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Non-Violence- Unwillingness to Hurt and Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship. Hiroshima Agyeya On this day, the sun Appeared-no, not slowly over the horizon- But right in the city square. A blast of dazzle poured over, Not from the middle sky, But from the earth torn raggedly open. Human shadows, dazed and lost, pitched In every direction: this blaze, Not risen from the east, Smashed in the city’s heart- An immense wheel On Death’s swart suncar, spinning down and apart In every direction. Instant of a sun’s rise and set. Vision-annihilating flare one compressed noon. And then? It was not human shadows that lengthened, paled, and died; It was men suddenly become as mist, then gone. The shadows stay: Burned on rocks, stones of these vacant streets. A sun conjured by men converted men to air, to nothing; White shadows singed on the black rock give back Man’s witness to himself. Translated from Hindi by the poet and Leonard Nathan. Non-Violence- Unwillingness to Hurt and Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship O, Gentleman! Sahir Ludhianvi It may be ours or others’ blood, It’s the blood of human race; The war may rage in East or West, It’s the earth that runs to waste. Bombs may fall on homes and fronts, The spirit of life is crushed and mauled, Whichever fields are bombed or burnt, Life itself doth suffer and starve. The tanks may roll or retreat, It’s the womb of earth that bleeds, Triumphal chant or sorrowing dirge, Life the loss or life beweeps. War is a riddle in itself, Can it any riddle resolve? It comes carrying fire and blood, Leaves behind the dogs of war. Therefore, O men of gentle birth! Beware! Avoid the course of war, Keep the lamp of fire alit, In every home and every hearth. Must you shed innocent blood, To demonstrate how great you are? Must you burn the house itself, To dispel the deepening dark? There are many wars to fight, Besides the one that kills and maims, Frenzy isn’t the whole of life, Wisdom too, should hold its reins. Let’s for the coming race, Devise a system terror-free, Invent a new type of war, Consistent with the joys of peace. Translated from Urdu by K. C. Kanda Non- Violence-Unwillingness to Hurt and Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship The Stare Raghuvir Sahay Today’s lesson: common facts about death. There are several, notes! Death does not come to us all in the self-same manner. nor are the dead one in death For they were not so before. The body is the left-overs of struggle incorporating in itself one battered eating bowl, one soiled hair comb and the breakage within the only element to escape being a cry which in essence, is an undermined internal matter still under study. In the end, we send it for printing. Not the corpse by the cry- in the very end; it is turned out as a poem in a vernacular. meant to be rendered into the world-wide English tongue. What were the words on my lips when I died. Them, you seem to know better than I. You wrote: I had said ‘Help’ Maybe I had said ‘Liberty’ now that I am gone I cannot remember. When a living literate people pass through a a crisis of their own with the object of giving direction to the crisis, in a tribe of half-alive illiterates -you know how jocular the dead can be if so they wish- yet I spare you the question: what makes on hundred fat heads hang- the load of wisdom? The weight of reverence? The burden of shame? No, I would continue to stare at the one hundred bald pates in silence. The fixed stare of my dead machine-gun. Translated from Hindi by the poet. Non-Violence-Respect
for All Religions The
Immortal Friend J.
Krishnamurthi O
friend Tell
me of God, Where
is He, by what manner do I find Him? Among
what climes, in what abodes? Tell
me, I am weary. Read
the Vedas, Do
tapas, meditate, Perform
rites and ceremonies, Practise
austerities and renounce, Pray
at His temple, among flowers and incense, Bathe
in the sacred rivers, Visit
the holy places, Be
a devotee and pure of intelligence, In
Kailas is His abode- There
you will find Him, cried many. Obey
the Law, Take
refuge in the Order, Kill
not, steal not and commit no sin. Go
to the shrine. Enter
Nirvana- There
you will find Him, cried many. Read
the Holy Book, Pray
at His Church-there be many- This
church will lead to Him but beware of that, Serve,
sacrifice, Do
not judge, be merciful, In
Heaven is His throne- There
you will find Him, cried many. Read
the only Book Of
the only God, Visit
His abode on earth, Pray
at the mosque, At
the setting of the sun worship Him, Bahist
is His abode- There
you will find Him, cried many. Work,
work for humanity, Serve,
serve your fellow-creatures, Follow
this but beware of that path, Do
the will of God, Follow
blindly for I hold the key to His abode, Grasp
this opportunity that He offers you, Sorrow
and happiness lead to Him- If
you do this, your search will end- Then
you will find Him, shouted many. I
am weary, tried by the passage of time, Travelling
on no path, I have come to Thee, Thou
hast revealed Thyself to me. O!
Thou art the round stone That
grinds the rice in the peaceful village Amidst
songs and laughter. Thou
art the graven image That
men worship in temples, With
chants and solemn music. Thou
art the dead leaf That
lies torn on the dusty road, Trodden
by the weary traveller. Thou
art the solitary pine That
stands majestic On
the lonely hill. Thou
art the lame and mangy creature That
comes to my door, with a haunted look, hungry, That
men abhor, Thou
art the mighty elephant That
is gaily robed, Carrying
the nobles of the land. Thou
art the naked beggar That
wanders from house to house, Wearily
crying for alms. Thou
art the great of the land That
are rich in possessions and books, That
are well-fed and satisfied. Thou
are the priests of all temples That
are learned, proud and certain. Thou
art the harlot, the sinner, the saint and the heretic. My
search is at an end. In
thee I behold all things. I
myself, am God. Non-
Violence-Unwillingness to Hurt Terrorism Harshdev
Madhav 1.
Terrorism is a servant of anger It is a prisoner of cruelty. It is dependent of inhumanity It is suffering from the disease of violence. It is lame due to jealousy In spite of its living, It is half dead on account of prejudice. 2.
How
can Impotent terrorism create Revolution? Insects take birth Is dung of meanness, -not Mahatmas(profound religious persons). 3.
Terrorism has no father its mother’s name is cruelty. 4.
Terrorism is thirsty so it drinks human-blood Terrorism is hungry So it eats pieces of human flesh Terrorism may know Its devilry If it can see itself in a mirror! 5.
The hurricane of terrorism tries to destroy The lamp of faith. Have you any hand To resist its force? Translated
from Sanskrit by the author. Non-Violence-Democracy To
the Hands Destroying the Wall of the City of Berlin Dr.
Harshdev Madhav Revenge
creates curtains of interruption, Bitterness
wishes to divide love with
the bricks of hostility. Is
the story really not decent In
which the hearts blossom like lotuses? The
black thoughts of people Fall
like leaves in autumn May
the soft breeze of friendliness give warmth. May
the light spread From
the torch of ‘The Statue of Liberty’ May
this darkness of wrath vanish. O’
Hands! Blow the wall! Break
the wall! May
your blows become softer and cooler than sandal-paste Today The
nails from the crucified body of
Jesus Christ have
pulled out. Virgin
Mary wipes
her tears. May
the harmony of the people of
East Germany and West Germany become
a great quantity of love. May
the two pieces of a single heart be
united for ever. Translated
from Sanskrit by the author. Non-Violence-
Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship. Couplet Baba
Sheikh Farid Walking
in arrogance Of
wealth and power, in Youth’s
confident swagger, They
go as rain On
sand, leaving no trace Here. Translated
from Punjabi by Rakshat Puri. Non-Violence-
Rejection of Untouchability. Postponement
of a Birth Satish
Chander My
heir always poses on question: “When
should I be born?” I
stand before the dressing mirror and
see not a heap of limbs but
a series of humiliations. When
I look at my thick curly hair I
remember the painful twigs of
my great grandfather’s hair rejected
by knives and scissors. I
brush through my hair with a ruthless comb. The
two ears like oil saucers hide
the flaming music haunted
as they were by imaginary crime. to
avoid the lead from being poured into them I
cover my ears with mass of hair. When
the folded lips open out with a smile I
remember the beauty queens of the past handing
over vessels of poison to my ancestors as
gifts of broken love I
emit kisses on my own reflection in the mirror. When
I fix buttons to my shirt-sleeves I
remember the wild-clothes worn by mother. On
second thoughts I
look at my own shoulders again
and again. When
I tighten the belt round my waist I
get a glimpse of someone with a broom in his hands attempting
to make me wipe out my
own history and
I subject myself to scrutiny. When
I tie up laces to my shoes I
feel the naked feet of my father shrieking
in pain though
kissed the Mother Earth. I
salute to my feet as I get up. When
I start touching the moustaches I
suddenly remember the talented officer’s words: “Do
these reservation people deserve all this?” I
cannot digest the present born
of the past. My
heir repeats the question: “When
should I be born?” I
bring down the drum hung on the wall and
play on it seemingly
without end. With
the sound of miscarriage a
birth gets postponed. Translated
from Telegu by K. Damodar Rao. Non-Violence-
Unwillingness to Hurt and Awareness of Responsibility of Citizenship O,
Gentleman! Sahir
Ludhianvi It
may be ours or others’ blood, It’s
the blood of human race; The
war may rage in East or West, It’s
the earth that runs to waste. Bombs
may fall on homes and fronts, The
spirit of life is crushed and mauled, Whichever
fields are bombed or burnt, Life
itself doth suffer and starve. The
tanks may roll or retreat, It’s
the womb of earth that bleeds, Triumphal
chant or sorrowing dirge, Life
the loss or life beweeps. War
is a riddle in itself, Can
it any riddle resolve? It
comes carrying fire and blood, Leaves
behind the dogs of war. Therefore,
O men of gentle birth! Beware!
Avoid the course of war, Keep
the lamp of fire alit, In
every home and every hearth. Must
you shed innocent blood, To
demonstrate how great you are? Must
you burn the house itself, To
dispel the deepening dark? There
are many wars to fight, Besides
the one that kills and maims, Frenzy
isn’t the whole of life, Wisdom
too, should hold its reins. Let’s
for the coming race, Devise
a system terror-free, Invent
a new type of war, Consistent
with the joys of peace. Translated
from Urdu by K. C. Kanda Non-
Violence-Unwillingness to Hurt and Awareness of Responsibility of
Citizenship The
Stare Raghuvir
Sahay Today’s
lesson: common facts about death. There
are several, notes! Death
does not come to us all in the self-same manner. nor
are the dead one in death For
they were not so before. The
body is the left-overs of struggle incorporating
in itself one battered eating bowl, one
soiled hair comb and the breakage within the
only element to escape being a cry which
in essence, is an undermined internal matter still
under study. In
the end, we send it for printing. Not
the corpse by the cry- in
the very end; it is turned out as a poem in a vernacular. meant
to be rendered into the world-wide English tongue. What
were the words on my lips when I died. Them,
you seem to know better than I. You
wrote: I had said ‘Help’ Maybe
I had said ‘Liberty’ now
that I am gone I cannot remember. When
a living literate people pass through a a
crisis of their own with
the object of giving direction to the crisis, in
a tribe of half-alive illiterates -you
know how jocular the dead can be if so they wish- yet
I spare you the question: what
makes on hundred fat heads hang- the
load of wisdom? The
weight of reverence? The
burden of shame? No,
I would continue to stare at
the one hundred bald pates in silence. The
fixed stare of my dead machine-gun. Translated
from Hindi by the poet. |
