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Tum Kyun Nahi Aaye Pehle Kabhi?

Tum kyun aaye abhi?
Duniya bhar ki roshni liye?
Hume andhere ki aadat
Ho chalee thee.
Kabhi youn khud ko dekha nahi,
Andhere me sheesha nazar aaya hi nahi.

Tum kyun aaye abhi?
Itni sari khusiyan liye
Hume gamo se mohabbat
Ho gayee thee.
Dekho..
daman me sambhali jaati nahi!
Kabhi issko batorte hai,
Toh kabhi uss ko kho dete hai!

Tum kyun aaye abhi?
Umar bhar ki guftagoo liye?
Bheed me tanha phirte the,
Kabhi bewazah haste,
Kabhi bewazah rote the,
Par aah tak nahi karte the.
Abb samajh aata nahi..
Tumse shikayat kare..
Ya kare gila
Tum kyun nahi aaye pehle kabhi?

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Hindi Poem- Chehra

Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
Kitabo Ke Panne Palat Te Hue,
Kuch Khwab Bunte Hue,
Palko Tale Kuch Aansu Samete Hue,

Sari Raat Yuhi Bita Di Maine,
In Nain Naksho Ko Niharte Hue,
Apni Kamiyo Ko Dhundhte Hue,
Apni Majburi Par Rote Hue,

Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Kiya Tha Maine,
Kyu Kiya Tha Maine,
Kya Achi Nahi Thi Sirf Vo Jaan Pehchaan,
Ki Dena Chaha Use Mohabbat Ka Naam Maine,

Soch Rahi Thi Main,
Kya Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kyu Keh Gaya Vo Itni Asani Se,
Kara Gaya Mujhe Meri Badsurti,
Meri Kamiyo Ka Ehsas,
Aur Thukra Gaya Mujhe Itni Asani Se,

Kya Dil Nahi Tha Uske Paas,
Ya Un Shabdo Ki Mithaas Kahi Kho Gayi Thi,
Aakhir Kiya Kya Maine,
Jo Mere Ehsaso Ki Zamane Bhar Me Khilli Udayi Gayi Thi,
Bas Pyar Hi To Kiya Tha,
Use Apna Dil Hi To Diya Tha,
Phir Bhi Kyu Sabke Samne Ek Mazaak Ban Kar Reh Gayi Thi,

Par Galti To Thi Hi Meri,
Ki Uski Neeli Aankho Me Dubti Chali Gayi Thi,
Uski Har Hasi Me Ek Sapna Bunti Chali Gayi Thi,

Dosh Uska Nahi Mera Hain,
Sirf Main Aur Mera Yeh Badsurat Chehra Hain,
Phir Bhi Kyun Aaj Khud Ko Bikhra Sa Mehsus Karti Hu,
Shayad Is Chehre Ke Karan Kisi Ko Ab Apna Dil Dene Se Darti Hu,
Kyunki Bahut Gehra Hota Hain Is Dard Ka Ehsas,
Par Ab Karti Hu Yahi Ardas,
Ki Ae Khuda!

Is Chehre Ko Vo Noor De,
Ki Dekhne Vala Aur Kuch Soch Hi Na Paye,
Par Is Dil Ko Dildar De,
Jiske Pyar Ke Liye Yeh Umar Bhi Kam Pad Jaye,
Aur Jisne Mujhe Thukraya,
Use Khud Koi 'Na' Keh Jaye,
Aur Tab Shayad Use Apni Galti...

[...] Read more

poem by Apurva Jain
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Hindi Poem- Mera Sapna

Ek Sapne Ke Piche Bhaag Rahi Hu Main,
Na Jane Yeh Sach Hoga Bhi Ya Nahi,
Phir Bhi Umeed Ka Man Me Deep Jalaye,
Chali Ja Rahi Hu Main,
Ek Sapne Ke Piche.......................

Mera Yeh Sapna Sirf Sapna Nahi,
Meri Khwaish Hai Yeh, Hai Yeh Meri Tamanna,
Ya To Banega Mere Jivan Ka Sach,
Ya Rahegi Sirf Ek Kalpana,
Is Sapne Ko Na Jane Kitne Dino Se,
In Ankho Me Paal Rahi Hu Main,
Ek Sapne Ke Piche............................

Andheri Rat Dekhi Hain Maine,
To Ujale Savere Ko Bhi Dekha Hain,
Jalte Diye Se Faili Roshni Dekhi Hain,
To Uske Tale Chipe Andhere Ko Bhi Dekha Hain,
Usi Roshni Ki Ek Kiran Ke Liye,
Andhero Mein Bhi Jaag Rahi Hu Main,
Ek Sapne Ke Piche........................

Sapna Kya Hain,
Jo Chahu Use Pal Mein Hi Pa Lena,
Sari Duniya Ko In Hatheliyo Mein Bhar Lena,
Yakeen Hain Mujhe,
Apni Lagan Se Ise Zarur Sach Kar Dikhaungi,
Par Dar Hai,
Ki Is Matlabi Duniya Mein Na Kho Jau Kahin,
In Logo Ka Shikar Na Ho Jau Kahin,
In Jaisi Hi Na Ban Jau Kahin..................
In Jaisi Hi Na Ban Jau Kahin..................

poem by Apurva Jain
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Maa

Maa to meri jaan hai.
dundle andhere me bhi vo, meri pehchan hai
Sehti rahi jo hr pal,
Marti rahi har pal jiske liye vo,
Kuch or nahi bs vo meri muskaan hai,
Har gaya har lamha jiske samne,
Jhuk gaya har dard jiske samne
Vo koi or nahi meri maa mera bhagwan hai.muskurati rahi har dard me vo tumhe hsane k liye,
khud jalti hai vo har pal, sirf tumhe roshni dikhane k liye, rehti hai andhero me tumhe chand dikhane k liye,
Aaj bhi intzaar krti hai vo tumhe chamkta dekhne k liye,
Tadapti hai vo bs ek bar tumhe seene se lagane k liye.
Dedo use itni khushi ki gham bhi na use chu paye is zamane me...
Bna do uske har aasun ko moti,
Chamka to uski zindagi kuch is kadar,
Ki heera bhi feeka parh jaye is zamane me,
Bs ye hi jaan lo, maa hi sabkuch hai,
Har zamane me...

poem by Neha Poemlover
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Urdu Ghazal

Jo eik bojh tha dil par use utaar aaye,
Khushi mili to use hum kahin guzaar aaye,
Hamaare gham ne hamein is tarah nikhar diya,
Ki jaise ose koi phool ko nikhar aaye,
Abhi bhi hook si uthti hai dil ki sarhad par,
Abhi bhi sail woh ashkon ka bar-bar aaye,
Hamari jeet se kitno ko mil gayee himmat,
Hamari haar se unko na ab qaraar aaye,
Khud apni aag mein jal kar woh ban gaya kundan,
Swaad-e-zeest mein gham se jo hamkanaar aaye,
Ghamo ki dhoop khili hai hamare maathe par,
Khuda kare ki ye mausam bhi saazgar aaye,
Mere qaraar ko bulbul koi gulistan se,
Kaho ki chchod ke ab mausam-e-bahaar aaye,
Akheer raat hai 'Akmal' ki badnaseebi ki,
Koi sukoon pe uske na aaj baar aaye.

poem by Mohammad Akmal Nazir
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Na Tum Jano Na Hum

Beparavah hey ab TUM humse kuch is tarhaa..
Na TUM jano Na HUM...

ye fasalaa hey kuch dooriye ka par anE KA koi nhi or RASTA..
Ruthe hey aaj tum humse, kese manaye aaj HUM TUM KO...
Na TUM jano Na HUM...

Bepanha the mohhobat tumse..
Begarzz bana diya ek pal me hum E...
ab chen nahi na koi sahara bus ab tuhe mera KINara...

Beparavah hey ab TUM humse kuch is tarhaa..
Na TUM jano Na HUM...

bethye hey ab intzar karke ab mout ka..
NA AYE TUM AGAR TO KOI GUM NAHI, SAHI YA GAALAT AB KUCH NAHI..
JANE NAHI KOI PAAS NAHI TU MERE KARIB NAHI....INZAR HEY TERA AKHARI BAAR
Na TUM jano Na HUM...

Beparavah hey ab TUM humse kuch is tarhaa..
Na TUM jano Na HUM..

poem by Sandeep Jahaal
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Tumme humme jo hai khas

Na jaane tumme-hum me,
Kya khas hai
Jo batayee nahi banti,
Chipayee nahi chipti.

Bahut rooka raab ko
Par,
Cheep cheep kar
Tumme voh dikhta hi raha.
Bahut tooka khud ko
Par,
Ruk ruk kar,
Tum par voh lootta hi raha.
Kaie baar soocha tumko
Seene se nikal
Jamee par khada kareen
Par,
Jamee ne jagah nahi di
Aur
Seene ne raasta.
Tumhe seene me kaid kar,
Hum jamee par raasta khojte rahe.

Tum kabhi thee?
Tum nahi thee,
Kabhi nahi,
Aaj bhi nahi ho,
Aur kal ki ummeed kya Karen
Shayad kal toh
Hota hi hai nahi…
Par,
Phir bhi tumhari rah par
Palke bicha,
Yeh soochte hai…
Na jaane tumme hum me,
Kya khas hai
Jo batayee nahi banti,
Chipayee nahi chipti.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Gareth And Lynette

The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent,
And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring
Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine
Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away.
'How he went down,' said Gareth, 'as a false knight
Or evil king before my lance if lance
Were mine to use--O senseless cataract,
Bearing all down in thy precipitancy--
And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows
And mine is living blood: thou dost His will,
The Maker's, and not knowest, and I that know,
Have strength and wit, in my good mother's hall
Linger with vacillating obedience,
Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to--
Since the good mother holds me still a child!
Good mother is bad mother unto me!
A worse were better; yet no worse would I.
Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force
To weary her ears with one continuous prayer,
Until she let me fly discaged to sweep
In ever-highering eagle-circles up
To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop
Down upon all things base, and dash them dead,
A knight of Arthur, working out his will,
To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came
With Modred hither in the summertime,
Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight.
Modred for want of worthier was the judge.
Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said,
"Thou hast half prevailed against me," said so--he--
Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute,
For he is alway sullen: what care I?'

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair
Asked, 'Mother, though ye count me still the child,
Sweet mother, do ye love the child?' She laughed,
'Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.'
'Then, mother, an ye love the child,' he said,
'Being a goose and rather tame than wild,
Hear the child's story.' 'Yea, my well-beloved,
An 'twere but of the goose and golden eggs.'

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes,
'Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine
Was finer gold than any goose can lay;
For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid
Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm
As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours.
And there was ever haunting round the palm
A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Tum Kabhi Samajh Paate

Tum kabhi samajh paate
Tum mere liye kya ho
Kabhi mujh me bas ke
Meri nazaro se dekho.
Tum khawab ho,
Tumhi hakikat.
Tum ghana aandhera
Tumhi meri satrangi rangat.
Kabhi oodha hai
Tumhe
Banake jeevan.
Kabhi uttara hai
Samajh ke kafan.
Tumhi pyaas janmo ka
Jise labo ko hai intezar.
Tumhi ho sagar jisme
Doob kar maroo bar bar.
Tum ko kaise batau
Kya ho tum mere,
Kabhi prashan ho,
Kabhi jawab mere.
Kabhi mujh me bas ke
Meri nazaro se dekho.-anjali

poem by Anjali Kakati
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Paradise Lost: Book 09

No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
Venial discourse unblam'd. I now must change
Those notes to tragick; foul distrust, and breach
Disloyal on the part of Man, revolt,
And disobedience: on the part of Heaven
Now alienated, distance and distaste,
Anger and just rebuke, and judgement given,
That brought into this world a world of woe,
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery
Death's harbinger: Sad talk!yet argument
Not less but more heroick than the wrath
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall; or rage
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespous'd;
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long
Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son:

If answerable style I can obtain
Of my celestial patroness, who deigns
Her nightly visitation unimplor'd,
And dictates to me slumbering; or inspires
Easy my unpremeditated verse:
Since first this subject for heroick song
Pleas'd me long choosing, and beginning late;
Not sedulous by nature to indite
Wars, hitherto the only argument
Heroick deem'd chief mastery to dissect
With long and tedious havock fabled knights
In battles feign'd; the better fortitude
Of patience and heroick martyrdom
Unsung; or to describe races and games,
Or tilting furniture, imblazon'd shields,
Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds,
Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights
At joust and tournament; then marshall'd feast
Serv'd up in hall with sewers and seneshals;
The skill of artifice or office mean,
Not that which justly gives heroick name
To person, or to poem. Me, of these
Nor skill'd nor studious, higher argument
Remains; sufficient of itself to raise
That name, unless an age too late, or cold
Climate, or years, damp my intended wing
Depress'd; and much they may, if all be mine,
Not hers, who brings it nightly to my ear.
The sun was sunk, and after him the star
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Satan Absolved

(In the antechamber of Heaven. Satan walks alone. Angels in groups conversing.)
Satan. To--day is the Lord's ``day.'' Once more on His good pleasure
I, the Heresiarch, wait and pace these halls at leisure
Among the Orthodox, the unfallen Sons of God.
How sweet in truth Heaven is, its floors of sandal wood,
Its old--world furniture, its linen long in press,
Its incense, mummeries, flowers, its scent of holiness!
Each house has its own smell. The smell of Heaven to me
Intoxicates and haunts,--and hurts. Who would not be
God's liveried servant here, the slave of His behest,
Rather than reign outside? I like good things the best,
Fair things, things innocent; and gladly, if He willed,
Would enter His Saints' kingdom--even as a little child.

[Laughs. I have come to make my peace, to crave a full amaun,
Peace, pardon, reconcilement, truce to our daggers--drawn,
Which have so long distraught the fair wise Universe,
An end to my rebellion and the mortal curse
Of always evil--doing. He will mayhap agree
I was less wholly wrong about Humanity
The day I dared to warn His wisdom of that flaw.
It was at least the truth, the whole truth, I foresaw
When He must needs create that simian ``in His own
Image and likeness.'' Faugh! the unseemly carrion!
I claim a new revision and with proofs in hand,
No Job now in my path to foil me and withstand.
Oh, I will serve Him well!
[Certain Angels approach. But who are these that come
With their grieved faces pale and eyes of martyrdom?
Not our good Sons of God? They stop, gesticulate,
Argue apart, some weep,--weep, here within Heaven's gate!
Sob almost in God's sight! ay, real salt human tears,
Such as no Spirit wept these thrice three thousand years.
The last shed were my own, that night of reprobation
When I unsheathed my sword and headed the lost nation.
Since then not one of them has spoken above his breath
Or whispered in these courts one word of life or death
Displeasing to the Lord. No Seraph of them all,
Save I this day each year, has dared to cross Heaven's hall
And give voice to ill news, an unwelcome truth to Him.
Not Michael's self hath dared, prince of the Seraphim.
Yet all now wail aloud.--What ails ye, brethren? Speak!
Are ye too in rebellion? Angels. Satan, no. But weak
With our long earthly toil, the unthankful care of Man.

Satan. Ye have in truth good cause.

Angels. And we would know God's plan,
His true thought for the world, the wherefore and the why
Of His long patience mocked, His name in jeopardy.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Believer's Jointure : Chapter II.

Containing the Marks and Characters of the Believer in Christ; together with some further privileges and grounds of comfort to the Saints.

Sect. I.

Doubting Believers called to examine, by marks drawn from their love to Him and his presence, their view of his glory, and their being emptied of Self-Righteousness, &c.

Good news! but, says the drooping bride,
Ah! what's all this to me?
Thou doubt'st thy right, when shadows hide
Thy Husband's face from thee.

Though sin and guilt thy spirit faints,
And trembling fears thy fate;
But harbour not thy groundless plaints,
Thy Husband's advent wait.

Thou sobb'st, 'O were I sure he's mine,
This would give glad'ning ease;'
And say'st, Though wants and woes combine,
Thy Husband would thee please.

But up and down, and seldom clear,
Inclos'd with hellish routs;
Yet yield thou not, nor foster fear:
Thy Husband hates thy doubts.

Thy cries and tears may slighted seem,
And barr'd from present ease;
Yet blame thyself, but never dream
Thy Husband's ill to please.

Thy jealous unbelieving heart
Still droops, and knows not why;
Then prove thyself to ease thy smart,
Thy Husband bids the try.

The following questions put to the
As scripture-marks, may tell
And shew, what'er thy failings be,
Thy Husband loves thee well.

MARKS.

Art thou content when he's away?
Can earth allay thy pants?
If conscience witness, won't it say,
Thy Husband's all thou wants?

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Erskine
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Gazal Badi Ajeeb hai ye Zindagi in hindi by deepak kumar deep

Badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi,
khushi ek pal ke liye
dukh verson baras ke liye
koi sukh chahta hai is jeevan me
to usse dukhon ki bhari bori hi mil jati hai
jahan foolon ke milne ki aaasha hai
wahan katon ki sej bich jati hai
Badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.....................

Kuch satya kuch ghooth
Kabhi aasha kabhi nirasha
kabhi sawpno ko pane ki lalasa
inhi me ulagh kar rah gayi hai zindagi
Badi ajeeb hai hai ye zindagi................

Kabhi jati kabhi varn
Kabhi bhasha kabhi dharm
viwadoke ghere me hai aaj ki sanskriti
kaise kahen, kya yahi hai zindagi?
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi...........

Pyar doge pyar milega
satkar doge samman milega
mehanat se har chij hai sambhav
kam se chori hai dukh ka anubhav
ham jaisa hain sochte nahi hai aisi zindagi?
fier bhi log kahte hain,
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.............

Manav jeevan ek baar hai mita
nahi milta hai barambar
har manav se pyar karen
nafrat ko de dutkar
Krodha chod dhairya apnayen
paap chod punya kamayen
ye dharti hai dharam ki
jitni marji fasal ugayen
Ek baar yatan kar dekhen-
Hai khusnasheeb ye zindagi
nahi hai ajeeb ye zindagifir bhi log kahte hai,
badi ajeeb hai ye zindagi.........

poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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Sonnets from the Portuguese

I

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
"Guess now who holds thee!"--"Death," I said, But, there,
The silver answer rang, "Not Death, but Love."

II

But only three in all God's universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The death-weights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. "Nay" is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.

III

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Akelapan

Mai akela toh nahi tha,
ab kaise ho gaya?
Maano sab kuch ek pal mai kho gaya,
Zindgi ki hakikat saamne aayi,
Sab bhram mit gaya,
Sacchai chaayi..
Kyun maan raha tha khud ko sabse sukhi?
Uss guroor k saamne ab nazrein jhuki,
Ab chain bass tab hi mil sakta hai,
Mit jaayein iss dil ki diary k panne sabhi..
Uss shor ki toh maano manzil hi dhah gayi,
ab toh bass akelapan accha lagta hai..
WO hansi, wo shor..ab hume kahan jachta hai?
Kash! kyun na hum pahle se hi akele hote
kyun ye bojh jhoothi yaadon ka dhote..
Na aaye ab yahan koi aur
mai dekhna chahta hu ab duniya ka chhor
iss dukh k liye
khuda maine kyun wo sab sukh saha? ? ?
Mai Akela toh nahin tha
ab kaise ho gaya? ? ?

poem by Smriti Sharma
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Sari Bair

So, they've struck their streak o' trouble, an' they got it in the neck,
An' there's more than one ole pal o' mine 'as 'anded in 'is check;
But Ginger still takes nourishment; 'e's well, but breathin' 'ard.
An' so 'e sends the strength uv it scrawled on a chunk uv card.

'On the day we 'it the transport there wus cheerin' on the pier,
An' the girls wus wavin' hankies as they dropped a partin' tear,
An' we felt like little 'eroes as we watched the crowd recede,
Fer we sailed to prove Australia, an' our boastin' uv the breed.

'There wus Trent, ex~toff, uv England; there wus Green, ex-pug, uv 'Loo;
There wus me, an' Craig uv Queensland, wiv 'is 'ulkin' six-foot-two:
An' little Smith uv Collin'wood, 'oo 'owled a rag-time air.
On the day we left the Leeuwin, bound nor'-west for Gawd-knows-where.

'On the day we come to Cairo wiv its niggers an' its din,
To fill our eyes wiv desert sand, our souls wiv Eastern sin,
There wus cursin' an' complainin'; we wus 'ungerin' fer fight -
Little imertation soljers full uv vanity an' skite.

'Then they worked us - Gawd! they worked us, till we knoo wot drillin' meant;
Till men begun to feel like men, an' wasters to repent,
Till we grew to 'ate all Egyp', an' its desert, an' its stinks:
On the days we drilled at Mena in the shadder uv the Sphinx.

'Then Green uv Sydney swore an oath they meant to 'old us tight,
A crowd uv flarnin' ornaments wivout a chance to fight;
But little Smith uv Collin'wood, he whistled 'im a toon,
An' sez, 'Aw, take a pull. lad, there'll be whips o' stoushin' soom.'

'Then the waitin', weary waitin', while we itched to meet the foe!
But we'd done wiv fancy skitin' an' the comic op'ra show.
We wus soljers - finished soljers, an' we felt it in our veins
On the day we trod the desert on ole Egyp's sandy plains.

'An' Trent 'e said it wus a bore, an' all uv us wus blue,
An' Craig, the giant, never joked the way 'e used to do.
But little Smith uv Collin'wood 'e 'ummed a little song,
An' said, 'You leave it to the 'eads. O now we sha'n't be long!'

'Then Sari Bair, O Sari Bair, 'twus you wot seen it done,
The day the transports rode yer bay beneath a smilin' sun.
We boasted much, an' toasted much; but where yer tide line creeps,
'Twus you, me dainty Sari Bair, that seen us play fer keeps.

'We wus full uv savage skitin' while they kep' us on the shelf -
(Now I tell yeh, square an' 'onest, I wus doubtin' us meself):
But we proved it, good an' plenty, that our lads can do an' dare,
On the day we walloped Abdul o'er the sands o' Sari Bair.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Remedy of Love

When Cupid read this title, straight he said,
'Wars, I perceive, against me will be made.'
But spare, oh Love! to tax thy poet so,
Who oft bath borne thy ensign 'gainst thy foe;
I am not he by whom thy mother bled,
When she to heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou ask, what I do still? I love.
Nay, I have taught by art to keep Love's course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee, pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his mistress kind,
Let him go on, and sail with his own wind;
But he that by his love is discontented,
To save his life my verses were invented.
Why should a lover kill himself? or why
Should any, with his own grief wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft; play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make lovers meet by stealth, and steal a kiss
Make them to fear lest any overwatch them,
And tremble when they think some come to catch them;
And with those tears that lovers shed all night,
Be thou content, but do not kill outright.—
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said, 'Write on; I freely give thee leave.'
Come then, all ye despised, that love endure,
I, that have felt the wounds, your love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay,
Your sickness will grow mortal by your stay:
The tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig;
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past men's strength.
Resist beginnings, medicines bring no curing
Where sickness is grown strong by long enduring.
When first thou seest a lass that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would shew
If she be fit for love's delights or no:
Some will be easy, such an one elect;
But she that bears too grave and stern aspect,
Take heed of her, and make her not thy jewel,
Either she cannot love, or will be cruel.
If love assail thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to-day cannot shake off love's sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to-morrow.

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poem by Francis Beaumont
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Tumhi Me Hai Jo Basa

Na jaane umar bhar kya dhundh rahe the?
Na jaane tum me kya mil gaya,
Koi naam, koi pata hota toh
Shayad,
Jaan hi lete…
Koi nak-naksh hota toh
Shayad,
Pehchan batate..
Voh jo bas tum me hai
Sirf tum me.
Ha…tumhi me hai voh basa.
Humari nazaro ko hai pata
Shayad,
mann ki kisi gahrayee meiHai chipa
uske astitva ka naksha.
Dikhta hai sirf hume hi jo,
Kaash,
Tumhe bhi dikha paate voh wajah.
Phir shayad,
Tumko nahi lagta
Youn tumpar humara mar mitna,
Koi julm, ek khata.
Par afsos,
Koi nak naksh nahi hai
Koi naam paata tak nahi hai
Uska,
Jo basta sirf tum me hai,
Aur dikhta sirf hume hai
Na jaane us tak pahuchta hai
Kaha se…koun sa raasta…

poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Regiment of Princes

Musynge upon the restlees bysynesse
Which that this troubly world hath ay on honde,
That othir thyng than fruyt of bittirnesse
Ne yildith naght, as I can undirstonde,
At Chestres In, right faste by the Stronde,
As I lay in my bed upon a nyght,
Thoght me byrefte of sleep the force and might. 1

And many a day and nyght that wikkid hyne
Hadde beforn vexed my poore goost
So grevously that of angwissh and pyne
No rycher man was nowhere in no coost.
This dar I seyn, may no wight make his boost
That he with thoght was bet than I aqweynted,
For to the deeth he wel ny hath me feynted.

Bysyly in my mynde I gan revolve
The welthe unseur of every creature,
How lightly that Fortune it can dissolve
Whan that hir list that it no lenger dure;
And of the brotilnesse of hir nature
My tremblynge herte so greet gastnesse hadde
That my spirites were of my lyf sadde.

Me fil to mynde how that nat longe agoo
Fortunes strook doun thraste estat rial
Into mescheef, and I took heede also
Of many anothir lord that hadde a fal.
In mene estat eek sikirnesse at al
Ne saw I noon, but I sy atte laste
Wher seuretee for to abyde hir caste.

In poore estat shee pighte hir pavyloun
To kevere hir fro the storm of descendynge 2
For shee kneew no lower descencion
Sauf oonly deeth, fro which no wight lyvynge
Deffende him may; and thus in my musynge
I destitut was of joie and good hope,
And to myn ese nothyng cowde I grope.

For right as blyve ran it in my thoght,
Thogh poore I be, yit sumwhat leese I may.
Than deemed I that seurtee wolde noght
With me abyde; it is nat to hir pay
Ther to sojourne as shee descende may.
And thus unsikir of my smal lyflode,
Thoght leide on me ful many an hevy lode.

I thoghte eek, if I into povert creepe,
Than am I entred into sikirnesse;

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poem by Thomas Hoccleve
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Kuch Dur Tak Hi Sahi

Kuch dur tak hi sahi
Hum sang to chale.
Kuch pal hi sahi
Tumhare labo pe
mera naam to raha

Aarso gujr rahe the
Bethe mahfil mein tanha
khud se poochte the
aapne ghar ka raasta
Tum mile to
Shayad darpan dekha
Pahli bar.
Aaparachit khud se
Parichay hua
Pahli bar.

Kuch dur tak hi sahi
Hum sang to chale.
Kuch pal hi sahi
Tumhare labo pe
mera naam to raha

Yo to har mausam
patjhad hi raha
jivan ka
Kuch der hi sahi
Thahari to bahar
Humare yahan.

Kuch dur tak hi sahi
Hum sang to chale.
Kuch pal hi sahi
Tumhare labo pe
mera naam to raha

Sadiya beet gayi
Aur sanse chalti rahi
Tum aaye toh
saso ke is door ko
jivan ka naam mila
pehli baar.

Kuch dur tak hi sahi
Hum sang to chale.
Kuch pal hi sahi
Tumhare labo pe
mera naam to raha

Yo to virano

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poem by Anjali Kakati
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Do Aparichit

Tum aur mei,
Ek ahsas ke dor me bandhe
Do aparichit..
Ahsas,
Jo benam hokar bhi
Banaye jaa raha hai
Ek khas pehchan.
Tum aur mei…
Meelo ke phaslo me
Kareeb aate huai
Do aparichit…
Kareebiya itni ki
Tum saans lo toh
Humari dhadkan chalen.
Hum aahe bhare toh
Tum hichki bharon.
Tum aur me
Do alag rahon ke musafir,
Alag alag manzilo ki jise talash.
Phir kyun nazar aa raha hai tumme
Vahi..jiski shayad ki umar bhar talash?
Kyon mel khatee hai
Tumhare aakhon ke paas ki lakeere..
Mere haathon ki lakeeron ke saath.
Tum aur mei,
Ek ahsas ke benam
Pehchan se parichit
Doo aparachit! ! ! !

poem by Anjali Kakati
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