A FIRE-MIST and a planet,
A crystal and a cell,
A jelly-fish and a saurian,
And caves where the cave-men dwell;
Then a sense of law and beauty
And a face turned from the clod --
Some call it Evolution,
And others call it God.
A haze on the far horizon,
The infinite, tender sky,
The ripe rich tint of the cornfileds,
And the wild geese sailing high --
And all over upland and lowland
The charm of the golden-rod --
Some of us call it Autumn
And others call it God.
Like tides on a crescent sea-beach,
When the moon is new and thin,
Into our hearts high yearnings
Come welling and surging in --
Come from the mystic ocean,
Whose rim no foot has trod, --
Some of us call it Longing,
And others call it God.
A picket frozen on duty,
A mother starved for her brood,
Socrates drinking the hemlock,
And Jesus on the rood;
And millions who, humble and nameless,
The straight, hard pathway plod, --
Some call it Consecration,
And others call it God.
William Herbert Carruth
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Ghosts of Dreams
WE are all of us dreamers of dreams,
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
William Herbert Carruth
--My interpretation: There is nothing left to live for if your dream is dead. As Alber Schweitzer said, "The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he still lives."
On visions our childhood is fed;
And the heart of a child is unhaunted, it seems,
By ghosts of dreams that are dead.
From childhood to youth's but a span,
And the years of our life are soon sped;
But the youth is no longer a youth, but a man,
When the first of his dreams is dead.
'Tis a cup of wormwood and gall,
When the doom of a great man is said;
And the best of a man is under a pall
When the best of his dreams is dead.
He may live on by compact and plan
When the fine bloom of living is shed,
But God pity the little that's left of a man
When most of his dreams are dead.
Let him show a brave face if he can;
Let him woo fame and fortune instead;
Yet there's not much to do, but to bury a man
When the last of his dreams is dead.
William Herbert Carruth
--My interpretation: There is nothing left to live for if your dream is dead. As Alber Schweitzer said, "The tragedy of life is what dies inside a man while he still lives."
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में है
(ऐ वतन,) करता नहीं क्यूँ दूसरा कुछ बातचीत,
देखता हूँ मैं जिसे वो चुप तेरी महफ़िल में है
ऐ शहीद-ए-मुल्क-ओ-मिल्लत, मैं तेरे ऊपर निसार,
अब तेरी हिम्मत का चरचा ग़ैर की महफ़िल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
वक़्त आने पर बता देंगे तुझे, ए आसमान,
हम अभी से क्या बताएँ क्या हमारे दिल में है
खेँच कर लाई है सब को क़त्ल होने की उमीद,
आशिकों का आज जमघट कूचा-ए-क़ातिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
है लिए हथियार दुश्मन ताक में बैठा उधर,
और हम तैयार हैं सीना लिए अपना इधर.
ख़ून से खेलेंगे होली गर वतन मुश्क़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
हाथ, जिन में है जूनून, कटते नही तलवार से,
सर जो उठ जाते हैं वो झुकते नहीं ललकार से.
और भड़केगा जो शोला सा हमारे दिल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
हम तो घर से ही थे निकले बाँधकर सर पर कफ़न,
जाँ हथेली पर लिए लो बढ चले हैं ये कदम.
ज़िंदगी तो अपनी मॆहमाँ मौत की महफ़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
यूँ खड़ा मक़्तल में क़ातिल कह रहा है बार-बार,
क्या तमन्ना-ए-शहादत भी किसी के दिल में है?
दिल में तूफ़ानों की टोली और नसों में इन्कलाब,
होश दुश्मन के उड़ा देंगे हमें रोको न आज.
दूर रह पाए जो हमसे दम कहाँ मंज़िल में है,
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
वो जिस्म भी क्या जिस्म है जिसमे न हो ख़ून-ए-जुनून
क्या लड़े तूफ़ान से जो कश्ती-ए-साहिल में है
सरफ़रोशी की तमन्ना अब हमारे दिल में है
देखना है ज़ोर कितना बाज़ू-ए-क़ातिल में
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai
Aye watan, Karta nahin kyun doosra kuch baat-cheet
Dekhta hun main jise who chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar
Ab teri himmat ka charcha ghair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Waqt aanay dey bata denge tujhe aye aasman
Hum abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil mein hai
Khainch kar layee hai sab ko qatl hone ki ummeed
Aashiqon ka aaj jumghat koocha-e-qaatil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udhar
Aur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar
Khoon se khelenge holi gar vatan muskhil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se
Sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se
Aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe kafan
Jaan hatheli par liye lo barh chale hain ye qadam
Zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Yuun khadaa maqtal mein qaatil kah rahaa hai baar baar'
Kya tamannaa-e-shahaadat bhi kisee ke dil mein hai
Dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inqilaab
Hosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj
Duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Wo jism bhi kya jism hai jismein na ho khoon-e-junoon
Toofaanon se kya lade jo kashti-e-saahil mein hai
Chup khade hain aaj saare bhai mere khaamosh hain
Na karo to kuchh kaho mazhab mera mushkil mein hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazuay qaatil mein hai.
Translation:
The desire for sacrifice is now in our hearts
We shall now see what strength there is in the boughs of the enemy.
Why do you remain silent thus?
Whoever I see, is gathered quiet so...
O martyr of country, of nation, I submit myself to thee
For yet even the enemy speaks of thy courage
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...
When the time comes, we shall show thee, O heaven
For why should we tell thee now, what lurks in our hearts?
We have been dragged to service, by the hope of blood, of vengeance
Yea, by our love for nation divine, we go to the streets of the enemy
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...
Armed does the enemy sit, ready to open fire
Ready too are we, our bosoms thrust out to him
With blood we shall play Holi, if our nation need us
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...
No sword can sever hands that have the heat of battle within,
No threat can bow heads that have risen so...
Yea, for in our insides has risen a flame,
and the desire for struggle is in our hearts...
Set we out from our homes, our heads shrouded with cloth,
Taking our lives in our hands, do we march so...
In our assembly of death, life is now but a guest
The desire for struggle is in our hearts...
Stands the enemy in the gallows thus, asking,
Does anyone wish to be sacrificed?...
With a host of storms in our heart, and with revolution in our breath,
We shall knock the enemy cold, and no one shall stop us...
What good is a body that does not have passionate blood,
How can one conquer a storm while in a shored boat.
The desire for struggle is in our hearts,
We shall now see what strength there is in the boughs of the enemy.
Himmat Karne Walon Ki Haar Nahin Hoti
लहरों से डरकर नौका पार नहीं होती
हिम्मत करने वालों की हार नहीं होती।
नन्ही चींटी जब दाना लेकर चलती है,
चढ़ती दीवारों पर सौ बार फिसलती है,
मन का विश्वास रगों में साहस भरता है,
चढ़कर गिरना,गिरकर चढ़ना न अखरता है,
आखिर उसकी मेहनत बेकार नहीं होती ,
कोशिश करने वालों की हार नहीं होती।
डुबकियां सिंधु में गोताखोर लगाता है,
जा-जाकर खाली हाथ लौट आता है,
मिलते न सहेज के मोती पानी में,
बहता दूना उत्साह इसी हैरानी में,
मुठ्ठी उसकी खाली हर बार नहीं होती,
हिम्मत करने वालों की हार नहीं होती।
असफलता एक चुनौती है स्वीकार करो,
क्या कमी रह गयी,देखो और सुधार करो,
जब तक न सफल हो नींद चैन को त्यागो तुम,
संघर्षों का मैदान छोड़ मत भागो तुम,
कुछ किये बिना ही जय-जयकार नहीं होती,
हिम्मत करने वालों की हार नहीं होती।
Lehron Se Darr Kar Nauka Paar Nahin Hoti
Himmat Karne Walon Ki Haar Nahin Hoti
Nanhiin Cheeteen Jab Daana Lekar Chalti Hai
Chadhti Deewaron Par Sau Baar Phisalti Hai
Mann Ka Vishwaas Ragon Mein Saahas Bharta Hai
Chadh Kar Girna, Girkar Chadhna Naa Aakarta Hai
Aakhir Uski Mehnat Bekaar Nahin Hoti
Koshish Karne Walon Ki Haar Nahin Hoti
Dubkiyaan Sindhu Mein Goota Khoor Lagaata Hai
Jaa Jaa Kar Khaali Haath Laut Aata Hai
Milte Na Shaheej Ke Moti Paani Mein
Behta Doona Utsaah Isi Hairaani Mein
Muthi Uski Khaali Haar Baar Nahin Hoti
Himmat Karne Walon Ki Haar Nahin Hoti
Asafalta Ek Chunauti Hai Sweekaar Karo
Kya Kami Reh Gayi Dekho Aur Sudhaar Karo
Jab Tak Nasafaal Ho Neend Chaain Ko Tyaago Tum
Sungharshon Ka Maidaan Chhodh Mat Bhaago Tum
Kucch Kiye Bina Hi Jai Jai Kar Nahin Hoti
Himmat Karne Walon Ki Haar Nahin Hoti
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Sever any ties...
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The loss of a believing heart
“Upon the white sea sand, there sat a pilgrim band,
Telling the losses which their lives had known,
While evening waned away, from breezy cliff and bay,
And the strong tides went out with weary moan.
“One spake with quivering lip, of a fair freighted ship,
With all his household to the deep gone down.
But one had wilder woe, for a fair face long ago,
Lost in the darker depths of a great town.
“There were some who mourned their youth, with a most loving truth,
For its brave hopes and memories ever green;
And one upon the West, turned an eye that would not rest,
For far-off hills whereon its joy had been.
“Some talked of vanished gold, some of proud honors told,
Some spoke of friends that were their trust no more;
And one of a green grave, beside a foreign wave,
That made him sit so lonely on the shore.
“But when their tales were done, there spake among them one,
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free:
‘Sad losses have ye met, but mine is heavier yet,
For a believing heart hath gone from me.’
“’Alas!’ these pilgrims said, ‘for the living and the dead,
For fortunes cruelty, for love’s sure cross,
For the wreck of land and sea, but however it came to thee—
Thine, stranger, is life’s last and heaviest loss.’”
--Frances Browne
Telling the losses which their lives had known,
While evening waned away, from breezy cliff and bay,
And the strong tides went out with weary moan.
“One spake with quivering lip, of a fair freighted ship,
With all his household to the deep gone down.
But one had wilder woe, for a fair face long ago,
Lost in the darker depths of a great town.
“There were some who mourned their youth, with a most loving truth,
For its brave hopes and memories ever green;
And one upon the West, turned an eye that would not rest,
For far-off hills whereon its joy had been.
“Some talked of vanished gold, some of proud honors told,
Some spoke of friends that were their trust no more;
And one of a green grave, beside a foreign wave,
That made him sit so lonely on the shore.
“But when their tales were done, there spake among them one,
A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free:
‘Sad losses have ye met, but mine is heavier yet,
For a believing heart hath gone from me.’
“’Alas!’ these pilgrims said, ‘for the living and the dead,
For fortunes cruelty, for love’s sure cross,
For the wreck of land and sea, but however it came to thee—
Thine, stranger, is life’s last and heaviest loss.’”
--Frances Browne
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Kingdom of God
O WORLD invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!—
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
‘Tis ye, ‘tis your estrangèd faces,
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!
-- Francis Thompson (1859-1907)
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!—
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
‘Tis ye, ‘tis your estrangèd faces,
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!
-- Francis Thompson (1859-1907)
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