A Pslam of life

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

Let me

Let me drown in your eyes
if they'll start to glow!

Let me dissolve in your tears
...they'll cease to flow!

Let me melt in your embrace
as I take the blow!

Let me vanish in your heart
and we'll begin to grow!

I'll never complain

I'll never complain,
whatever be the pain
not sure if I did, earlier
..it won't happen again !

Do what you like to
go walk the talk,
I'm just a maverick who
you're free to mock !

You expect me to share,
just a pretense of care,
'cause if you really did,
one wouldn't really be morbid !

I was breathing when you
were away...
I am...even now,
& hope to, without you!

Isn't it all that matters ?

I'll never complain,
whatever be the pain
not sure if I did, earlier
..it won't happen again !

Gandhiji's Talisman

"I will give you a talisman. Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest person whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him. Will he gain anything by it? Will it restore him to a control over his own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj [freedom] for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?
Then you will find your doubts and your self melt away."

--- Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi
[Source-Mahatma Gandhi [Last Phase, Vol. II (1958), P. 65].

वो मौसम का झोंका

किसी मौसम का झोंका था, जो इस दीवार पर लटकी हुई तस्वीर तिरछी कर गया है

गये सावन में ये दीवारें यूँ सीली नहीं थी
ना जाने क्यों इस दफ़ा इनमे सीलन आ गयी है,
दरारें पड़ गयी हैं
और सीलन इस तरह बहती है जैसे,
खुशक़ रुखरारों पे गीले आँसु चलते हैं.

ये बारिश गुनगुनाती थी इसी छत की मुंडेरो पर
ये बारिश गुनगुनाती थी इसी छत की मुंडेरो पर
ये घर की खिड़कियों के काँच पर उंगली से लिख जाती थी सन्देसे
गिरती रहती है बैठी हुई अब बंद रोशनदानों के पीछे.

दुपहरें ऐसी लगती हैं,
बिना मुहरों के खाली खाने रखें हैं
ना कोई खेलने वाला है बाज़ी
और ना कोई चाल चलता है

ना दिन होता है अब, ना रात होती है, सभी कुछ रुक गया है
वो क्या मौसम का झोंका था, जो इस दीवार पर लटकी हुई तस्वीर तिरछी कर गया है


--- गुलज़ार ( "पिया तोरा कैसा अभिमान", रेनकोट)

Your laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

---- Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Sonnet LXVI
---- Pablo Neruda (Nobel laureate, 1971)

Metamorphosis

Painful, it is
when life whips at you,
with lacerating blows !
And you wail, anyone will !

Unless you're blessed,
that continues.......
Perhaps, it is a test
or a lesson of forbearance !

A stage comes when,
skin metamorphoses into hide...
when you no longer feel the pangs
& tears dry before they betide !

And, all of a sudden,
they stop...the whips!
And you start missing them,
the void of pain pains!