काळ्या निशेच्या उदरातून जन्मली एक सोनेरी पहाट
अन् मज कर्णान्शि हितगुज कराया कोठोनि आला एक स्वर
"अंतर्मुख होऊनि ओळख मजला मीच तो श्रीधर"
ते निद्रिस्त कर्ण जाहाले जागे ऐकोनि प्रभू चे नाम
इतुके बोलिले मज श्रीराम !!
मी अन् माझ करण्यात अखंड जातो तुजला दिस
अन् संकट काळी कशास रे मग बोलतोस मजला नवस
ह्याच मी पणास्तव फुट्ती तव मनी द्वेषाचे अंकुर
ह्या मिपणास समुळ मारी नामी भस्मासुर
नामाच्या नौकेत बैसोनी येई इश्वरी धाम
इतुके बोलिले मज श्रीराम!!
देवळात येओनि प्रार्थितोस चरणी ठेवोनि तव मस्तक
बाहेर पड्ताच शड्रीपुन्शी होतोस रे नतमस्तक
चालता बोलता उठ्ता तुजला विषयाची रे संगत
विषयान्ती विकार तुजला आहेत रे अवगत
नांम रथ ई आरूढ हो मज सोप्वोनी रिपुन्चे लगाम
इतुके बोलिले मज श्रीराम!!
लक्ष्मी सरस्वती येतील द्वारी, कर गीतेचे पारायण
गीतेत असे सामर्थ्य वसे, करी नरास नारायण
भक्ति अथवा न्यानमार्गे अंती प्राप्त तो मोक्ष
पामरास न्यानि म्हणाया अनेक जन्माची साक्ष
हे अध्यात्मिक गुहय सांगोनी प्रभू पाविले अन्तर्धान
इतुके बोलिले मज श्रीराम!!
---सौरभ
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Saturday, December 26, 2009
My plea Mr. Chairman...........
Whenever I think of entities like ‘greatness’ , ‘virtue’ and ‘principle’, I imagine them as sturdy rocks, nay, boulders, keeping their stand rock solid amidst the flowing waters of the rivulets of fame and honour. I think they have to be so; for when these entities lose their stand and become one with the flowing water, they cease to be themselves in the same way that a river loses its identity when it meets the sea.
The purpose of giving a long introduction was that, in my mind, there was seated a person, whom I did regard as ‘a great one’ until the time when he was made the chief chairman of Konkan Sahitya Parishad; a designation much eyed by many of the doyens in Marathi literature. “The conservation and upliftment of the Marathi language and of Marathi Manoos” was a tongue rolling topic in those days. The dias of the Sahitya Parishad was honoured with the presence of Mr. Chairman, the paragon of Marathi literature. Lending their eager eyes and alert ears to the dias were the who’s who in Marathi literature. At that moment of time ,what I felt was that, there rested a great responsibility with the dias, and perhaps greater one with Mr. Chairman to design and suggest some pragmatic theories and ideas for the conservation of the Marathi language and culture, which was, as they said, becoming extinct, as the giant mammoth some millions ago.
Now, Mr. Chairman did rise to the occasion of saving his “mayy Marathi” by suggesting to banish “Madam English” out of Maharashtra. “For the upliftment of mayy Marathi, all the English schools be closed down” was his mantra. On hearing this , I pitied Mr. Chairman. It was really sad, that a well wisher of a language and his people should think of such a solution. When you say you love a language, you actually love the people who have gifted that language with necklaces of their thoughts. Otherwise, any language just consists of some words and some mundane rules regarding the same. When you water these words by strong thoughts, the words blossom out into beautiful flowers, each conveying the fragrance of the thoughts beneath.
I am a Marathi speaking person who did 12 years of his schooling in an English medium school. For me, Marathi is my mother tongue. My mother has loved me in this language, scolded me in this language and sung lullabies for me in the same one. My culture is Marathi, habits are Marathi and even my thinking is Marathi. When I was a school-going teenager, like any other guy, even I had my first crush. Her name was “English”. I have loved that language Mr. Chairman. If Marathi is my mother, then English is my fiancée. And as you will agree, every guy doesn’t start hating his mom when he marries; not in the matured folks at least.
As a child, I have enjoyed the nursery rhymes; I have hummed the poems of Wordsworth; I have seen “the Daffodils” from Tennyson’s eyes; I have felt innocence after reading Blake; And am totally ready to say “Death! Thou be not proud” after reading John Donne’s poetic harangue. These are my deities Mr. Chairman; as are you for many a folk in my mother tongue. If we implement the solution that you proposed some years back, many guys and gals like me, would be devoid of the love which English has given us.
And nevertheless, I get angry when a guy or a gal (especially!!) directs his or her tongue to speak in English with the objective of aping the west. It isn’t their fault; nor the fault of the English schools which taught them. If anybody is to be blamed, they are their parents! Today, the most dominant threat posed to Indian languages, is by the IT culture, which is already rooted firmly in the country. The IT culture (why call it culture!) is more towards aggravating the youth to break the bonds of culture, tradition, language and religion under the false pretext of Globalisation. If parents dump their mother tongue for a language which makes them look bombastic in front of their faddist cronies, then what can you expect from their children?
Nevertheless, bringing the English schools in front of goddess Marathi’s sacrificial altar is not a path to be treaded; not for Maharashtra at least, which is counted as one of the progressed states post independence. Why become unnecessarily chauvinistic when the root of the problem is not in the language but in people’s mindset. It is the responsibility of every Maharashtrian to guard his mother tongue and enrich it if he can. By murdering English in Maharashtra under the guillotine of chauvinism, we ourselves would be blocking the path of our children to progress, which leads directly to the external world. Now, the ball is in your court Mr. Chairman and the accused “Madam English” in front of you. It’s your decision now as to let her go or to pull the switch.
----Saurabh
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Temper , thou be not proud!!!
For several years, I have pondered over the metamorphosis taking place in our physical and mental self , whenever we have welcomed a rogue, named temper ,to stay with us for a while.
Well, irrespective of whether this rendez-vous is short or long (read prolonged!), our physical self ceases to be mendacious in revealing to the outer world, about how much inside our house, that we have welcomed this fickle friend. Into one of those tough times (read tantrums), if our body starts shaking, features contort, eyes widen, a high pitched tone, feeling of a heightened sense of injustice thereby culminating into a reckless harangue or even an act of phsical violence, then rest assured that our friend "the temper" is sitting cosily right in our guest room. (Such tantrums are rare with me; but when they happen, in addition to all of the above, I remember wearing a "look through the eyebrows" sort of a look which can only be related with a scorpio. Its my guess that with this kind of a look the enemy does give atleast a second thought to the idea of backing out :) ) Now ask him what he is doing ? And he will typically reply "Dude! I am controlling you! Actually, we ourselves have handed over the keys to our peaceful self.
Now the question remains, that irrespective of the depth to which this guy has seeped into our lives, how to actually kick him out? Our ancients saints and scholars are of the opinion as to kick him out completely by means of meditation, spirituality and by total surrender to the Almighty and things like that which a guy like me is light years away from. So after a bit of thinking (read it as time pass done during office hours) , I could perceive only a single pragmatic solution : to keep the temper chained like a dog just outside our doorstep. To keep it chained till some rogue kicks on your door (read it as hurting your self-respect); and then comes the right time to set your temper loose after taking the precaution of closing your door. So that whatever pandemonium happens; it happens externally with no internal effects.
This article is the result of unleashing my mind (read "day-dreaming" or even "deep slumber") to enter into the realm of our self and to let it ponder over the issues concerning it.
Sorry to say that I do write in sort of an encrypted format. Bad Habit!! . Anyways, I have tried to put as many "read it as" as necessary. :)
Well, irrespective of whether this rendez-vous is short or long (read prolonged!), our physical self ceases to be mendacious in revealing to the outer world, about how much inside our house, that we have welcomed this fickle friend. Into one of those tough times (read tantrums), if our body starts shaking, features contort, eyes widen, a high pitched tone, feeling of a heightened sense of injustice thereby culminating into a reckless harangue or even an act of phsical violence, then rest assured that our friend "the temper" is sitting cosily right in our guest room. (Such tantrums are rare with me; but when they happen, in addition to all of the above, I remember wearing a "look through the eyebrows" sort of a look which can only be related with a scorpio. Its my guess that with this kind of a look the enemy does give atleast a second thought to the idea of backing out :) ) Now ask him what he is doing ? And he will typically reply "Dude! I am controlling you! Actually, we ourselves have handed over the keys to our peaceful self.
Now the question remains, that irrespective of the depth to which this guy has seeped into our lives, how to actually kick him out? Our ancients saints and scholars are of the opinion as to kick him out completely by means of meditation, spirituality and by total surrender to the Almighty and things like that which a guy like me is light years away from. So after a bit of thinking (read it as time pass done during office hours) , I could perceive only a single pragmatic solution : to keep the temper chained like a dog just outside our doorstep. To keep it chained till some rogue kicks on your door (read it as hurting your self-respect); and then comes the right time to set your temper loose after taking the precaution of closing your door. So that whatever pandemonium happens; it happens externally with no internal effects.
This article is the result of unleashing my mind (read "day-dreaming" or even "deep slumber") to enter into the realm of our self and to let it ponder over the issues concerning it.
Sorry to say that I do write in sort of an encrypted format. Bad Habit!! . Anyways, I have tried to put as many "read it as" as necessary. :)
Saturday, September 5, 2009
A Proposal
(This poem encompasses a romantic mood within itself. The situation here is, that a romeo proposes to his beloved on her birthday. I don't know from where my mind fancied this situation; but somehow, I could manage writing a poem :) )
From the day I came into this ugly world,
into the ocean of misery, my life was hurled.
With sorrow and ill-luck waiting at every bend;
And my conscience as my deaf and dumb friend.
My ship was wrecked by the mighty gales ;
And the waves whipped me with their foamy tails .
Still I fought with the waves and I fought with the gales ;
And there wasn't a soul to hear my bitter wails.
Well, there wasn't any, save but one, I profess.
And with the Almighty as witness, i sincerely confess ;
That the word 'Angel' would fall quite short of explaining thee,
what that soul exactly relates to me.
For if it wouldn't have been for that soul,
the mamba of depression could have swallowed me whole.
For, when I was drowning, weary and abated,
I saw an eager hand and I reciprocated.
It was your own blessed hand ma cherie ,
that had pulled me off the quagmire of self-pity.
That moment on, my life was just yours to live.
For sans these bones and flesh, I had nothing more to give.
From then on, our friendship blossomed along.
'Twas like in autumn, hearing the nightingale's song.
I perceived you as the ganges of confidence.
Swimming in your serene waters was my only impudence.
From you it was, that i knew how good I was ;
And from you it was, that i knew how bad I was.
In my sombre life, you were the only chrysanthemum .
Singing of your beauty became life's only anthem.
Hiding a lover behind a friend, thought I, to be wise;
But your eyes had long penetated this disguise.
So now, to open up, is better think I ;
Afterall it was you to advice against being shy.
"You were born to be mine" by the Gods, I swear ;
'Tis on you will shower, all my love and care.
"Will you marry me" is the question that I pose;
My God! it feels horrible when one does propose.
And now, hoping the best returns from this day ,
I wish you, my dear, a Happy Birthday!
With sorrow and ill-luck waiting at every bend;
And my conscience as my deaf and dumb friend.
My ship was wrecked by the mighty gales ;
And the waves whipped me with their foamy tails .
Still I fought with the waves and I fought with the gales ;
And there wasn't a soul to hear my bitter wails.
Well, there wasn't any, save but one, I profess.
And with the Almighty as witness, i sincerely confess ;
That the word 'Angel' would fall quite short of explaining thee,
what that soul exactly relates to me.
For if it wouldn't have been for that soul,
the mamba of depression could have swallowed me whole.
For, when I was drowning, weary and abated,
I saw an eager hand and I reciprocated.
It was your own blessed hand ma cherie ,
that had pulled me off the quagmire of self-pity.
That moment on, my life was just yours to live.
For sans these bones and flesh, I had nothing more to give.
From then on, our friendship blossomed along.
'Twas like in autumn, hearing the nightingale's song.
I perceived you as the ganges of confidence.
Swimming in your serene waters was my only impudence.
From you it was, that i knew how good I was ;
And from you it was, that i knew how bad I was.
In my sombre life, you were the only chrysanthemum .
Singing of your beauty became life's only anthem.
Hiding a lover behind a friend, thought I, to be wise;
But your eyes had long penetated this disguise.
So now, to open up, is better think I ;
Afterall it was you to advice against being shy.
"You were born to be mine" by the Gods, I swear ;
'Tis on you will shower, all my love and care.
"Will you marry me" is the question that I pose;
My God! it feels horrible when one does propose.
And now, hoping the best returns from this day ,
I wish you, my dear, a Happy Birthday!
--Saurabh
Adieu !
One eve, I chance to watch the setting sun .
Provokes he, a thought, while on the run ;
That bidding Adieu can never be a fun.
As he inscribes a message on the last of his rays ,
"Tomorrow again I come", it eagerly says ;
And the wind goads the rustlling leaves to whisper ;
"Like the pedantic sun, you too must follow my dear."
And so, with a heavy heart, I compose a plaintive rhyme ,
to bid a final adieu to whatever was mine.
Adieu to my dearest Motherland.
It's time to enter the castles, I built on your sand.
Adieu my mum and adieu my dad.
Remember, your son wasn't born to make you sad.
Adieu my dearest friends, this moment, who assimilate.
Honoured as I am, to this group that I relate.
Adieu my countless well-wishers, who have me in a heavy debt.
With your blessings as my pawns, I challenge fate for a check-mate.
Adieu my first crush in those good old school days.
"What's kept in the name" is what Shakespeare says .
Adieu my dearest alma mater.
Forgetting you is impossible an err.
With all these adieus, I want you all to remember
"I am always yours, in consciousness and in slumber."
And if ever am needed in one of those turns,
Don't hesitate to call me for just a thousand burns.
And now, in the life's garden, there are several roses to pluck.
I wish you all a very Best Of Luck !
--Saurabh
Provokes he, a thought, while on the run ;
That bidding Adieu can never be a fun.
As he inscribes a message on the last of his rays ,
"Tomorrow again I come", it eagerly says ;
And the wind goads the rustlling leaves to whisper ;
"Like the pedantic sun, you too must follow my dear."
And so, with a heavy heart, I compose a plaintive rhyme ,
to bid a final adieu to whatever was mine.
Adieu to my dearest Motherland.
It's time to enter the castles, I built on your sand.
Adieu my mum and adieu my dad.
Remember, your son wasn't born to make you sad.
Adieu my dearest friends, this moment, who assimilate.
Honoured as I am, to this group that I relate.
Adieu my countless well-wishers, who have me in a heavy debt.
With your blessings as my pawns, I challenge fate for a check-mate.
Adieu my first crush in those good old school days.
"What's kept in the name" is what Shakespeare says .
Adieu my dearest alma mater.
Forgetting you is impossible an err.
With all these adieus, I want you all to remember
"I am always yours, in consciousness and in slumber."
And if ever am needed in one of those turns,
Don't hesitate to call me for just a thousand burns.
And now, in the life's garden, there are several roses to pluck.
I wish you all a very Best Of Luck !
--Saurabh
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
For You
When the sun kisses the sky the early morn ;
and a cold breeze tickles the dancing corn.
Water 's the first to touch you pink and white ;
A poor lover can but behold this pretty sight.
You caress the flowers as you tread your way ;
Lucky those drones; they make you blush away.
You lighten up the mood with your songs melodious ;
And the chirping birds prove a good chorus.
But you don't seem to perceive this lonely drone,
who waits by the wayside all alone.
Desirous of a glance and a possible smile,
but perceives instead, a ship sinking in the Nile.
I envy the overcoat which everyday you wear ;
My arms can give the same warmth, I swear.
Try being in love this once, my dear ;
This Romeo promises love with unabated cheer.
Love is being that close to inhale the same warm air ;
Love sharpens when the eyes get locked in a stare ;
Love happens when the hearts beat in the same rhythm ;
Love is nurtured when the souls sing in synchronism ;
What 's an awe for the scepter without its diadem ;
What 's so beautiful of a leaf without a dew gem ;
What 's so precious of Mona Lisa without that placid smile ;
And what 's so complete about me without you on my side ;
Fruits of patience taste sweet ; so they say ;
This poem isn't just for the feelings to give way.
To your unobservant eyes it conveys a final retort ;
Now, my dear, the ball is in your court.
--- Saurabh
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Tell me How should I live.....
Oh lord! Tell me how should I live
in this world of yours....
which is full of numb hearts.
No feeling can break this numbness;
It acts as a shield.
No arrow of wisdom can penetrate it and reach the heart.
It blocks the connection between heart and mind.
Thus fearless, the mind is allowed to stray
in the world, full of sadism, fights and fray.
Oh lord! Tell me how should I live
in this world of yours....
wherein every single good has to face the forces of evil ;
And fight out its way right till the end.
The end comes only when,
the wounded heart and weary hands join forces;
And call out to you for just one thing -- Justice!
And then it dawns upon you, the sole creator of this universe,
that truth should prevail ;
Why wait till the end ,God, why wait till the end?
Oh lord! Tell me how should I live
in this world of yours....
wherein you yourself can't live.
Can you live in these benumbed hearts?
And control those corrupted minds residing in the very body
you boast of as your creation?
Stop watching the show now, oh lord!
Its time for you to act.
This podium awaits your entry!
We have played our part;
Now you have to play yours.
--- Saurabh
in this world of yours....
which is full of numb hearts.
No feeling can break this numbness;
It acts as a shield.
No arrow of wisdom can penetrate it and reach the heart.
It blocks the connection between heart and mind.
Thus fearless, the mind is allowed to stray
in the world, full of sadism, fights and fray.
Oh lord! Tell me how should I live
in this world of yours....
wherein every single good has to face the forces of evil ;
And fight out its way right till the end.
The end comes only when,
the wounded heart and weary hands join forces;
And call out to you for just one thing -- Justice!
And then it dawns upon you, the sole creator of this universe,
that truth should prevail ;
Why wait till the end ,God, why wait till the end?
Oh lord! Tell me how should I live
in this world of yours....
wherein you yourself can't live.
Can you live in these benumbed hearts?
And control those corrupted minds residing in the very body
you boast of as your creation?
Stop watching the show now, oh lord!
Its time for you to act.
This podium awaits your entry!
We have played our part;
Now you have to play yours.
--- Saurabh
A man with a missing heart
I pray to you my dear God,
just take away this heart of mine;
for it thumps on the beats of her hymn;
And then my brain, at my heart's bidding
brings to me countless memories flooding.
Memories of one rainy day,
with just one shield to put the rain at bay.
A pair of beating hearts and shaky hands
clutching the stem one above the other;
And lo! there blew a strong gust,
with the thundering as a witness, confess I must
that a chill ran through my body and my hair stood on their end;
It was but a maiden feeling, of a touch, I didn't comprehend.
For there were a pair of hands closing on a pair of other;
A flying parasol and striking rain ceased to bother.
This very moment seemed to me like an eternity.
For it toured me through a world full of insanity.
A world, wherein the heart spake more than the tongue;
And there was love in the air and love in the song.
From that night on, ma cherie,
I preferred living in my own world merry.
I worshipped the path which every day you tread;
And to say about sorrow, there wasn't even a shred.
I hummed with the bees and danced with the flowers;
And I warned the drones, lest they mistake you to a flower.
Without you in my dreams, the moon didn't dare rise;
And to disturb my sleep, the cock didn't think it wise.
For in dreams, I perceived this cruel world as the sheriff of Nottingham,
with me as the gallant Sherwood thief
and you, my pretty Maid Marian.
I have countless memories of you , my dear;
And countless more to forgive.
For I would trade with the devil, a thousand deaths,
for each of them to live.
With pleasant thoughts of a union, one eve,
I set out on a pony smart;
Only to return by the ghastly night
with a sobbing and broken heart.
Thy death made my world, a sphere hollow;
For I was handed a poison, even difficult to swallow.
For many a days after, my eyes dwelled in an empty trance;
And for every girl that passed by the window,
the pair rushed for a hopeful glance.
Sobbing by thy grave, I questioned my destiny.
Were my deeds that bad, or had I committed a felony?
For such a misery, I was compelled to partake;
And with every smile I wore, my love was at stake.
Much better than this heartless God, I thought,
much better a man, so merciful as Mister Hugo;
For beside sweet Esmeralda, was buried her hunchback Quasimodo.
And here I was, as dead as I was alive;
And like a fish out of water,
breaking every nerve to survive.
If ever, my destiny, upon me shall smile;
and lay me in death, beside ye, after a life so futile;
when there remains not an iota, for my destiny to thwart,
Here will lie a man with a missing heart.
---- Saurabh
[For those of you who reached the end of this poem...I really appreciate your patience ;) ]
just take away this heart of mine;
for it thumps on the beats of her hymn;
And then my brain, at my heart's bidding
brings to me countless memories flooding.
Memories of one rainy day,
with just one shield to put the rain at bay.
A pair of beating hearts and shaky hands
clutching the stem one above the other;
And lo! there blew a strong gust,
with the thundering as a witness, confess I must
that a chill ran through my body and my hair stood on their end;
It was but a maiden feeling, of a touch, I didn't comprehend.
For there were a pair of hands closing on a pair of other;
A flying parasol and striking rain ceased to bother.
This very moment seemed to me like an eternity.
For it toured me through a world full of insanity.
A world, wherein the heart spake more than the tongue;
And there was love in the air and love in the song.
From that night on, ma cherie,
I preferred living in my own world merry.
I worshipped the path which every day you tread;
And to say about sorrow, there wasn't even a shred.
I hummed with the bees and danced with the flowers;
And I warned the drones, lest they mistake you to a flower.
Without you in my dreams, the moon didn't dare rise;
And to disturb my sleep, the cock didn't think it wise.
For in dreams, I perceived this cruel world as the sheriff of Nottingham,
with me as the gallant Sherwood thief
and you, my pretty Maid Marian.
I have countless memories of you , my dear;
And countless more to forgive.
For I would trade with the devil, a thousand deaths,
for each of them to live.
With pleasant thoughts of a union, one eve,
I set out on a pony smart;
Only to return by the ghastly night
with a sobbing and broken heart.
Thy death made my world, a sphere hollow;
For I was handed a poison, even difficult to swallow.
For many a days after, my eyes dwelled in an empty trance;
And for every girl that passed by the window,
the pair rushed for a hopeful glance.
Sobbing by thy grave, I questioned my destiny.
Were my deeds that bad, or had I committed a felony?
For such a misery, I was compelled to partake;
And with every smile I wore, my love was at stake.
Much better than this heartless God, I thought,
much better a man, so merciful as Mister Hugo;
For beside sweet Esmeralda, was buried her hunchback Quasimodo.
And here I was, as dead as I was alive;
And like a fish out of water,
breaking every nerve to survive.
If ever, my destiny, upon me shall smile;
and lay me in death, beside ye, after a life so futile;
when there remains not an iota, for my destiny to thwart,
Here will lie a man with a missing heart.
---- Saurabh
[For those of you who reached the end of this poem...I really appreciate your patience ;) ]
Friday, April 24, 2009
The Garden
THIS Garden does not take my eyes,
Though here you show how art of men
Can purchase Nature at a price
Would stock old Paradise again.
These glories while you dote upon,
I envy not your spring nor pride,
Nay, boast the summer all your own,
My thoughts with less are satisified.
Give me a little plot of ground,
Where might I with the Sun agree,
Though every day he walk the round,
My Garden he should seldom see.
Those Tulips that such wealth display,
To court my eye, shall lose their name,
Though now they listen, as if they
Expected I should praise their name.
But I would see my self appear
Within the Violet's drooping head,
On which a melancholy tear
The discontented morn hath shed.
Within their buds let Roses sleep,
And virgin Lilies on their stem,
Till sighs from lovers glide, and creep
Into their leaves to open them.
I'th'center of my ground compose
Of Bays and Yew my summer room,
Which may so oft as I repose,
Present my arbor, and my tomb.
No woman here shall find me out,
Or if a chance do bring one hither,
I'll be secure, for round about
I'll moat it with my eyes' foul weather.
No bird shall live within my pale,
To charm me with their shames of art,
Unless some wandering Nightingale
Come here to sing and break her heart.
Upon whose death I'll try to write
An epitaph in some funeral stone,
So sad, and true, it may invite
My self to die, and prove mine own.
----James Shirley
{A beautiful e.g of a poem of sombre mood...again by Shirley....}
Though here you show how art of men
Can purchase Nature at a price
Would stock old Paradise again.
These glories while you dote upon,
I envy not your spring nor pride,
Nay, boast the summer all your own,
My thoughts with less are satisified.
Give me a little plot of ground,
Where might I with the Sun agree,
Though every day he walk the round,
My Garden he should seldom see.
Those Tulips that such wealth display,
To court my eye, shall lose their name,
Though now they listen, as if they
Expected I should praise their name.
But I would see my self appear
Within the Violet's drooping head,
On which a melancholy tear
The discontented morn hath shed.
Within their buds let Roses sleep,
And virgin Lilies on their stem,
Till sighs from lovers glide, and creep
Into their leaves to open them.
I'th'center of my ground compose
Of Bays and Yew my summer room,
Which may so oft as I repose,
Present my arbor, and my tomb.
No woman here shall find me out,
Or if a chance do bring one hither,
I'll be secure, for round about
I'll moat it with my eyes' foul weather.
No bird shall live within my pale,
To charm me with their shames of art,
Unless some wandering Nightingale
Come here to sing and break her heart.
Upon whose death I'll try to write
An epitaph in some funeral stone,
So sad, and true, it may invite
My self to die, and prove mine own.
----James Shirley
{A beautiful e.g of a poem of sombre mood...again by Shirley....}
Death the Leveler
The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
------ By James Shirley
[Loved this poem, when I learnt it in school..... We also had another poem with an opposite view on Death....I think it was "Death thou be not proud".... It feels nice to read these poems again after so many years....They bring back those school days.. ]
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against Fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and Crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow;
Then boast no more your mighty deeds!
Upon Death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.
------ By James Shirley
[Loved this poem, when I learnt it in school..... We also had another poem with an opposite view on Death....I think it was "Death thou be not proud".... It feels nice to read these poems again after so many years....They bring back those school days.. ]
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Reeds of Innocence
Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
``Pipe a song about a Lamb!''
So I piped with a merry chear.
``Piper, pipe that song again;''
So I piped: he wept to hear.
``Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy chear:''
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
``Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.''
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
---- William Blake
I loved this poem in my school days!! ... I love it even now... I had by hearted it for our school's English orals. Thanks to those orals, I keep mumbling many poems in my leisure!!
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:
``Pipe a song about a Lamb!''
So I piped with a merry chear.
``Piper, pipe that song again;''
So I piped: he wept to hear.
``Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy chear:''
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.
``Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may read.''
So he vanish'd from my sight,
And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen,
And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.
---- William Blake
I loved this poem in my school days!! ... I love it even now... I had by hearted it for our school's English orals. Thanks to those orals, I keep mumbling many poems in my leisure!!
Jerusalem (by Blake)
AND did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
----William Blake
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
----William Blake
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