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Raja praja

Odisha rahu odi hoi
Odiabhasare odianku dhari
Odiabirodhinku kuhajau
Odisha birodhi.

Odia swapna aau odia
Na janithiba lokara
a thi nain stana
Odia bhasaku nei
Odishara janma.

Kana nain odishare
Dhana jana gopalaxmi
Mukti Shakti Bhakti
Achhi puni sarabishware
Odianka kat ti .

Jetedura jaichhi odiabhasa
setedura lambichhi odisha
Jouthinain seita nuhen odisha.
Rajapraja jie hua
Bhasaku n dele sammana
Tume nuhan odishara santana
Odishare rahi odishara khai
Paribani mari odishara aatma
Jouta odia Bhasa.

Kahuchhata kuha garbare
Mo bapadadi odia
Aau mu mo bhasa pain
aethi thia kuha tume
Kosaladhipati kalingadhipati
Utkala aau gadajati
Odisha rahu odisha hoi
Nilachakra sanketadhari
Gangathu godabai
Manabikatara nua mantra gai gai.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Jarata

1

Anka kasidelabelaku samaste ascharya
emiti phala baharila kemiti
jaha kaunasi sankyare chidunain.
sakala bipadaku taulilabelaku
bhari paduchhi a rajya
khuna jani guna uthuchhi ubuki.
Sara dipahara aaha chu chu karibaku
kie achhi bahara.

Netrutwa neba kana ede sahaja
mati pachi panka gandheilejai phute padma.
Bishada samayare sahi sambhali
rahiparile prakatibe Rama
juadu jemiti pabana bahuchhi
bahuthau chhada nain niti niyama.

Pratiti muhurtare jadi kichhi kichhi sikhuchha tebe jiinchha
samayara aahwana swikara kari aabhijana aarambha kale
hata paantaku aasijiba bijaya.

Bijay!
kahara bijaya?
satyara sindura phatibabele
jie thia hoithiba nischala tahara
kie uchha nischha kie
satrukie kiemitra
bachhabichara kichhi na thiba.

2

kana kemiti karibi mote pachara nain
kemiti udeibi aakasha chutuki phutai
kie kana karibe kemiti karibe
sabu jojana sarichhi
hebaki badalai kara kapala kostthi.
Janma mora bhala lagi
kebe karinain anista chinta kaharahele.
Jaha karichhi a jae sabu para lagi
mothi para aapana bheda e nain.

Samadrustire dekhichhi sabhinki
galikandi buleichhi panira siara kati kati.
Jaichhi jebe sakhinka melare
swapna dekhichhi matira aakashara
Taranakshyaramane olehhi aasichhanti sabhinka munhare
phutiuthichhi hasa.

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poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Prologus

Incipit Liber Primus

Naturatus amor nature legibus orbem
Subdit, et vnanimes concitat esse feras:
Huius enim mundi Princeps amor esse videtur,
Cuius eget diues, pauper et omnis ope.
Sunt in agone pares amor et fortuna, que cecas
Plebis ad insidias vertit vterque rotas.
Est amor egra salus, vexata quies, pius error,
Bellica pax, vulnus dulce, suaue malum.

I may noght strecche up to the hevene
Min hand, ne setten al in evene
This world, which evere is in balance:
It stant noght in my sufficance
So grete thinges to compasse,
Bot I mot lete it overpasse
And treten upon othre thinges.
Forthi the Stile of my writinges
Fro this day forth I thenke change
And speke of thing is noght so strange,
Which every kinde hath upon honde,
And wherupon the world mot stonde,
And hath don sithen it began,
And schal whil ther is any man;
And that is love, of which I mene
To trete, as after schal be sene.
In which ther can noman him reule,
For loves lawe is out of reule,
That of tomoche or of tolite
Welnyh is every man to wyte,
And natheles ther is noman
In al this world so wys, that can
Of love tempre the mesure,
Bot as it falth in aventure:
For wit ne strengthe may noght helpe,
And he which elles wolde him yelpe
Is rathest throwen under fote,
Ther can no wiht therof do bote.
For yet was nevere such covine,
That couthe ordeine a medicine
To thing which god in lawe of kinde
Hath set, for ther may noman finde
The rihte salve of such a Sor.
It hath and schal ben everemor
That love is maister wher he wile,
Ther can no lif make other skile;
For wher as evere him lest to sette,
Ther is no myht which him may lette.
Bot what schal fallen ate laste,

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poem by John Gower
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Secundus

Incipit Liber Tercius

Ira suis paribus est par furiis Acherontis,
Quo furor ad tempus nil pietatis habet.
Ira malencolicos animos perturbat, vt equo
Iure sui pondus nulla statera tenet.
Omnibus in causis grauat Ira, set inter amantes,
Illa magis facili sorte grauamen agit:
Est vbi vir discors leuiterque repugnat amori,
Sepe loco ludi fletus ad ora venit.

----------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------

If thou the vices lest to knowe,
Mi Sone, it hath noght ben unknowe,
Fro ferst that men the swerdes grounde,
That ther nis on upon this grounde,
A vice forein fro the lawe,
Wherof that many a good felawe
Hath be distraght be sodein chance;
And yit to kinde no plesance
It doth, bot wher he most achieveth
His pourpos, most to kinde he grieveth,
As he which out of conscience
Is enemy to pacience:
And is be name on of the Sevene,
Which ofte hath set this world unevene,
And cleped is the cruel Ire,
Whos herte is everemore on fyre
To speke amis and to do bothe,
For his servantz ben evere wrothe.
Mi goode fader, tell me this:
What thing is Ire? Sone, it is
That in oure englissh Wrathe is hote,
Which hath hise wordes ay so hote,
That all a mannes pacience
Is fyred of the violence.
For he with him hath evere fyve
Servantz that helpen him to stryve:
The ferst of hem Malencolie
Is cleped, which in compaignie
An hundred times in an houre
Wol as an angri beste loure,
And noman wot the cause why.
Mi Sone, schrif thee now forthi:
Hast thou be Malencolien?
Ye, fader, be seint Julien,
Bot I untrewe wordes use,
I mai me noght therof excuse:
And al makth love, wel I wot,

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poem by John Gower
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The Tale of Gamelyn

Fitt 1

Lithes and listneth and harkeneth aright,
And ye shul here of a doughty knyght;
Sire John of Boundes was his name,
He coude of norture and of mochel game.
Thre sones the knyght had and with his body he wan,
The eldest was a moche schrewe and sone bygan.
His brether loved wel her fader and of hym were agast,
The eldest deserved his faders curs and had it atte last.
The good knight his fadere lyved so yore,
That deth was comen hym to and handled hym ful sore.
The good knyght cared sore sik ther he lay,
How his children shuld lyven after his day.
He had bene wide where but non husbonde he was,
Al the londe that he had it was purchas.
Fayn he wold it were dressed amonge hem alle,
That eche of hem had his parte as it myght falle.
Thoo sente he in to contrey after wise knyghtes
To helpen delen his londes and dressen hem to-rightes.
He sent hem word by letters thei shul hie blyve,
If thei wolle speke with hym whilst he was alyve.

Whan the knyghtes harden sik that he lay,
Had thei no rest neither nyght ne day,
Til thei come to hym ther he lay stille
On his dethes bedde to abide goddys wille.
Than seide the good knyght seke ther he lay,
'Lordes, I you warne for soth, without nay,
I may no lenger lyven here in this stounde;
For thorgh goddis wille deth droueth me to grounde.'
Ther nas noon of hem alle that herd hym aright,
That thei ne had routh of that ilk knyght,
And seide, 'Sir, for goddes love dismay you nought;
God may don boote of bale that is now ywrought.'
Than speke the good knyght sik ther he lay,
'Boote of bale God may sende I wote it is no nay;
But I beseche you knyghtes for the love of me,
Goth and dresseth my londes amonge my sones thre.
And for the love of God deleth not amyss,
And forgeteth not Gamelyne my yonge sone that is.
Taketh hede to that oon as wel as to that other;
Seelde ye seen eny hier helpen his brother.'

Thoo lete thei the knyght lyen that was not in hele,
And wenten into counselle his londes for to dele;
For to delen hem alle to on that was her thought.
And for Gamelyn was yongest he shuld have nought.
All the londe that ther was thei dalten it in two,
And lete Gamelyne the yonge without londe goo,

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The Avowyng of Arthur

He that made us on the mulde,
And fair fourmet the folde,
Atte His will, as He wold,
The see and the sande,
Giffe hom joy that will here
Of dughti men and of dere,
Of haldurs that before us were,
That lifd in this londe.
One was Arther the Kinge,
Wythowtun any letting;
Wyth him was mony lordinge
Hardi of honde.
Wice and war ofte thay were,
Bold undur banere,
And wighte weppuns wold were,
And stifly wold stond.

This is no fantum ne no fabull;
Ye wote wele of the Rowun Tabull,
Of prest men and priveabull,
Was holdun in prise:
Chevetan of chivalry,
Kyndenesse and curtesy,
Hunting full warly,
As wayt men and wise.
To the forest thay fare
To hunte atte buk and atte bare,
To the herte and to the hare,
That bredus in the rise.
The King atte Carlele he lay;
The hunter cummys on a day -
Sayd, 'Sir, ther walkes in my way
A well grim gryse.
'He is a balefull bare -
Seche on segh I nevyr are:
He hase wroghte me mycull care
And hurte of my howundes,
Slayn hom downe slely
Wyth feghting full furcely.
Wasse ther none so hardi
Durste bide in his bandus.
On him spild I my spere
And mycull of my nothir gere.
Ther moue no dintus him dere,
Ne wurche him no wowundes.
He is masly made -
All offellus that he bade.
Ther is no bulle so brade
That in frith foundes.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Knyghthode and Bataile

A XVth Century Verse Paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus' Treatise 'DE RE MILITARI'

Proemium.
Salue, festa dies
i martis,
Mauortis! auete
Kalende. Qua Deus
ad celum subleuat
ire Dauid.

Hail, halyday deuout! Alhail Kalende
Of Marche, wheryn Dauid the Confessour
Commaunded is his kyngis court ascende;
Emanuel, Jhesus the Conquerour,
This same day as a Tryumphatour,
Sette in a Chaire & Throne of Maiestee,
To London is comyn. O Saviour,
Welcome a thousand fold to thi Citee!

And she, thi modir Blessed mot she be
That cometh eke, and angelys an ende,
Wel wynged and wel horsed, hidir fle,
Thousendys on this goode approche attende;
And ordir aftir ordir thei commende,
As Seraphin, as Cherubyn, as Throne,
As Domynaunce, and Princys hidir sende;
And, at o woord, right welcom euerychone!

But Kyng Herry the Sexte, as Goddes Sone
Or themperour or kyng Emanuel,
To London, welcomer be noo persone;
O souuerayn Lord, welcom! Now wel, Now wel!
Te Deum to be songen, wil do wel,
And Benedicta Sancta Trinitas!
Now prosperaunce and peax perpetuel
Shal growe,-and why? ffor here is Vnitas.

Therof to the Vnitee 'Deo gracias'
In Trinitee! The Clergys and Knyghthode
And Comynaltee better accorded nas
Neuer then now; Now nys ther noon abode,
But out on hem that fordoon Goddes forbode,
Periurous ar, Rebellovs and atteynte,
So forfaytinge her lyif and lyvelode,
Although Ypocrisie her faytys peynte.

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Manthara

Ajira Surya bhinna
na janila na thekhila
na bujhila lokaku swapna
swapna au dukha
dukha au shoka
shoka au hahakara.

Tume jana
au tumadei mu jane
ketebele kouthi ki karya.
Mu jane kichhi bi nuhein
ethi akarana
karyakarana bhitare
samparka jodila belaku
pratiti sttanare
rahi rahi jauchhi tumara adachinha
dekhila lokaku dishuchhi
na dekhila lokaku sunya.

tume tebe kana
kana tuma saha mora samparka
hei hei kahu kahu
jauchhi au kuadaku
jie mora kahuchhi
tume tara
jie mora kahucchi tume tathu dura
ascharya a sarata sara sansara.

2

Ate sigra samaya chali jauchi kichi jani heu ni
samanya swana tie bhali sukhila hada khande pai
lobha karuchhi. Sinhaku dekhi bhabuchhi
Mothu chadei nebaku Aasuchhiki?
Ki nirbodhata mote grasuchhi
Mu mora badai karuchhi aau sei
badhaira analare nije dagdha hoichhi.

Jaha kichhi bhabithili, hela kana
Kana bhabithili hela kana
sakara aau nirakaraku kouthi kana
Rakhihela?
Yabade kana rahila?

Mora sara mothiki bahidi Aasiba
Kalpana na thila.
Aau amiti sabu sabu a kasangare hataru

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poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 03

Now is Mede the mayde and no mo of hem alle,
With bedeles and baillies brought bifore the Kyng.
The Kyng called a clerk - l kan noght his name -
To take Mede the maide and maken hire at ese.
I shal assayen hire myself and soothliche appose
What man of this world that hire were levest.
And if she werche bi wit and my wil folwe
I wol forgyven hire this gilt, so me God helpe!'
Curteisly the clerk thanne, as the Kyng highte,
Took Mede bi the myddel and broghte hire into chambre.
Ac ther was murthe and mynstralcie Mede to plese;
That wonyeth at Westmynstre worshipeth hire alle.
Gentilliche with joye the justices somme
Busked hem to the bour ther the burde dwellede,
Conforted hyre kyndely by Clergies leve,
And seiden, ' Mourne noght, Mede, ne make thow no sorwe,
For we wol wisse the Kyng and thi wey shape
To be wedded at thi wille and wher thee leef liketh
For al Conscienees cast or craft, as I trowe.'
Mildely Mede thanne merciede hem alle

Of hire grete goodnesse - and gaf hem echone
Coupes of clene gold and coppes of silver,
Rynges with rubies and richesses manye,
The Ieeste man of hire meynee a moton of golde.
Thanne laughte thei leve thise lordes at Mede.
With that comenclerkes to conforten hire the same,
And beden hire be blithe - 'For we beth thyne owene
For to werche thi wille the while thow myght laste.'
Hendiliche heo thanne bihighte hem the same -
To loven hem lelly and lordes to make,
And in the consistorie at the court do callen hire names.
' Shal no lewednesse lette the clerke that I lovye,
That he ne worth first avaunced for I am biknowen
Ther konnynge clerkes shul clokke bihynde.'
Thanne cam ther a confessour coped as a frere;
To Mede the mayde [mekeliche he loutede]
And seide ful softely, in shrift as it were,
'Theigh lewed men and lered men hadde leyen by thee bothe.
And Falshede hadde yfolwed thee alle thise fifty wynter,
I shal assoille thee myself for a seem of whete,
And also be thi bedeman, and bere wel thyn er[ende],
Amonges knyghtes and clerkes, Conscience to torne.
Thanne Mede for hire mysdedes to that man kneled,
And shrof hire of hire sherewednesse - shamelees, I trowe;
Tolde hym a tale and took hym a noble
For to ben hire bedeman and hire brocour als.
Thanne he assoiled hire soone and sithen he seide,
' We have a wyndow in werchynge, wole stonden us ful hye;
Woldestow glaze that gable and grave therinne thy name,

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poem by William Langland
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Tercius

Incipit Liber Quartus

Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum,
Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis:
Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras,
Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo.
Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido,
Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri.

Upon the vices to procede
After the cause of mannes dede,
The ferste point of Slowthe I calle
Lachesce, and is the chief of alle,
And hath this propreliche of kinde,
To leven alle thing behinde.
Of that he mihte do now hier
He tarieth al the longe yer,
And everemore he seith, 'Tomorwe';
And so he wol his time borwe,
And wissheth after 'God me sende,'
That whan he weneth have an ende,
Thanne is he ferthest to beginne.
Thus bringth he many a meschief inne
Unwar, til that he be meschieved,
And may noght thanne be relieved.
And riht so nowther mor ne lesse
It stant of love and of lachesce:
Som time he slowtheth in a day
That he nevere after gete mai.
Now, Sone, as of this ilke thing,
If thou have eny knowleching,
That thou to love hast don er this,
Tell on. Mi goode fader, yis.
As of lachesce I am beknowe
That I mai stonde upon his rowe,
As I that am clad of his suite:
For whanne I thoghte mi poursuite
To make, and therto sette a day
To speke unto the swete May,
Lachesce bad abide yit,
And bar on hond it was no wit
Ne time forto speke as tho.
Thus with his tales to and fro
Mi time in tariinge he drowh:
Whan ther was time good ynowh,
He seide, 'An other time is bettre;
Thou schalt mowe senden hire a lettre,
And per cas wryte more plein
Than thou be Mowthe durstest sein.'

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poem by John Gower
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Tumahara Jana

Tumahara jana
Aachanak pushpo ki kaliyo se
Unke mahak ka ud jana.
Kal tak jo khila khila tha
Pal main
murjha kar mar jana.

Tumahara jana
Chand lamho main indradhanush ke
Rango ka ris kar bah jana.
Barso tak jo aabad sahar tha
Uuska chand minto mein
viran uujad ho jana

Tumahara jana
Aachanak chanchal hava ke
Rukh ka tufan mein badal jana.
Kal tak jo balwan khada tha
Uuska tut kar bikhar jana.

Tumhara jana
Saapno ki uudano se sakth dharatal par
Ghayal gir jana
Kisi sawachand muskan ka
Siskiyo mein bifar jana
Tumhara jaana.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 06

'This were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
That [myghte] folwen us ech a foot' - thus this folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn the Plowman, ' By Seint Peter of Rome!
I have an half acre to erie by the heighe weye;
Hadde I cryed this half acre and sowen it after,
I wolde wende with yow and the wey teche.'
'This were a long lettyng,' quod a lady in a scleyre;

'What sholde we wommen werche the while?'
'Somme shul sowe the sak ' quod Piers, ' for shedyng of the whete;
And ye lovely ladies with youre longe fyngres,
That ye have silk and sandel to sowe whan tyme is
Chesibles for chapeleyns chirches to honoure.
Wyves and widewes, wolle and flex spynneth
Maketh cloth, I counseille yow, and kenneth so youre doughtres.
The nedy and the naked, nymeth hede how thei liggeth,
And casteth hem clothes, for so commaundeth Truthe.
For I shal lenen hem liflode, but if the lond faille,
As longe as I lyve, for the Lordes love of hevene.
And alle manere of men that by mete and drynke libbeth,
Helpeth hym to werche wightliche that wynneth youre foode.'
'By Crist!' quod a knyght thoo, 'he kenneth us the beste;
Ac on the teme, trewely, taught was I nevere.
Ac kenne me,' quod the knyght, 'and by Crist I wole assaye!'
'By Seint Poul!' quod Perkyn, 'Ye profre yow so faire
That I shal swynke and swete and sowe for us bothe,
And [ek] labour[e] for thi love al my lif tyme,
In covenaunt that thow kepe Holy Kirke and myselve
Fro wastours and fro wikked men that this world destruyeth;
And go hunte hardiliche to hares and foxes,
To bores and to bukkes that breken down myne hegges;
And go affaite thi faucons wilde foweles to kille,
For thei cometh to my croft and croppeth my whete.'
Curteisly the knyght thanne co[nseyved] thise wordes
'By my power, Piers, I plighte thee my trouthe
To fulfille this forward, though I fighte sholde;
Als longe as I lyve I shal thee mayntene.'
' Ye, and yet a point,' quod Piers, 'I preye yow of moore

Loke ye tene no tenaunt but Truthe wole assente;
And though ye mowe amercy hem, lat mercy be taxour
And mekenesse thi maister, maugree Medes chekes.
And though povere men profre yow presentes and yiftes,
Nyme it noght, an aventure thow mowe it noght deserve;
For thow shalt yelde it ayein at one yeres ende
In a ful perilous place - Purgatorie it hatte.
And mysbede noght thi bondemen - the bettre may thow spede;
Though he be thyn underlyng here, wel may happe in hevene
That he worth worthier set and with moore blisse
Amice, ascende superius.

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poem by William Langland
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Primus

Incipit Liber Secundus

Inuidie culpa magis est attrita dolore,
Nam sua mens nullo tempore leta manet:
Quo gaudent alii, dolet ille, nec vnus amicus
Est, cui de puro comoda velle facit.
Proximitatis honor sua corda veretur, et omnis
Est sibi leticia sic aliena dolor.
Hoc etenim vicium quam sepe repugnat amanti,
Non sibi, set reliquis, dum fauet ipsa Venus.
Est amor ex proprio motu fantasticus, et que
Gaudia fert alius, credit obesse sibi.

Now after Pride the secounde
Ther is, which many a woful stounde
Towardes othre berth aboute
Withinne himself and noght withoute;
For in his thoght he brenneth evere,
Whan that he wot an other levere
Or more vertuous than he,
Which passeth him in his degre;
Therof he takth his maladie:
That vice is cleped hot Envie.
Forthi, my Sone, if it be so
Thou art or hast ben on of tho,
As forto speke in loves cas,
If evere yit thin herte was
Sek of an other mannes hele?
So god avance my querele,
Mi fader, ye, a thousend sithe:
Whanne I have sen an other blithe
Of love, and hadde a goodly chiere,
Ethna, which brenneth yer be yere,
Was thanne noght so hot as I
Of thilke Sor which prively
Min hertes thoght withinne brenneth.
The Schip which on the wawes renneth,
And is forstormed and forblowe,
Is noght more peined for a throwe
Than I am thanne, whanne I se
An other which that passeth me
In that fortune of loves yifte.
Bot, fader, this I telle in schrifte,
That is nowher bot in o place;
For who that lese or finde grace
In other stede, it mai noght grieve:
Bot this ye mai riht wel believe,
Toward mi ladi that I serve,
Thogh that I wiste forto sterve,

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poem by John Gower
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An ABC

Incipit carmen secundum ordinem litterarum alphabeti.

Almighty and al merciable queene,
To whom that al this world fleeth for socour,
To have relees of sinne, of sorwe, and teene,
Glorious virgine, of alle floures flour,
To thee I flee, confounded in errour.
Help and releeve, thou mighti debonayre,
Have mercy on my perilous langour.
Venquisshed me hath my cruel adversaire.

Bountee so fix hath in thin herte his tente
That wel I wot thou wolt my socour bee;
Thou canst not warne him that with good entente
Axeth thin helpe, thin herte is ay so free.
Thou art largesse of pleyn felicitee,
Haven of refut, of quiete, and of reste.
Loo, how that theeves sevene chasen mee.
Help, lady bright, er that my ship tobreste.[Riv., p. 638]

Comfort is noon but in yow, ladi deere;
For loo, my sinne and my confusioun,
Which oughten not in thi presence appeere,
Han take on me a greevous accioun
Of verrey right and desperacioun;
And as hi right thei mighten wel susteene
That I were wurthi my dampnacioun,
Nere merci of you, blisful hevene queene.

Dowte is ther noon, thou queen of misericorde,
That thou n'art cause of grace and merci heere;
God vouched sauf thurgh thee with us to accorde.
For certes, Crystes blisful mooder deere,
Were now the bowe bent in swich maneere
As it was first of justice and of ire,
The rightful God nolde of no mercy heere;
But thurgh thee han we grace as we desire.

Evere hath myn hope of refut been in thee,
For heer-biforn ful ofte in many a wyse
Hast thou to misericorde receyved me.
But merci, ladi, at the grete assyse
Whan we shule come bifore the hye justyse.
So litel fruit shal thanne in me be founde
That, but thou er that day correcte [vice],
Of verrey right my werk wol me confounde.

Fleeinge, I flee for socour to thi tente
Me for to hide from tempeste ful of dreede,

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poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Mo Ghare(Odia poem)

Desha bulibara nain mora
Achhi nijaku bulibara
Khola aakash tale.

Aakasharu khasuthiba upagraha
Aakhi rakhichhi mo badire
Aau mu rahichhi ghare.

Eka thile ghare laganta dara
Mo sahita achha tume
Aau bi annyamane.

Mo byatita aau jeunmane
Khaibe ethakara khadyapaniya
Mate nain jana.

Mu achhi mothi aau
achhi mo sahita e dharitri
Aau mo ghare aaloka bharti.

Dam achhi ta rahibaku heba chhup
Urmi thau ki na thau
Manakale aasipara tume.

Satarka na helekhalakhamara bhaya
na cherara na dalara
Jabodi dharibaku bi nain kichhi kouthi.

Hansa bhelire basichhi kau ta
Heba i heba sarbanasha jemiti heu
Aau jiba sarbaswa ghara sahita.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Taet

Pachas degla
sorsutar nain rahebar
god taltalala
thartharla hat
kain kainta aink nain disbar
gaintsabu chitkopotka
khaila baele nain jirbar
aaru hagamuta.
kentakari nachsan
kain karba janikari
pakharghare achhekie
kain karba janikari
kashi hela ki nain ganita
udla ki nain bel
kain sinema lagichhe
janikari bhi bhaida nain
nain kaha kichhi
nain lagibara jhumra
muin cheyichhen heta bhi nunhese
mte nain pachhrana
kahelata heba ki nain hue.
muin khula rakhichhen taet
jiba aasbar lukarthanu
sunmibalikari kainkainta
jenta mate nain subhe.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Ghazal! ! ! (Urdu)

Arsa e zeest ko sadiyon ka safar jana hay
Phir bhi ik roz tou hr shakhs ko mr jana hay

Meray Mabood tamannaon ka ambaar lye
Dar Tera chhor kar ab aur kidhar jana hay

Jald ponhchay khabar e khair musafir ki k phir
Sham ki qabr mein suraj ko utar jana hay

Kitnay dilkash se hua krtay hen aksar lekin
Ankh khultay hi tou khwabon ko bikhar jana hay

Saans chalti hey jisay dekh k hur dum apni
Uss ko duniya ki tamaazat mein shajar jana hay

Yeh jo manzil tumhe lagti he yeh manzil to nhi
Akhir iss se bhi kisi pal mein guzar jana hay

Dil agar mujh se lagao gay to pachhtao gay
Mein musafir hun mujhe laut k ghar jana hay

Ghair mumkin nhi dunya men koi kam Batool
Jo kisi se nhi hota hay wo kr jana hay...

poem by Shahzia Batool
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Jibaloka

Alaga alaga rasta achhi
Alaga alaga lokanka pain
Alaga alaga lokejaanti
Alaga laga udesyare.

Tumara udesya kana mu jani nain
Mora udesya thik kahibaku Thibi mu
sabubele amiti nain.

Panire jauchhi aau jauchhi pabanare
Hei disuchi dekhiba dekhi pariba balaku.

Kie kahila e a prarthana
Kie kahila e a karuna
Kie kahila yathu bahariba aau kana kana
kie kahila e ye jou kahila gala
ya rasta kemiti kana
jaichi kuaade pachariba.

Rasta jae ni re kahila jane
Aau uthila aau puni kahila
Rastare jae jiba loka a ka.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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One Particular Harbour

One particular harbour
By: jimmy buffett, bobby holcomb
1983
For marius skatelborough
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
I know i don't get there often enough
But god knows i surely try
It's a magic kind of medicine
That no doctor could prescribe
I used to rule my world from a pay phone
Ships out on the sea
But now times are rough
And i got too much stuff
Can't explain likes of me
Chorus:
But there's this one particular harbour
So far but yet so near
Where i see the days as they fade away
And finally disappear
But now i think about the good times
Down in the caribbean sunshine
In my younger days i was so bad
Laughin' about all the fun we had
I seen enough to feel the world spin
Mixin' different oceans meetin' cousins
Listen to the drummers and the night sounds
Listen to the singers make the world go 'round
(pan solo)
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
Lakes below the mountain
Flow into the sea
Like oils applied to canvas
They permeate through me
And there's that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within
Most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hair's full gray
And i finally disappear
Ia ora te natura
E mea arofa teie ao nei
Ia ora te natura

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song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sikhsya

Ai pathara mate deichhi sikhsya
Kahichhi jare ja pathara hoi ja
Mu maruchhi pathara hoi na pari.

Mate sunaichhi gita ai pathara
Aau ai pathara mate sunaichhi
Aakasha aakasha au mu rati adhare
Pathara upare basi pacharichhi
Taranka bayasa.

Dekhichhi ai patharaku padiamajhire
Dekhichhi ambagachha tale
Dekhichhi puneire
Janichhi a pathara pain
Rahichhi mo ghara mo sansara.

A patharaku athu uthaiba nain prasna
janichhi ai pathara mate dhari
Rakhichhi mularu aau mu pathara sahita
Jaichhi udi sata samudra tera nai jouthi
Nain nain.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Quintus

Incipit Liber Sextus

Est gula, que nostrum maculavit prima parentem
Ex vetito pomo, quo dolet omnis homo
Hec agit, ut corpus anime contraria spirat,
Quo caro fit crassa, spiritus atque macer.
Intus et exterius si que virtutis habentur,
Potibus ebrietas conviciata ruit.
Mersa sopore labis, que Bachus inebriat hospes,
Indignata Venus oscula raro premit.

---------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------

The grete Senne original,
Which every man in general
Upon his berthe hath envenymed,
In Paradis it was mystymed:
Whan Adam of thilke Appel bot,
His swete morscel was to hot,
Which dedly made the mankinde.
And in the bokes as I finde,
This vice, which so out of rule
Hath sette ous alle, is cleped Gule;
Of which the branches ben so grete,
That of hem alle I wol noght trete,
Bot only as touchende of tuo
I thenke speke and of no mo;
Wherof the ferste is Dronkeschipe,
Which berth the cuppe felaschipe.
Ful many a wonder doth this vice,
He can make of a wisman nyce,
And of a fool, that him schal seme
That he can al the lawe deme,
And yiven every juggement
Which longeth to the firmament
Bothe of the sterre and of the mone;
And thus he makth a gret clerk sone
Of him that is a lewed man.
Ther is nothing which he ne can,
Whil he hath Dronkeschipe on honde,
He knowth the See, he knowth the stronde,
He is a noble man of armes,
And yit no strengthe is in his armes:
Ther he was strong ynouh tofore,
With Dronkeschipe it is forlore,
And al is changed his astat,
And wext anon so fieble and mat,
That he mai nouther go ne come,
Bot al togedre him is benome
The pouer bothe of hond and fot,

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poem by John Gower
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