Tag Archives: Nature

ताजमहल – ये चमनज़ार यह जमुना का किनारा ये महल


ताज तेरे लिए इक मजहर-ऐ-उल्फत ही सही
तुझ को इस वादी-ऐ-रंगीन से अकीदत ही सही

मेर्री मेहबूब कहीं और मिला कर मुझ से

बज़्म-ऐ-शाही में ग़रीबों का गुज़र क्या मा’अनी
सब्त जिस राज पे हों सतवत-ऐ-शाही के निशाँ
उस पे उल्फत भरी रूहों का सफ़र क्या मा’अनी

मेरी महबूब पास-ऐ-पर्दा-ऐ-ताश-हीर-ऐ-वफ़ा
तू ने सतवत के निशानों को तो देखा होता
मुर्दा शाहों के मकाबिर से बहलने वाली
अपने तारीक मकानों को तो देखा होता

अनगिनत लोगों ने दुनिया में मुहब्बत की है
कौन कहता है की सादिक न थे जज्बे उन के
लेकिन उन के लिए ताश-हीर का सामान नहीं
क्यूँ के वो लोग भी अपनी ही तरह मुफलिस थे

ये इमारात-ओ-मकाबिर ये फ़सीलें,ये हिसार
मुतला-कुल्हुक्म शहंशाहों की अजमत के सुतून
दामन-ऐ-दहर पे उस रंग की गुलकारी है
जिस में सामिल है तेरे और मेरे अजदाद का खून

मेरी महबूब! उन्हें भी तो मुहब्बत होगी
जिनकी सन्ना-ई ने बख्शी है इसे शक्ल-जमील
उन के प्यारों के मकाबिर रहे बेनाम-ओ-नमूद
आज तक उन पे जल्ला-ई न किसी ने कंदील

ये चमनज़ार यह जमुना का किनारा ये महल
ये मुनक्क़श दर-ओ-दीवार, यह मेहराब ये ताक
इक शहंशाह ने दौलत का सहारा ले कर
हम ग़रीबों की मुहब्बत का उराया है मजाक

मेरी महबूब कहीं और मिला कर मुझ से!

–साहिर लुधियानवी(Sahir Ludhianvi 1921-1980)

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विहाग – महादेवी वर्मा


वनमाला के गीतों-सा
निर्जन में बिखरा है मधुमास,
इन कुंजो में खोज रहा है
सुना कोना मंद बतास;

नीरव नभ के नयन पर
हिलती है रजनी की अलके ,
जाने किसका पंथ देखती
बिछ कर फूलों की पलके|

मधुर चांदनी धो जाती है
खाली कलियों के प्याले,
बिखरे से है तार आज
मेरी वीणा के मतवाले;

पहली-सी झंकार नहीं है
और नहीं वह मादक राग,
अतिथि| किन्तु सुनते जाओ
टूटे तारों का करुण विहाग

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the indian to his love


W.B. Yeats (1865-1939)

The island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.

Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:

How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,

The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.

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Riding the Red Line


Eric Nixon
Buy Book – Anything but Dreams: Selected Poems

On the subway
On a hot summer night
Riding the Red Line
Outbound to Alewife
So is everyone else
Standing in the packed car
Staring blankly at the
Reflections in the window
Stealing looks every so often
At the pretty mid-20-something
Sitting on the seat near me
Noticing that she is
Glancing sideways
At the paper the person
Next to her is reading
Well not so much reading
Since he’s got his eyes
Looking to the side at
Someone else behind me
Everyone is pretending
To look somewhere neutral
Everyone is experiencing
Ulterior motives checking out
Everyone else around them
Trying to be all sneaky about it
With each stop
The people change
The dynamics change
Keeps the subway car
Fresh and interesting
Just as long as she doesn’t leave
I’ll be happy standing here
Packed among strangers
With wandering eyes
And stealing glances
Alongside them
On this hot, hot night.

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Some Glad Morning


Joyce Sutphen
Buy Book – Naming the Stars: Poems

One day, something very old
happened again. The green
came back to the branches,
settling like leafy birds
on the highest twigs;
the ground broke open
as dark as coffee beans.

The clouds took up their
positions in the deep stadium
of the sky, gloving the
bright orb of the sun
before they pitched it
over the horizon.

It was as good as ever:
the air was filled
with the scent of lilac
s and cherry blossoms
sounded their long
whistle down the track
It was some glad morning.

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Something About The Trees


Linda Pastan
Buy Queen of a Rainy Country(linda Pastan): Poems Book

I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?

There is an age when you are most yourself.
I know more than I did once.
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Only a single leaf had turned so far.

I know more than I did once.
I used to think he’d always be the surgeon.
Only a single leaf had turned so far,
Even his body kept its secrets.

I used to think he’d always be the surgeon,
My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife.
Even his body kept its secrets.
I thought they both would live forever.

My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife,
I can still see her face at thirty.
I thought they both would live forever.
I thought I’d always be their child.

I can still see her face at thirty.
When will I be most myself?
I thought I’d always be their child.
In my sleep it’s never winter.

When will I be most myself?
I remember what my father told me.
In my sleep it’s never winter.
He was just past fifty then.

Buy Waiting For My Life: Poems Book from Flipkart.com

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September


Linda Pastan
Buy Queen of a Rainy Country(linda Pastan): Poems Book

It rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in the summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn
Buy Waiting For My Life: Poems Book from Flipkart.com

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