

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
A rose? A rose? What could that be?
Is it a flower or a rock? 

Why do we treat the fleeting day
with so much needless fear and sorrow?
It's in its nature not to stay:
Today is always gone tomorrow. 

With smiles and kisses, we prefer
to seek accord beneath our star,
although we're different (we concur)
just as two drops of water are.

 -- Wislawa Szymborska  

Strange attractors

Charges and poles
either both attract
or both repel.

But, what would
they be called,
charges and poles,
if one is attracted
and the other one
repelled?

And why is it ?
When everything
around is just
charges and poles.

Check mate

The game is on, and
I've no moves left.
She knows all of mine
and can easily
cut me loose,
a tired wild animal,
tied-and-tamed.
She wants to wait,
a thing I hate.
I choose to lose,
and she says
'check-mate' !

Love's Funeral

Love was born.

She wanted to grow

And bloom with life,

And bloom lives

But,

She was smothered by

A ‘motherly’ massage.

Not a word was said,

Not a tear shed.

But,

 love can’t vanish.

She will lie buried

In a remote corner

of the heart.

No one's scared

of the consequences.

The only fear,

If at all, is that

Her mother may not

Conceive again.

जब कभी ...

जब कभी मुडके देखता हूँ मैं

तुम भी कुछ अजनबी सी लगती हो
मै भी कुछ अजनबी सा लगता हूँ

हम जहां थे वहां पे अब तो नहीं
पास रहने का भी सबब तो नहीं

कोई नाराज़गी नही है मगर
फिर भी रूठी हुई सी लगती हो

तुम भी अजनबी सी लगती हो
जब कभी मुडके देखता हूँ मैं

-- गुलज़ार

प्यार वो बीज है

प्यार कभी एकतरफा होता है न होगा
दो रूहों की एक मिलन की जुड़वां पैदाइश है ये
प्यार अकेला जी नहीं सकता
जीता है तो दो लोगों में
मरता है तो दो मरते हैं

प्यार एक बहता दरिया है
झील नहीं की जिसको किनारे बाँध के बैठे रहते हैं
सागर भी नहीं की जिसका किनारा होता नहीं
बस दरिया है और बहता है
दरिया जैसे चढ़ जाता है, ढल जाता है
चढ़ना ढलना प्यार में वो सब होता  है
पानी की आदत है ऊपर से नीचे की जानिब बहना
नीचे से फिर भाप की सूरत ऊपर उठना
बादल बन आकाश में बहना
कांपने लगता है जब तेज़ हवाएं छेड़ें
बूँद-बूँद बरस जाता है

प्यार एक जिस्म के साज़ पे बजती गूंज नहीं है
न मंदिर की आरती है न पूजा है
प्यार नफा है न लालच है
न कोई लाभ न हानि कोई
प्यार ऐलान है अहसान है न कोई जंग की जीत है ये
न ही हुनर है न ही इनाम न रिवाज़ न रीत है ये
ये रहम नहीं यह दान नहीं
ये बीज नहीं जो बीज सके
खुशबू है मगर ये खुशबू की पहचान नहीं

दर्द दिलासे शक विश्वास जूनून और होश-ओ-हवास की
एक अहसास की कोख  से
पैदा हुआ है
एक रिश्ता है ये
यह सम्बन्ध है -
दो नाम का दो रूहों का पहचानों का
पैदा होता है बढ़ता है ये
बूढा होता नहीं

मिटटी में पले एक दर्द की ठंडी धूप तले
जड़ों और तरक्की की एक फसल
कटती है
मगर यह बटती नहीं
मट्टी और पानी और हवा कुछ रौशनी और तारीकी कुछ
जब बीज की आँख में झांकते हैं
तब पौधा गर्दन ऊंची करके
मुँह नाक नज़र दिखलाता है
पौधे के पत्ते-पत्ते पर कुछ प्रश्न भी है उत्तर भी

किस मिटटी की कोख थी वो
किस मौसम ने पाला पोसा
और सूरज का छिडकाव किया
किस सिमट गयीं शाखें उसकी

कुछ पत्तों के चेहरे ऊपर हैं
आकाश की जानिब ताकते हैं
कुछ लटके हुए हैं
ग़मगीन मगर
शाखों की रगों से बहते हुए पानी से जुड़े हैं
मट्टी के तले एक बीज से आकर पूछते हैं -

हम तुम तो नहीं
पर पूछना है
तुम हमसे हो या हम तुमसे

प्यार अगर वो बीज है तो
एक प्रश्न भी है
एक उत्तर भी !

-गुलज़ार


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Pak7A0165g&feature=related

एक एहसान

ऐ ठंडी हवाओं.....

यूँही उनकी जुल्फें लहराती रहो !

ऐ रेशमी धूप......

यूँही उन्हें नहलाती रहो ! 
     

ऐ रवि की रश्मियाँ......

यूँही उनकी पलके झुकाती रहो !
 

ऐ ओस की बूंदों .....

यूँही उन्हें भिगाती रहो !
    

ऐ शशि की चांदनी......

यूँही उन्हें देख शर्माती रहो !   
   

ऐ रात की रानियाँ .....

यूँही उन्हें महकाती रहो !  
   

ऐ सरगम की सात सुरों ....

यूँही उन्हें गुनगुनाती रहो !  
  

तुम सबका ये एहसान होगा

उन्हें यूँही मेरे पास लाती रहो !

Tired of speaking sweetly

Love wants to reach out and manhandle us,
Break all our teacup talk of God.

If you had the courage and
Could give the Beloved His choice, some nights,
He would just drag you around the room
By your hair,
Ripping from your grip all those toys in the world
That bring you no joy.

Love sometimes gets tired of speaking sweetly
And wants to rip to shreds
All your erroneous notions of truth

That make you fight within yourself, dear one,
And with others,
Causing the world to weep
On too many fine days.

God wants to manhandle us,
Lock us inside of a tiny room with Himself
And practice His dropkick.

The Beloved sometimes wants
To do us a great favor:
Hold us upside down
And shake all the nonsense out.

But when we hear
He is in such a "playful drunken mood"
Most everyone I know
Quickly packs their bags and hightails it
Out of town.

 --- Hafiz

The Chained Hero ('Bandadir')

In the prominent royal Mogul court of Delhi
King's sleep will break-up hundred times daily
There was such a dreadful fright in his heart
In his consciousness painful sighs were brought

What fire scorched his heart no one knows
All of a sudden he was jumping in fiery blows
It appeared like red hot sky from the Delhi court
King's heart shaking, seeking Godly support

Rivers of blood were flowing on the five rivers' land
Sikhs were facing persecutions for some ideal ground
Smeared in blood, they were saying thanks in gratitude
Patiently, regardless of comforts, they were in solitude

They crossed their way with the Moguls might
With faithful heart they remembered God in sight
Maiden decorated with mark of blood, their foreheads
What sort of people are Sikhs, with such eagerness

They move like moth, looking at burning all around
Without delay they line up ready to fight duty bound
They play jokes with death, and like lions they roar
Wherever they stare and rebuke, enemy is no more

Brave warriors jumped in fray with hand to hand attack
They quickly hawk assaulting caught the deadly foe
Like flying hawk assaulting a deadly poisonous snake
Squeezing them in his claws from tip to toe

Innumerable was the enemy army, Sikhs were very few
They were surrounded in chains and were put in queue
Clothes soaked in blood, bodies full of wounds and bruises
Intestines fall in tummy but they had faith and confidence

The enemy was battered by the dashing Banda Singh sage
Moguls fought back and tied him like brave lion in cage
Surrounded him from all the sides and imprisoned the hero chum
Then they moved towards Delhi, on the beat of kettle-drum

The Mogul army departed towards the Capital of Delhi city
They moved like hurricane, without stopping or any pity
Seven hundred Sikhs were imprisoned and curled-up in chains
It was a disgusting sight, an extraordinary incident, full of pains

On every pointed spear, the head of Sikh was hanging
Streams of blood dripping, the sight will give a panging
Sikh prisoners shackled in chains, shouted this voice of cry
O! our true saviour preserve thy honour, don't let panth shy

Spectators gathered in the heart of Delhi's Chandni Chowk
This caravan of Sikhs was quite out of strength and in shock
Outside they were dull and defeated, inside enjoying thrill
Greeting loudly the victory of Guru and obedient to His will

The onlookers revealed an extraordinary and peculiar tale
The prisoners started argument as no body wanted to fail
Everybody wanted to be first in their turn to meet the fate
All wanted to meet the Beloved, Gobind through life's gate

The wheel of death started, the murderers were on assault
An applause was echoed, whenever the sword was at fault
The Sikhs were being butchered, going forward for sacrifice
It was game of seven days for seven hundred heroes nice

Chief Banda Singh was in the clutches of destiny or fate
Next they brought forward to kill his little son ever so great
The Kazi passed on to banda Singh the killer sword grand
He ordered to cut his son's head as it was royal command

Sons are symbols of worldliness for formality in social affairs
If someone rebukes them one feels like to pull his hairs
What sort of test in life, to kill one's own son, was shaping
The thing one can't even imagine, the same was happening

Banda first picked his son and loved and caressed him
Then he tried to explain the role and character of Sikhism
Prince Fateh and Jujhar Singh were also children like you
Now in the test time and what they achieved you can also do

Greeting the victory loudly, the little son was revitalized
If life goes, the custom of Sikhism is, let it be sacrificed
For holder of righteousness definite victory will be at last
His love won't be wasted, he meets the Beloved very fast

The Kazi became angry as he could not bear the splendour
The executioner attacked the child and he started to flutter
Even then this strange trick of destiny could not succeed
Plump intestines jumping softly, the earth was red indeed

It is written in the history that Banda remaned unmoved
In his mouth soft plump heart of slayed child was forced
In this hard probation Banda remained unshaken, steady
The history will cry when going through its own study

It was such a dreadful scene that onlookers could not spy
Snatching with pincers first they took out his both eyes
Iron bars were made red hot to burn his body limbs ready
The Sikh greeted the victory loudly and soul left the body

The Sky echoed with kettle-drum beat, banner flying like kite
Once a hero takes a battlefield, he is eager to show his might
A true warrior is one, who fights for sake of humble and meek
He might cut into the pieces, but to leave battlefield will never seek

An English translation of this poem, 'Bandadir' originally written in Bengali.   
                       -- Rabindranath Tagore

तुम बिन

तुम बिन

रह गया हूँ

सिर्फ एक...

बात जो अनकही रह जाए

लम्हा जो याद बनने को तरस जाए

याद जिसे भुला दिया जाये

चिंगारी जो जल जाए

आँसू जो आँखों में सूख जाए

ख्वाब जो ख़यालों में ग़ुम जाए

कहानी जो शुरू होते ही ख़त्म हो जाये

आवाज जो खुद को भी सुन न पाए

नदी जो पर्वत पर विलीन हो जाये
 

बूँद जिसे मनमानी हवा कहीं ले जाये