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Peace-
Meditation and Self Control The
Infinite in the Miniscule Bidyutprabha
Devi Tiny
little flowers, tiny
blades of grass. Rosy
innocent smiles on
tiny little lips. Wink
of the twinkling little stars, thin
stream of tears under the moist eyes. Pallid,
mild flames, of
little earthen lamps. Delicate
flowers. little
dew-pearls. Little
spots on
butterfly's wings. Specs
of dust tiny
droplets of rain. Whatever
the seeing eye Calls
the miniscule in creation, there
the mind discovers an
infinite world. Translated
from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi Peace-
Self respect THE
Soul’s Prayer Sarojini
Naidu In
childhood's pride I said to Thee: '0
Thou, who mad'st me of Thy breath, Speak,
Master, and reveal to me Thine
inmost laws of life and death. 'Give
me to drink each joy and pain Which
Thine eternal hand can mete, For
my insatiate soul would drain Earth's
utmost bitter, utmost sweet. 'Spare
me no bliss, no pang of strife, Withhold
no gift or grief I crave, The
intricate lore of love and life And
mystic knowledge of the grave.' Lord,
Thou didst answer stern and low; 'Child,
I will hearken to thy prayer, And
thy unconquered soul shall know All
passionate rapture and despair. 'Thou
shalt drink deep of joy and fame, And
love shall burn thee like a fire, And
pain shall cleanse thee like a flame, To
purge the dross from thy desire. 'So
shall thy chastened spirit yearn To
seek from its blind prayer release, And
spent and pardoned, sue to learn The
simple secret of My peace. 'I,
bending from my sevenfold height Will
teach thee of My quickening grace, Life
is a prism of My light, And
Death the shadow of My face.' Peace-
Meditation Meditation D.
Vinayachandran I
am a palm-tree on
the bank of this paddy field. My
voice is lost in the wind. On
the hill-top I
am a monastery. My
head is tonsured in
the prayer of Thathagatha. The
sea-shore is my love. Soaked
in sunset we
walk towards the moon. The
cry of this unseen bird is
my life. In the slant of
the sky it becomes deep blue. This
blind old man is
my prophet. Like
my alphabet he
keeps asking: "What
is your name?" Translated
from Malayalam by E.V. Ramakrishnan Peace
–Endurance Freedom Balachandran
Chullikkad A
disciple asked the tailor: Sir,
what is freedom? Is
it the calf frolicking in the fields? The
bird that flies up to build its nest in the sun? The
train that runs, whistling, north? The
street-lamp the wayfarer in the dark pines for? A
sleep without cares? Or
is it my redemption from the endless lengths
of cloth, the wheel that turns non-stop
and the relentless needle? The
tailor replied: Freedom
is food for the hungry water
for the thirsty coat for the one left out in the cold a
bed for the weary The
word for the poet the
arrow for the hunter society
for the loner courage
for the frightened death
for the eunuch and
a son to perpetuate the family for the married man arc
indeed freedom. Wisdom
for the ignorant Action
for the wise Self-sacrifice
for a man of action and
for the martyr his life are
freedom. But one
who stitches not will lose his dream-vision. There
is freedom at the illuminated tip
of the stitching needle. It
is the grain the sower reaps. The
bread for the one who sweats his brow. The
shirt for the one who stitched it. Then
the master resumed his stitching The
disciple, his doubts dispelled, started
threading his needle. Translated
from Malayalam by E. V.
Ramakrishnan. Peace-
Purity of Thought and Endurance. Stones O.N.V.
Kurup Stones
splinter and lie scattered in
front of me all the way. Stones
that trip my legs, stones
nailing in sharp; stones that
poison the deep in me, stones
that measure and mark the earth, stones
sticking out ill-omens. Yes,
stones and stones all this way I Smooth,
some rough- these
beauty-spots of the earth, they
are at times ugly and raw. Stones
again, the sinners aimed at
poor Mary of the past; (stones
with blood-tinged curse on every lip- have
we poked at their hearts for their kindness?) Stones
with their branded foreheads stand
witness to the graves that hide the
lavish waste of lives that
ate, drank and died reckless: Stones
lost in the flow and falsehood of history; stones
that have by hearted the echoes of those who
thirsted to' renew the land: lives
in thousands, numb
like dead stones, somebody
has trampled on. Stones
again, dreaming of some divine
touch of bliss; stones,
yes, the dark rock splinters in life dare
cap the caves of this wild of millions; stones
that boil like sun; stones
brimming like sad tears; stones
that darken like the night; stone
reddening like the dusk; stones,
time plays nickels and dimes, they're
the earth's still-borns, an
ever-forgiving mother's griefs. Who
can bring them back carving
life from their stone-blocks? Who
can fiddle its hush into a song? Come,
Shiva and Shakti. Come, come
in a mighty hammer and a chisel to
dance over these stones t Let
these stones labour in pain, beget
children fit enough to
create and destroy. Translated
from Malayalam by Joy T.R. Peace-Meditation The
Path Towards God K.
Satchidanandan Don't
go to the temples; Images
will entangle you. Don't
trust the holy books; Their
truths are obsolete. Don't
seek out priests; Middlemen
always bargain. Keep
away from groups; They
breed only violence. Watch
your body: It
is splitting apart. Attachment
does not hinder; Only
practise it with detachment. Love
is way If
not confined to Man. Poverty
is divine When
not imposed. Don't
block the wind. Don't
go after the cause. Meditation
needs no mounts. Squat
on the grass. Listen
keenly to the leaf, The
bird, the rain and-the river. Don't
forget the waking sun Even
while sleeping under the moon. Don't
curse solitude. The
world is most alive Inside
the lonely. Silence
is prayer; Emptiness,
fullness. Translated from Malayalam by the author. Peace-
Purity of thought How
to Go to the Tao Temple K.
Satchidanandan Don't
lock the door. Go
lightly like the leaf in the breeze along
the dawn's valley. If
you arc too fair cover
yourself with ash If
too clever, go half-asleep. That
which is fast will
tire fast: be
slow, slow as stillness. Be
formless like water. Lie
low, don't even try to go up. Don't
go round the deity: nothingness
has no directions, no
front, nor back. Don't
call It by name, Its
name has no name. No
offerings: empty pots are
easier to carry than full ones. No
prayers too: desires have
no place here. Speak
silently, if speak you must: like
the rock speaking to trees and
leaves to flowers. Silence
is the sweetest of voices and
Nothingness has the
fairest of colours. Let
none see you coming and
none, going. Cross
the threshold shrunken like
one crossing a river in winter. You
have only a second here like
melting snow. No
pride: you are not even formed, No
anger: not even dust is at
your command. No
sorrow: it doesn't alter anything. Renounce
greatness: there's
no other way to be great. Don't
ever use your hands: they
are contemplating not
love, but violence. Let
the fish lie in its water and
the fruit on its bough. The
soft one shall survive the hard, like
the tongue that survives teeth. Only
the one who does nothing can
do everything. Go,
the unmade idol awaits
you. Translated
from Malayalalam by the author. Peace-Endurance
and Self Sacrifice May
or May Not Come By Adil
Mansoori Sporting
in riversand this town may or may not come by This
scene on the screen of memory may or may not come by Draw
in your breath its ocean of fragrance Again
this drift of moist earth may or may not come by Let
us look at the colleagues with content These
smiling faces, this amiable gaze may or may not come by Fill
the sight with roads, windows, walls Afterwards
this town, these streets, this house may or may not come by Lament
today clinging to the kins Later
on someone's grave may or may not come by Farewelling
faces will reappear in the eyes Even
if any consort in the journey may or may not come by Let
me smear the soil of homeland on my head Perhaps
in a lifetime this earth may or may not come by. Translated
from Gujarati by Dileep Jhaveri. Peace-
Purity of Thought and Meditation. The
Boy Akhtar-ul-Iman On
the hills near villages in the east, Sometimes
in mango orchards, sometimes on dykes, Sometimes
in the lanes, sometimes in the lakes, Sometimes
amongst the merriment of youngsters half-clad, At
dawning, dusk, in the darkness of the night, Sometimes
at fairs, among the pantomime players, Or
lost on quiet by-paths chasing butterflies, Or
sneaking towards the hidden nests of little birds, Barefoot,
no matter what the weather, Out
of school, in deserted abodes, Sometimes
laughing in a group of pretty girls, Sometimes
restless like a whirlwind, In
dreams, floating in the air, flying like a cloud, Swinging
in trees like the little birds, I
see a boy, wandering, carefree, independent, As
the flowing water of mountain streams. This
nuisance acts like my shadow, Following
my every step, no matter where I go, As
if I were an escaped convict. And
he asks me: Are
you really Akhtar-ul-Iman? I
acknowledge the blessings of Almighty God; 1
admit that He laid down this earth Like
a vast bed of velvet and brocade; I
admit that the tent of skies is His benison; He
ordered moon and sun and stars in space; He
brought forth rivers by splitting mountains; He
created me from dust, And
gave me dominion over the earth; Filled
oceans with pearls, and mines with rubies; Filled
the air with bewitching bouquets; He
is the Master, Mighty, Singular, Wise; He
separates darkness from light, If
I know myself, it is His benevolence. He
has given splendour to the greedy, And
adversity to me; Made
idiots wealthy, and a beggar out of me; But
whenever I stretch out my hands to beg, The
boy asks: Are
you really Akhtar-ul-Iman? My
livelihood lies in the hands of others. All
I still control is my mind which understands That
I have to carry the burden the rest of my life, Till
my elements are dispersed, And
my pulse stops beating; That
subsisting means forever singing Melody
of dawn, or lament of night. In
front of the victors, I
cannot even call my song my own: I
have to smile when they say I
am singing their song, not mine. My
pen's creations, the work of my sleepless nights, Have
to be passed like a counterfeit coin. When
I think about myself, in sorrow I say That
I am a blister, bound to burst one day. In
short, I wander like the morning breeze, Longing
for the morning, When
I seek help from the night, The
boy asks: Are
you really Akhtar-ul-Iman? When
he does so, in a fury I reply: That
depressed, neurotic soul You
keep enquiring for is long dead. I
have wrapped him in the shroud of self deception, And
thrown him in the grave of his hopes. I
tell that boy the flame is quenched That
was bent on burning all the trash of the world. The
boy smiles, and says softly That's
a lie, a fib, a cheat. Look!1
am alive. Translated
from Urdu by Baidar Bakht and Kathleen Grant Jaegar. Peace-
Self-control and Purity of Thought. Root
Out Desire Tirukkural The
wise declare that desire is the seed of
the sprout of future births. Desire
freedom from births, and this comes from the
end of other desires. Be
it here, be it there, nor the wealth nor joy can
match freedom from desire. Truth-consciousness
leads to desirelessness; this,
in turn, to purity. The
truly free have conquered all desire; others,
seeming free, are bound. Ascetics
root out desire, for it is a
trap and a disaster. Let
the desire be cast away first; all good will
then come with ease and grace. The
desireless eschew grief: the rest are a
prey to manifold lies. Once
kill desire, the evil of evils, here
and now the bliss is yours. Desire
grows by it feeds on; kill it, and
felicity is yours. Translated
from Tamil by K.R. Srinivasa Iyer. Peace-
Meditation and Self-control Psalms
of a Saiva Saint Tayumanavaswamy What
time O lord to me Thou camest, The
silent Teacher teaching me The
secret of the way of stillness, How
I in it might safest be, Like
children building toy sand-houses; In
fancy eat there fancy's food. From
day to day in soft contentment, So
have I chosen, Lord, as good The
halfway help of human learning And
in my mind have held as true The
daring of unbridled fancy That
Thou and I are one not two. To
curb my mind that thus rebelleth, To
keep it under right control I
do not know the way, I languish, I
faint, and long for health of soul. When
wilt Thou make me heir and worthy Of
grace ,Who givest grace to all. O
Lord in bliss beyond all thinking That
dancest in high Wisdom's Hall? Translated
from Tamil by T.Isaac Tambyah. Peace-Nature Almora
Spring Sumitranandan
Pant Coral
and emerald shade, sun's
heat first gold then silver; snow
mountain scent on silken breezes, a
hundred jewelled birds painting the sky. On
autumn's brittle yellow bodies a
world of newborn beauty budding, while
blaze of coolest green sheds
everywhere its tender light. New
heaven of pleasure, youth and love, and
loveliness created afresh; Nature's
in bud, horizon blossoms, skies
rain bird-song and hum of bees. ---See,
like a bright cicada spreading its wings about
to fly to flowering valleys--- this
is the Almora spring, blossoming
on every mountainside. Translated
from Hindi by David Rubin. Peace-Self
Control The
Show is On Leeladhar
Jagoori The
contrasting world you see is
called complexity. Adam
is not with it, as much
as with his colloquy. At
the rear of the non-stop reval clamour
sounds like a chorus but,
if you listen with care you'll
hear a sinister -sounding instrument harping
upon our indigence and ignorance ---much
as we harp upon our culture; it
transmutes the pleas from the outer world
into an unlikely rhapsody. Nothing
is being born and yet you
all continue harping in despite. At
such moments I feel I
too had bettre relish, colloquially, the
taste of being by
taking a header for the lower rungs; And
from the formidable upper rungs I
should much against my palate all
the confounded tastes from
versifying to vasectomy. Whenever
I sense so there
rises forthwith the tail of
a query or a cow. After
searching and shifting it were said the
problems is ill-besieged, the
party the lone point of reference nor
the people. Therefore
erasing the line between
life and personal computations the
sene has been shelved the
one about sympathy, about civility; goes
on as it ever has. If
ever the curtain goes up I
shall demonstrate my readiness; if
it never does I
shall, like many another plead
my growing incapacity to
know, to comprehend. Translated
from Hindi by Ajit Khullar Peace-Endurance Do
Not Ask Me How I Have Been Nilmoni
Phukan Do
not ask me how I have been I
haven't asked me either down
the Holong flows a
young female torso What
I was last nigt king
hermit farmer labour lover
rebel poet a
tiger looking for waterholes after
the kill I
forgot what I was Do
not ask me how I have been After
all I am not alone for
even after that last supper I
haven't bid adieu nor
could I take my leave I
haven't laughed since Auschwitz nor
cried either And
where can I go I
forgot where I came from the
day clings on to life vomitting
blood the
bones and bits trudge
along the road with
wry laughter Do
not ask me how I have been for
dogs in coital ecstasy in
shop-front show-cases at
the Bhutnath grounds the
blind Kali fancies a
girdle of male genitals For
everyone has the same fear even
the dead to
say or not to say to
do or not to to
open the door or the window for
,this long wait since then Fibs
lies pretence deceit Youth
cruel kind Do
not ask me how I have been because
it's darkness now Now
even it flickers Now
even it glimmers adversity
travail disaster and
in their wake the
banner of man's blood For
in my trouser pockets I carry two
forbidden hands a
bullet reddens in flight in
my bosom for,
it is silence all around the
terrible din of peace Do
not ask me how I have been down
the Holong flows a
young female torso because,
for forty-two hours my
corpse lay there on
the footpaths of Guwahati For
even now I have my eyes open even
my death stares open eyed for,
in pool and puddle in
creek and lake fish
in shoals glisten O
you, my ambling horseman. Translated
from Assamese by the author. Peace-Nature The
First Raindrops Dinesh
Das Feathery
drops of rain Drip
down from tender, young clouds In
the sky An
overflow from the blue cup of life After
a long, long time The
first raindrops burst forth Like
the endless wails and whims Of
a new born child How
gentle, how very sweet. Is
the first rain! I
long to lift my face To
open my lips To
this fresh shower from the sky Like
a thirsty swallow To
feel the creamy soft drizzle On
my outspread wings Like
a sun burnt kite Oh
to fall upon the golden sand Like
a silver raindrop! If
only I could be reborn This
day As
a tiny raindrop! Translated from Bengali by Swapna Dutta. Peace-Nature On
the Slope of This Hill Shamsher
Bahadur Singh On
the rocky grassy slope of this hill, Topsy and I. The
quick breathing of the spaniel sitting alertly beside me. A
half-finished, distracted sketch; Open
in my lap, a notebook, bright white in the sun. Standing
all around me, big and small trees, stirring,
glistening, very
green. Rainclouds
---radiant with sunshine, radiant in the blue sky, the
washed sky. Like
big and small puffs of cotton scattered everywhere. Sometimes
the resonance of a clean gentle sweet wind. The
background behind the mild, mellow whirring and
droning on the hill, in the woods, on
the slope---a railway station. The
clanking, hissing, groaning of engines: their long exhalations ---when
this wasn't here, there was only the soft
and sweet music of the wind. ....A
low-then-loud-once-or-twice-shrill whistle. An engine shunting---- The
mixed-up whispers of the winds among themselves. Wide-awake
Topsy. Below,
in the distance, like a huge, smoky green, shimmering garden,
with some of its countless roofs shining here and
there, the city of Jabalpur. Its
green lawns, and in scattered places, its green compounds. And
below us, close at hand, the red-and-black stony mounds of
dug-up earth. ....A
noise--what bird was that? again?
again? That
glass-house nearby. Somewhere also something like a children's
quarrel. Little
groups of women-workers carrying loads of red mud on their
heads. The
breathing of an engine letting off its steam as it draws closer
slowly--- Then
quickly; the exhalations dying down one by one: but no--- suddenly,
a long whistle. The
sharp slanting slope of sunshine. Translated
from Hindi by Vinay Dharwadker. Peace-Meditation Sinner's
Terror Madhusudan
Rao Whither
shall I flee? In
which obscure nook shall I hide? At
home, in wilderness, in
oceans, in the sky; in
all ten darkness, in broad daylight, in
the darkness of the night; in
crowded places, in solitude; in
dreams, in waking moments, what
tremendous eye constantly stares at me, striking
terror in my mind! The
barred entrances of the fortresses, stone
walls, mountain caves, dungeons,
prison houses, aye,
easily piercing all barriers, that
very wide-open eye stares at me. my
whole being trembles, battering
my heart! Piercing
every layer, my
very innermost core, The
Dispenser of karmic justice, ferocious
thunder, Scourge
of the barbarian, Ceaseless
punishing God Almighty! are
you the self-same terrifying, all-seeing
universal-Eye? Translated
from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi. Peace-Purity
of Thought Heaven
of Freedom Rabindra
Nath Tagore 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. Peace-Endurance THERE'S
ALWAYS HOPE Keshav
Malik There's
always hope The
pigeons will condescend, form
a circle about my feet- they
have so circled before. But
this noon, without
bread-crumbs I
not quite know how proceed- they
sit quiet on
the far criss-cross brick-court. Opposite,
boys fling rocks at trees- trying
to dislodge the sharp-tasting tamarind from
the boughs. I
have watched them at it often, between
hits and runs they
pull branches down. As
is said, boys will be boys. But
grown older, I can only look for
looking what's of moment now and
listening, straining to skim snatches
of secret sounds from the breeze, scanning
the skies for signs of
a rising column of light- the
pepper of interior vision. And
yet, to be grounded, that
ancient life-imprisonment in
a decrepit body; caught
in the throes of dumb habit the
sleep of higher reason- wish
ungranted for the self-surpassing music, and
only dying echoes; from
a leaden concrete floor no
more than dulling reflections, smoked
windows-an X on the panes, clouded
head the rule; the
mind wandering off from its mission to
ramble in a mist of nowhere, and
thus ramble it must- no
pilot on the controls, guiltily
reliving what it once lived. Oh
there's such buried life lies hidden- now
sitting here, now there, sharing
moments spared by the great, shaking
hands with wits but
out of touch with its own breast- dead
facts that continue to live in spite. What
angel of music will lay these spectres- those
legions boot black in death, like
the rolling plain from
Bijapur to Sholapur? The
chain of associations grows in length- digit
adding to digit- that
leads to little sense, what
will one with these legions? Oh,
for a mind steeped in music alone; music
that plays on nerves tuned to a fine, vibrating
above the warring dissonance that is memory: electric
countering the goose-step. Music,
vital fluid, activating
the veins in the slowly revolving sun-flower- Orpheus
who gifts breath to
sterile stone and wood; the
receiver trembling like a seismograph's hair-fine wire- the
sounding rods, percussion, tympanums recharging
the inmates in the house of the dead. But
one note from the magic flute, and
full blown the lotus-hued light- an
inert earth, see-sawing like moon-drawn waves. Peace-Endurance Colossus Sugathakumari Long
ago, beyond the memory of man, In
a blind night eclipsing sun and moon, Writing
In pain Mother
gave birth to a child. in
the dark moment When
the first brother slew the first brother And
buried him, The
child woke up and cried. Then
as murders raged in
seething darkness, As
lies surged up in triumph, As
deceits stole close With
daggers hidden behind smiles, The
child grew strong and smart. His
mother's milk not relishing, He
searched for battlefields and blood, And
laughed in glee at sight of them. He
began to run about, He
grew dark as night, His
fiery eyes grew round, And
teeth and nails grew long. And
once he saw The
agony at Calvary; Sucking
that in Another
six feet he grew Thus
as he grew And
stood a terrible figure tall and straight, Our
forefathers fed him well. They
fed him on famine, On
the tortures of war, On
the pain of the deserts Through
which came slaves Writhing
under whips, And
groaning under loads of stone. Life
crawled into night Burdened
with centuries' pain and sin. And
now the Colossal Terror's Hunger
shakes the earth. We,
yes too, feed him well With
piled-up suffering hill-high, With
the blood of world wars, With
the ever-burning smoky flame of Hiroshima, With
the greedy hatred of empires Swallowing
each other, With
the debris of broken ideals. The
more, the more we give, The
fiercer the monster grows, His
hunger rages; He
grows taller than the sky, Towards
us his arms come lengthening. His
mouth gapes wider; We
pour into it the tears of Dharma And
again the blood of Truth. No,
not enough! Shaking
with laughter The
monster bends down, Takes
our earth in his hands, And
stands straight and huge. His
wriggling tongue licks every corner of the earth; He
has begun munching it. The
sky fills with the poison of his breath; My
heart Is faint I
have only a lute To
face this giant with. Whom
do I call through my lute? Whom
do 1 search for? I
search for a mighty one, Mighty
as the Varaha That
rescued our Mother From
the depths of the sea. Translated
from Malayalam by Hridayakumari. Peace-Endurance Untitled Labshnkar
Thakar During
childhood In
sleep I
had seen A
white horse neighing thunderously Racing
through woodlands Today In
the demented monsoon squall The
back wall of the house Crashed
down From
that bleached backdrop Sprinted
away The
white horse of the dream All
over the city A
stampede of a thousand Wildly
neighing Horses Vanished
in the entrails of the earth Green
grass Re
incarnating Over
the collapsed houses Behind
the emerging grass shoots Quiver
of gazelle tail Next
day Masons
had arrived And The
back wall was re-erected Translated
from Gujarati by Dileep Jhaveri. Peace-Endurance Road Banmali Biswal If you don’t know how to walk then- will fall sure but what is the defect of road? Impartial and unselfish road gives equal right to all without Partisanship, Either king or a poor man, May be rich or the wretched, He may be an old man or a youngster or beautiful lady, Everyone’s way is same, same is the action. Four-wheelers can go or tricycles or bicycles A horse-rider or an elephant-rider or any Pedestrian The road never answers, neither complains nor argues. All may go as they wish to get own target, to achieve own goal The road is indifferent Neither any joy nor any sorrow, It’s motto is only one- Endurance or patience. Let numberless misfortunes come- let it meet with heartbreaking agonies- Patience only patience. Translated from Sanskrit by Dr. Harshdev Madhav. Peace- Purity of Thought Morning Prayer Nissim Ezekiel White wings of morning Shelter men Sleepless or drugged with dreams Whose working hours Drained of power Flow towards futility. White wings of morning Bring to city masks A taste of spring And clarity. Wake them by your symbols, Light, light, light, Unveil, expose, expound Your metaphors of meaning, And let them know lucidity, White wings of morning. Peace- Purity of Thought Salvation Harshdev Madhav As any Farmer Makes his bullock free from his cart, I am making my soul free. As a hand of soft wind Plucks away a flower from a branch. I am plucking away soul from the body. As a nice morning Calls some bird out of its nest, I am calling my soul to come out. As the tide catches The drops of water out of sand Spreading tiny ‘hands’ of foam, I am inspiring my soul To be a part from my body. Translated from Sanskrit by the author. Peace-Purity of Thought For My Enemies Sachindananda Rautray May the red hibiscus garlands around my enemies’ neck become white lotuses in my lover’s hair! Let the poisonous frown in my enemies’ brows turn into steps of fine moonlight on the lotus-filled waters! May my enemies’ network of lies, and fabricated slander become the names of some beautiful village- Shobhana or Rupsa! May the poison of my enemies easily turn into nectar for me! Let their coded exchanges straighten all the narrow, crooked roads into straight, wide highways! Let their tears act like a charm and in a moment turn expectant cows into milking mothers. And let their blood make my country bounteous. May the red hibiscus garlands in my enemies’ neck bloom in a hearty laughter! Translated from Oriya by Sumanyu Satpathi. Peace-Nature and Purity of Thought Couplet Baba Sheikh Farid The season turns The forest thrill, the trees Shed their leaves, The leaves flutter away. I have searched the four Corners and found neither peace Nor permanence. Translated from Punjabi by Rakshat Puri. Peace- Purity of Thought and Nature (It can be changed to Love-Humanism) If I return Premendra Mitra If some day I ever return again If I come back On a pure, untarnished dawn Of autumn, or On a midsummer noon, Or perhaps a rainy night Beneath a cloud cast sky Upon this earth, Would I recall all those Once known to me? Those I love this moment- Would I find them then And know them too? Perhaps I shall be reborn Upon the shore Of a foam-tipped, wave-rocked sea In a diver’s hut Or a shoddy shack in a nameless hamlet Of some ancient land In the arms of a wayward, wayside dancer Or- I know not where! Would my eyes be still alright With a light like this Would the same stars The same blue sky Greet me then, once again Would blossoms bloom, as they do now The green grass touch my feet And the world still seem A varied multitude of lives? Would I then recall How much my eyes Had loved this light some day That I had once played upon this earth That I had laughed and cried And loved with all my heart? The buds of hope Which I now leave behind Shall I ever find them once again Half-blossomed When I bid adieu some dusky eve? All my work that I have left undone In this, my life The games left incomplete Shall I find them once again some day? My sighs, my tears My agonies and despair- Shall I come across them once again? Would my sorrows which I leave behind Pull my back And my dear love ask of me “How could you forget me all this time?” Would my days be spent again In joy and sorrow With my love Each moment of existence Be blessed With the same dear, poignant sweetness Spreading joy on every side Sharing joy will all Shall we walk together Confident amidst hurdles Tireless in sorrow Loving every one and everything? If some day I ever return again May bring more light within my eyes More love within my heart May I love this world or ours far more! May I then just forget All my sorrows, all my pain All my slips and falls of this existence May I bring more light To illuminate that future life of joy That life of endless and eternal bliss! Translated from Bengali by Swapna Dutta.
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