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Perdess (A poem written in URDU)

Perdess kai hai tu kai janey…Aagan mera soona hai
Na koi humdam, na koi mukhlis…ye bhi koi jeena hai
Yaad sata-ey hai mujh ko jehan bachpan guzra pyar-oon mai
Uss deis ki mati ki khushboo aaj bhi hai fazaoon mai
Betay dinoon ki yadeen hain..aik khawab sa ab ye lagta hai
Kahan sey doon-oon tujh ko Maa..mera agaan kitna soona hai
Na koi chitty aatey hai aur na koi dastak deta hai
Kiss see ab faryad karoon…dil buhat ye roota hai
Iss des mai mera dana pani kyon kilha tu ne ae rab
Bechar geye meray chanay walay…kahan sey doond kay la-oon ab
Tanha iss safar mai hoon aur kathin hain saab rastay
Kisey kismet hai mery…Reham kar khuda ka wastay.

poem by Meena Mustafa
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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.'

[...] Read more

poem by John Gower
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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.

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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,

[...] Read more

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.

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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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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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The Assembly Of Ladies

In Septembre, at the falling of the leef,
The fressh sesoun was al-togider doon,
And of the corn was gadered in the sheef;
In a gardyn, about twayn after noon,
Ther were ladyes walking, as was her wone,
Foure in nombre, as to my mynd doth falle,
And I the fifte, the simplest of hem alle.

Of gentilwomen fayre ther were also,
Disporting hem, everiche after her gyse,
In crosse-aleys walking, by two and two,
And some alone, after her fantasyes.
Thus occupyed we were in dyvers wyse;
And yet, in trouthe, we were not al alone;
Ther were knightës and squyers many one.

'Wherof I served?' oon of hem asked me;
I sayde ayein, as it fel in my thought,
'To walke about the mase, in certayntè,
As a woman that [of] nothing rought.'
He asked me ayein—'whom that I sought,
And of my colour why I was so pale?'
'Forsothe,' quod I, 'and therby lyth a tale.'

'That must me wite,' quod he, 'and that anon;
Tel on, let see, and make no tarying.'
'Abyd,' quod I, 'ye been a hasty oon,
I let you wite it is no litel thing.
But, for bicause ye have a greet longing
In your desyr, this proces for to here,
I shal you tel the playn of this matere.—

It happed thus, that, in an after-noon,
My felawship and I, by oon assent,
Whan al our other besinesse was doon,
To passe our tyme, into this mase we went,
And toke our wayes, eche after our entent;
Some went inward, and wend they had gon out,
Some stode amid, and loked al about.

And, sooth to say, some were ful fer behind,
And right anon as ferforth as the best;
Other ther were, so mased in her mind,
Al wayes were good for hem, bothe eest and west.
Thus went they forth, and had but litel rest;

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Amma k naam...! ! ! (Urdu)

Janay kiskis tarha mushkil se sambhala mujh ko!
Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko......!

Apne kirdar se, guftaar se taaleem kia
Neik seerat bharay afkaar se taaleem kia
kia sahi, kia he ghalat, nok palak batlai
Ye namaz or dua tu ne hamay sikhlai

Tu ne kundan ki tarha se he ujaala mujh ko!
Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko!

Tarbiat din ki aulad ko aamaal se di
Roshni tu ne sahi raah ki afa'al se di
Zer e taameer sahi, me teri taameer to hun
Aaj me jo hun teri zaat ki tasveer to hun

Tu ne suraj ki tarha shab se nikala mujh ko!
Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko!

Kese pehchaanay teri zeest ka unwaan koi
Bistar e marg tha ya jang ka maidaan koi
Itni takleef sahi dil se magar sabr kia
lub se shikva na dia, sham o sahar shukr kia

Kon mushkil me bhala de ga sambhaala mujh ko!
Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko!

Akhri baar kalejay se mujhe liptana
Kese bhoolay ga kalaavon ka hamay pehnana
Mere naa cheez se haathon ko lagaya lub se
Dil Batool ab bhi yehi bol raha he tub se

Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko!
Meri maa tu ne boht pyar se paala mujh ko!

poem by Shahzia Batool
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Confessio Amantis. Explicit Liber Septimus

Incipit Liber Octavus

Que favet ad vicium vetus hec modo regula confert,
Nec novus e contra qui docet ordo placet.
Cecus amor dudum nondum sua lumina cepit,
Quo Venus impositum devia fallit iter.

------------------------------------ -----------------------------------------------
The myhti god, which unbegunne
Stant of himself and hath begunne
Alle othre thinges at his wille,
The hevene him liste to fulfille
Of alle joie, where as he
Sit inthronized in his See,
And hath hise Angles him to serve,
Suche as him liketh to preserve,
So that thei mowe noght forsueie:
Bot Lucifer he putte aweie,
With al the route apostazied
Of hem that ben to him allied,
Whiche out of hevene into the helle
From Angles into fendes felle;
Wher that ther is no joie of lyht,
Bot more derk than eny nyht
The peine schal ben endeles;
And yit of fyres natheles
Ther is plente, bot thei ben blake,
Wherof no syhte mai be take.
Thus whan the thinges ben befalle,
That Luciferes court was falle
Wher dedly Pride hem hath conveied,
Anon forthwith it was pourveied
Thurgh him which alle thinges may;
He made Adam the sexte day
In Paradis, and to his make
Him liketh Eve also to make,
And bad hem cresce and multiplie.
For of the mannes Progenie,
Which of the womman schal be bore,
The nombre of Angles which was lore,
Whan thei out fro the blisse felle,
He thoghte to restore, and felle
In hevene thilke holy place
Which stod tho voide upon his grace.
Bot as it is wel wiste and knowe,
Adam and Eve bot a throwe,
So as it scholde of hem betyde,
In Paradis at thilke tyde
Ne duelten, and the cause why,
Write in the bok of Genesi,

[...] Read more

poem by John Gower
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Namankaran

Gumnam se is rishtey ka
Koi nam rakha jaye
Ho kar bhi jo hai nahi
Is aahsase khas ko
Koi takht diya jaye.

Nadiyo ke milne ko
Kahte hai sangam
Sapno ke Milan ko Bhi
koi nam diya jaye.
Ho kar bhi jo hai nahi
Is aahsase khas ko
Koi takht diya jaye.

Khuli aakho se dekhe
To kahlaye vastav
Bandh aakho se dekhe
To kahlaye khabb
Khuli aakho se dekhe
Khabbo ka bhi
Koi nam diya jaaye
Ho kar bhi jo hai nahi
Is aahsase khas ko
Koi takht diya jaye.

Kuch gaam aakho ko rulaye
Kuch dil ko dahlaye
Kuch rooho ko hilaye
Jo gam dukhakar bhi bhaye
Un gamo ka aalag kuch
Koi nam rakha jaye
Ho kar bhi jo hai nahi
Is aahsase khas ko
Koi takht diya jaye.

Tan ke Milan
Aur man ke Milan
Ke to hai laakho nam
Rooho ke Milan ka bhi chalo
Koi nam rakha jaye
Ho kar bhi jo hai nahi
Is aahsase khas ko
Koi takht diya jaye.

poem by Anjali Kakati
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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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Janey Needs A Shooter

Well janey's got a doctor who tears apart her insides.
He investigates her and silently bates her every little sigh.
Oh, he probes with his fingers but he knows her heart only through a stethescope.
Oh, his hands are so old and his instruments so cold
Janey turns him down like dope.
And janey's got a proctor. from his marble pulpit he smiles.
He provides consolation and an open invitation to confession at any time.
Between the pages of his bible he holds from what janey he hides.
With her doors open wide she begs "come inside."
He's too long been content to mess around with the handles on the outside.
And janey needs a shooter
A shooter like this boy on her side
Janey needs a shooter
Someone who knows her style
And i know her style
Well janey loved a mechanic who owned a gas station down on route 9.
Well she took him to bed and i beat my head on *his gas tanks and bled all over his tires.
And then he smashed my car with big tow bar. i got out and asked him why.
He said, "'cuz with her it's either you or me, and it's gonna be me."
And i watched janey silently stand by.
Then she flopped with a cop who lived 'round the block.
He'd come peak in my window every night.
Janey's skin would turn pale as the siren he'd wail outside my house all night long when he knew she was inside.
She said his big gun was fun but janey's small, and sometimes he scared her.
So i held her real close. she was more a saint than a ghost.
And told her i so long had been prepared for her.
And janey needs a shooter
A shooter just like me on her side
Janey needs a shooter
Somebody who won't let her slide
And i can't let her slide
Woah, stay in here tonight, baby, and i won't let you slide.
I'm stayin' here tonight, woah, janey, and i won't let you slide.
I'm stayin' here tonight. baby i'm a-can'(t) let you slide.

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Saahil kay kinare...(A poem written in URDU)

Meray dil ki dharkan mai sirf tum hi rehtay ho
Pyar tum he say karti hoon buss tum he meray ho
Wo betay dinoon ki yaaden aur badal ka garajna tha
Wo saahil kay kinarey kishty mai kesa milna tha
Leher-oon ki thephair aa kar jab kishty sey takrati thee
Daar ka mai teray seenay say kesay lag jati thee
Do praim-ee aik jaan chup chup kay miltay thay
Kahan geye wo din…kitnay achay lagtay thay
Seepiyan chuntay gana ghatay saahil kay kinaray hum
Aik ddo-jay kay pyar mai ho jatay te hum gum
Tujh mai samah kay mai ney pya do janam-oon ka pyar
Aab Kha-gaye wo din aur kha-geye wo raat
Barsaat kay mosam mai tery yaad sa-ta-tee hai
Betay dinoon ki yaad mujh ko tar-patee hai
Ab na rehe wo kishty aur bun kaya aik khawab
Saahil kay kinare mai akalie kar-ee-hoon aaj.

poem by Meena Mustafa
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Awareness poem in Hindi by Deepak kumar deep

Sadiyon se khamosh ye dharti
Pata dhoondh rahi hai insanon ka
Kash! Kahin koi mil jaye
Kya shahar hai ye veerano ka?

Dhadhak rahen hai dil par hoth hain band
Iltaza hai kuch kahne ki
Par! sari nakam koshish
Mai chala gaya tha mudon ke shahar me
The naam wahan gude huwe sunhare patthron par

Wo bebas the, chilla rahe the,
Ro rahe the apni lachari par
Zuban na thepaas unke, kuch kahne ko
Kyonki wo bebas the lachar the……
Jane laga jab wahan se main
Pukar rahi thi wo sari lashen mughe
Chilla chilla kar kar kah rahi thi-
Mat banna aise, jaise the mere karm
Yaad kar un baton ko, aati mughe abs harm
Banna tha jab narm mughe, huwa main narm
Andhvishwashon me ghira tha mera apna dharm….

Jao jakar bata do unko
Meri tarah hi unka hoga haal
Maine ta umernahi ki bhakti, sirf kiya dikhawa
Jo bana aaj ka sawal
Maine apna waqut gawaya, duniyawi such ko pane me
Shareer ko sajane me,
Imarte banana me,
Danga fasad karne karane me
Par zara bhi na diya dhyan
Manav jeevan sawarne me.

Murakhta aur pagalpan ki bhi had hoti hai
Maine samay ke satguru ko nahi pahchana
Sirf libas dekha, shaklon par dhokha khakar
Har yug me maine mara taana.

Main bhi kitna badnaseeb tha
Manjeel mere karib tha
Phir bhi daud raha tha paglon ki tarah
Wo waqut bhi kaisa ajeeb tha.
Khair! Min to apne kiye ki bhugat raha hoon
Par jao jakar kahna un ghamandi, ahankari, papai,
durachari, anachari, Vyabhichari, atyachari logon se

Kyon kar raha hai apne aap se gaddaari.
Kar le apne aapki pahchan
Kaun hai tu? Kya hai tera asthan?

[...] Read more

poem by Deepak Kumar deep
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Janey, Dont You Lose Heart

You got your book baby with all your fears
Let me honey and Ill catch your tears
Ill take your sorrow if you want me to
Come tomorrow
Thats what Ill do
Listen to me
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Well you say you got no new dreams to touch
You feel like a stranger babe who knows too much
You come home late and get undressed
You lie in bed and feel this emptiness
Well listen to me
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Till every river it runs dry
Until the suns torn from the sky
Till every feel youve felt burst free
Gone tumblin down into the sea
Listen to me
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart
Janey dont you lose heart

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book Of The Duchesse

THE PROEM

I have gret wonder, be this lighte,
How that I live, for day ne nighte
I may nat slepe wel nigh noght,
I have so many an ydel thoght
Purely for defaute of slepe
That, by my trouthe, I take no kepe
Of no-thing, how hit cometh or goth,
Ne me nis no-thing leef nor loth.
Al is y-liche good to me --
Ioye or sorowe, wherso hyt be --
For I have feling in no-thinge,
But, as it were, a mased thing,
Alway in point to falle a-doun;
For sorwful imaginacioun
Is alway hoolly in my minde.
And wel ye wite, agaynes kynde
Hit were to liven in this wyse;
For nature wolde nat suffyse
To noon erthely creature
Not longe tyme to endure
Withoute slepe, and been in sorwe;
And I ne may, ne night ne morwe,
Slepe; and thus melancolye
And dreed I have for to dye,
Defaute of slepe and hevinesse
Hath sleyn my spirit of quiknesse,
That I have lost al lustihede.
Suche fantasies ben in myn hede
So I not what is best to do.
But men myght axe me, why soo
I may not slepe, and what me is?
But natheles, who aske this
Leseth his asking trewely.
My-selven can not telle why
The sooth; but trewely, as I gesse,
I holde hit be a siknesse
That I have suffred this eight yere,
And yet my bote is never the nere;
For ther is phisicien but oon,
That may me hele; but that is doon.
Passe we over until eft;
That wil not be, moot nede be left;
Our first matere is good to kepe.
So whan I saw I might not slepe,
Til now late, this other night,
Upon my bedde I sat upright
And bad oon reche me a book,
A romaunce, and he hit me took

[...] Read more

poem by Geoffrey Chaucer
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Non Puoi Lasciarmi Cos (Quit Playing Games)

Guardo dentro me e so gi
cosa rester di noi
quello che vorrei sei tu
ma niente ti riporta qui.
Che cosa non farei per te
ma il tempo gioca contro me
quanto ti vorrei non sai oh no.
Non puoi lasciarmi cos, lo sai o no
(non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non puoi giocare cos con me
(non puoi giocare mai non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non farlo mai.
Ritornerai lo so
mi vedo gi vicino a te
dammi un segno che tu ci sei
io voglio immaginarti qui.
Che cosa non farei per te
ma il tempo gioca contro me
quanto ti vorrei non sai oh no.
... lo sai che.
Non puoi lasciarmi cos, lo sai o no
(non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non puoi giocare cos con me
(non puoi giocare mai non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non farlo mai.
Se ci credi c' ancora un domani per noi
possiamo ancora stare insieme.
Se ci tieni
star qui con te
sarai qui con me.
Ritornerai lo so
mi vedo gi vicino a te
dammi un segno che tu ci sei
io voglio immaginarti qui.
Che cosa non farei per te
ma il tempo gioca contro me
quanto ti vorrei non sai oh no.
Non puoi lasciarmi cos, lo sai o no
(non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non puoi giocare cos con me
(non puoi giocare mai non mi lasciare mai)
non puoi giocare cos non puoi lo sai non puoi.

song performed by Backstreet Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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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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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,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Saawan Tu Baras Ja (A poem written in Urdu)

Mosam hai aashiqana, saawan tu baras ja
Iss pyar kay mosam mai yun mujh ko na tarpa
Ye ghata-een aur mast faza-een
Geetoon ki sargam, aaj mujh ko suna-een
Baarish ka shor kisa, hawa-een chelayn zoor
Dil terpay tujh sey milnay, ouur jayeen meray hosh
Wo beeghay badan ki kushbo, basi jo saa-so mai
Kisey lagi ye aag, aa ja tu ba-hoon mai
Tarpa na mujh ko itna, mosam ka maza le
Do char din ki zindagi, pyar tu kar ley
Tujhay dekhnay ko aksar, teelay pe jaoo mai
Baarish ki boond peray, aur guon-guo-naoon mai
Aagan mai peray joolay, pyal ki chankar
Saa-say na thami meri, karoon tera intizar

poem by Meena Mustafa
Added by Poetry Lover
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Saawan Tu Baras Ja... A Romantic poem written in Urdu)

Mosam hai aashiqana, saawan tu baras ja
Iss pyar kay mosam mai yun mujh ko na tarpa
Ye ghata-een aur mast faza-een
Geetoon ki sargam, aaj mujh ko suna-een
Baarish ka shor kisa, hawa-een chelayn zoor
Dil terpay tujh sey milnay, ouur jayeen meray hosh
Wo beeghay badan ki kushbo, basi jo saa-so mai
Kisey lagi ye aag, aa ja tu ba-hoon mai
Tarpa na mujh ko itna, mosam ka maza le
Do char din ki zindagi, pyar tu kar ley
Tujhay dekhnay ko aksar, teelay pe jaoo mai
Baarish ki boond peray, aur guon-guo-naoon mai
Aagan mai peray joolay, pyal ki chankar
Saa-say na thami meri, karoon tera intizar

poem by Meena Mustafa
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Phagoon Ki Raasta Khoi Hawa

Kya dhoondhte hai?
Kyoun dhoondhte hai?
Kise dhoondhte hai?

Sara jahan hai..
Kabi mutthi me,
To kabhi
Kadmo tale,
Phir bhi jaane kya chahte hai?
Na jaane kis ki khoj me rehta hai,
dil bechara.

Kyon aasthir hai?
Itna asantust,
Itna vyakul ye mann mera?
Peeneko toh puri dariya hai
Na jaane phir kyoun lout aate hai
Pyase he kinare se
Lekar koi naam anjana.

Kyoun nahi chal paate hai
Un raasto par
Jis par chalta hai jag sara?
Na jaane kyoun bhatakte phirte hai
Pagdandi, pagdandi
Jangal, khalihan sara?

Shayad phagoon ki
Rasta khoyee hawa hain,
Kabhi ek tinke se jala dete hai
tamam umar ki kamaiee,
Kabhi usi tinke koi bana lete hai
Doobte ki parchyee.

Kya dhoondhte hai?
Kyoun dhoondhte hai?
Kise dhoondhte hai?

poem by Anjali Kakati
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