Sunday, August 15, 2010

My Father, let my country awake....

This is what I pray for today, when India is celebrating 63 years of its independence.

Tagore wrote this much before India gained Independence and sadly this prayer is more relevant today than ever before....

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

I wish to see an India :

1) Where food does not rot in Govt godowns while millions starve to death.
2) Where every child is allowed to enjoy his childhood without having to worry about supporting the family.
3) Where each one is free to worship his God in his own way.
4) Where corruption has not become the life-blood of the administration.
5) Where the leaders do not act like leeches surviving off the very populace that they are supposed to lead.

I hope God grants enough sense and wisdom to our leaders to help steer our country in a more peaceful and prosperous direction

Wishing everyone a very Happy Independence Day!

Friday, August 13, 2010

Revisiting the Past - Some of my poems and shayaris

Was just browsing through my personal docs and stumbled upon some of the poems that I had written a few years back so thought of sharing these in this post .

These poems/shayaris have been written over a period of 6-7 years and capture my state of mind during these times...

Hope you find these worth your time :

     Jiyo To Is Tarah

      Gao to is tarah ki tarana badal do tum,
      Likho to is tarah ki fasana badal do tum,

      Rutho to is tarah ki manana badal do tum,
      Mano to is tarah ki satana badal do tum,

      Milo to is tarah ki bhul pana badal do tum,
      Bichdo to is tarah ki yaad aana badal do tum,

      Chalo to is tarah ki thikana badal do tum,
      Ruko to is tarah ki thakana badal do tum,

      Lado to is tarah ki jhukana badal do tum,
           Jhuko to is tarah ki harana badal do tum,

           Jiyo to is tarah ki zamana badal do tum,
     Maro to is tarah ki har mana badal do tum.

           Zindagi se mukabla ho jab kabhi,
Harna na himmat bas tu tabhi,
Badhate hi rehna tu apne kadam,
Ho chahe tujh pe job hi sitam,
Ki pa jayega apni manzil wahi,
Dar ke kisi se jo jukta nahin,
To aage badho karlo khud par yakien,
Kadam chumenge aasman aur zameen.

Nayi Subah

Aaj yeh suraj chipa hai badalon ke piche,
Jaise tera chehra chip jata hai zulfon ke niche,
Tere chehre ki roshni zulfon ki kivad se jhalak ke aa rahi hai,
Teri surat ko niharne ki tadap aur badha rahi hai,
Ki tere liye to aye humsafar yeh luka chuppi ka khel sahi,
Par meri to saari zindagi amavas ki raat banti jaa rahi hai,
Tu ijazat de agar to yeh zulfein mein hata doon,
Tere chehre ki roshni se zindagi ki nayi subah main saja loon.

And here are a couple of shayaris : 

            Kashtiyon ko dubane ka shauk hai tumhein agar,
To hum bhi rakhte hai dum toofanon se takrane ka,
Taqdeer, azmale chahe jitna tu magar,
Tod na payegi junoon is diwane ka.

Aye maut mein aaj tujhe gale lagana chahta hoon,
Kitni wafai hai teri fidrat mein yeh aazmana chahta hoon,
Zindagi ne to bas hardam rulaya hai mujhe,
Tera saath mile to aaj, zindagi ko rulana chahta hoon.

Have a Great Weekend :)

Friday, August 6, 2010

Poems for Life

Seems like I've hit a blank right after my first post and cant think of anything to blog about at the moment. So just thought I'd atleast keep the blog alive by sharing a few of my favorite poems :

Here's one by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow called The Psalm 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 further 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 labour and to wait.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 Here's another by Rudyard Kipling called "If" : 

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
And here's a short story that I love reading every once in a while titled Making Sandcastles : 

A little boy is on his knees scooping and packing the sand with plastic shovels into a bright blue bucket. Then he upends the bucket on the surface and lifts it. And, to the delight of the little architect, a castle tower is created.
All afternoon he will work. Spooning out the moat. Packing the walls. Bottle tops will be sentries. Popsicle sticks will be bridges. A sandcastle will be built.
Big city. Busy streets. Rumbling traffic.
A man is in his office. At his desk he shuffles papers into stacks and delegates assignments. He cradles the phone on his shoulder and punches the keyboard with his fingers. Numbers are juggled and contracts are signed and much to the delight of the man, a profit is made.
All his life he will work. Formulating the plans. Forecasting the future. Annuities will be sentries. Capital gains will be bridges. An empire will be built.
Two builders of two castles. They have much in common. They shape granules into grandeurs. They see nothing and make something. They are diligent and determined. And for both the tide will rise and the end will come.
Yet that is where the similarities cease. For the boy sees the end while the man ignores it. Watch the boy as the dusk approaches.
As the waves near, the wise child jumps to his feet and begins to clap. There is no sorrow. No fear. No regret. He knew this would happen. He is not surprised. And when the great breaker crashes into his castle and his masterpiece is sucked into the sea, he smiles. He smiles, picks up his tools, takes his father's hand, and goes home.
The grownup, however, is not so wise. As the wave of years collapses on his castle he is terrified. He hovers over the sandy monument to protect it. He blocks the waves from the walls he has made. Salt-water soaked and shivering he snarls at the incoming tide.
"It's my castle," he defies.
The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs......
I don't know much about sandcastles. But children do. Watch them and learn. Go ahead and build, but build with a child's heart. When the sun sets and the tides take - appreciate and be thankful to the One who has created and given you everything. Salute the process of life and go home.

Have a nice weekend :)

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