untitled(vera pavlova)

We are rich: we have nothing to lose.
We are old: we have nowhere to rush.
We shall fluff the pillows of the past,
poke the embers of the days to come,
talk about what means the most,
as the indolent daylight fades.
We shall lay to rest our undying dead:
I shall bury you, you will bury me.

------

If there is something to desire,
there will be something to regret.
If there is something to regret,
there will be something to recall,
If there is something to recall,
there was nothing to regret.
If there was nothing to regret,
there was nothing to desire.

Vera Pavlova
(Translated, from the Russian, by Steven Seymour
in The New Yorker)

Let My Country Awake!

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high

Where knowledge is free

Where the world had not been broken up into fragments by

narrow domestic walls

Where words come 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!

Rabindranath Tagore in his work Gitanjali.

reSoLutIon

RESOLUTION

You fight us
because we fight hatred,
while you feed on hatred and violence
for strength.

You curse us
because we dont give man a label
and turn a gun barrel on him.

You condemn us
because you cant use our blood
in paying off your debts of greed;
because you cant budge us
from man's side
where we stand to protect all life.

And you murder us
just because we bow our heads
before man's love and reason;
because
we steadfastly refuse
to identify him
with the wolves.

THICH NHAT HAHN, Vietnamese Buddhist monk and peace activist.
Written in the 1960's during the Vietnam war.

dreAms

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow. Langston Hughes

Still I Rise

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise. Maya Angelou

to be free!

the seed within a fruit would like to be free -

the rice within the husk would like to be free -

the skin of the fruit, the husk of the rice

enclose within the embryo that has to be set free

to embrace the world

the husk and the fruit wait for the time to ripen

so that the life within is protected from death

for the moment

till the time comes

when the seed bursts and blossoms

the fruit dies and husk passes away

when the new life begins

Dr. Mahil Carr

oH mY soUl!

TO BE MYSELF

WORN OUT MASKS,

ALTERNATE VEILS

HIDE, HIDE THY SELF

LEST THEY DISCOVER

INVISIBLE BOUNDARIES

SELFMADE BORDERS

STAY, STAY TIGHT

LEST YOU STRAY

TRUTH SETS ME FREE

MANY A WASTED SHACKLES

SOAR, SOAR UP HIGH

OH MY SOUL! FLY

christy femila

i am what I WAS

I AM WHAT I WAS

Oh, come on,

You didn't know me.

You didn't know who I was

Lived with me thirty years

And never saw

What I was to myself

I was

My own sunshine,

Singer of songs,

Painter, poet,

Creator of stories.

That's what I was.

I was

The mother of your children,

Company wife,

Hostess,

Your woman.

That's what I was.

And all the time

I was dying inside,

Because I could not be

Your woman,

And still be myself

The irony is that you died

And I survived.

JANE BHANDARI was born in Edinburgh , lives in Bombay and writes poetry in English.

thE lAw oF thE juNgLe

THE LAW OF THE JUNGLE

I have heard

There is a law of the jungle

I have heard when the lion has eaten his fit

He never attacks

He goes to lie under dense shady trees

And when the rough gusts

Shake branches of trees

The mynah leaving her own young

Covers the frail crow's eggs

With her protective wings

I have heard

When any bird-young falls out of the nest

The entire jungle wakes to rescue

I have heard

When the weaver bird's nest

Reflects on the lake

The silvery fishes adopt it as neighbour

And if a rough strom breaks the foot bridge

Then on a wooden plank

Squirrel, snake, goat and cheetah walk in a file

I have heard

There is a law in the jungle

O God, All Powerful, All seeing, All Wise,

In this my city

Proclaim a law, even

The law of the jungle.

ZEHRA NIGAH is a feminist poet in Pakistan and one of the best known names of contemporary Urdu literature

Black Woman

THE BLACK WOMAN

The dreams of a black woman

are very fair

and her truth pitch-dark

She is born with a pain

to which no colour

can be given

It borrows the colour of water

To fill her eyes

and swim in the dark wounds

on her dark body

Suppressing on her lips

the silent scream

of every dark person

she turns darker still

Her thoughts fly away

Like white birds

to fetch bits of moonlight

to fill her lap

A black woman

lives a black sin

and longs for a fair child.

NIRUPAMA DUTT
The author is prominent among poets writing in Punjabi. She lives in Delhi

uNtiTiLed

Didn't I tell you, don't go there, for the one who knows you is I - In this mirage of annihilation, the fountain of life is I? And if in anger you should stray a hundred thousand years from me, In the end you will return to me, because your end is I? Didn't I tell you, don't be content with the forms of the world, For the Painter of the Curtain of your contentment is I? Didn't I tell you that I am the sea and you are a fish, Don't go to dry land, for your sea of purity is I? Didn't I tell you, don't go like birds towards the snare, Come, for the power of flight of your feathers and feet is I? Didn't I tell you that they would beset you on the road and chill you, Come, for the fire and its heat and the warmth of your air is I? Didn't I tell you that they would fill you with vile qualities, That you forget that the source of your purity is I? Didn't I tell you, Don't say by what design the servant's work will be ordered; the Creator without designs is I? If you are the lamp of the heart, know the road to your home, And if you are of God's nature, know that your master is I! ----Jalaluddin Rumi----

eVErY mOMeNt

Every moment
a voice
out of this world
calls on our soul
to wake up and rise

this soul of ours
is like a flame
with more smoke than light
blackening our vision
letting no light through

lessen the smoke and
more light brightens your house
the house you dwell in now
and the abode
you'll eventually move to

now my precious soul
how long are you going to
waste yourself
in this wandering journey
can't you hear the voice
can't you use your swifter wings
and answer the call

----Jalaluddin Rumi----

liMerICks

There was a lady who triplets begat
Nat, Pat and Tat
It was fun breeding
But trouble feeding
Cause she didn't have a tit for Tat.
-------------

There was a young girl from Cape Cod,
Who thought babies came only from God.
T'wasn't the Almighty
Who lifted her nightie.
T'was Roger the Lodger by god!

-----------------
There once was a Bishop of Treet
Who decided to be indiscreet,
But after one round
To his horror he found
You repeat, and repeat, and repeat.
-----------------------

There was a young fellow named perkin
Who was always jerkin his gherkin
His father said perkin
Stop jerkin your gherkin
Your gherkins fer ferkin not jerkin
__________________

A pansy who lived in Khartoum
Took a lesbian up to his room,
And they argued all night
Over who had the right
To do what, and with which, and to whom.

tHe BeEr prAyERR

Our Lager,

Which art in Barrels,

Hallowed be thy drink.

Thy will be drunk (I will be drunk)

At home as it is tavern

Give us this day our foamy head

And forgive us our spillages

As we forgive those who spill against us

And lead us not into incarceration

But deliver us from hang overs

For thine is the beer,

the bitter and the Lager

Forever and ever

-Barmen-

The tWo iNsoMNIas

When I am with you, we stay up all night,

When you're not here, I can't get to sleep,

Praise God for these two insomnias,

And the difference between them.

Jalaluddin Rumi.

Circulus Vitiosus

Deep in a jungle forest
A babboon says to meerkat
"I wonder about humans.
They are interesting.
They walk on two feet.
with their noses up high
As if sniffing for food"


Meerkat scratches his ear
"You are wrong my friend.
Their nose is a signal
They are superior to us.
Noses are often different
They are made of plastic
And they pay highly for it"


Babboon picks a leaf
"Tell me, jungle pal
Why do humans wear
those funny leaves?
Pity that no fur
to keep them warm
in the bitter winter."


"You need to learn more.
Those are not leaves.
They are called clothes
It also tells them apart
They kill us for it
Much like fur around
their naked neck"


"That's awful!
They are heartless
Killing our kind
Are we food to them?
Will they take our homes
and wipe us out?
Are they our gods?


"Do not worry so much.
We will still thrive
Yet with difficulty
No, they are not gods.
They want to, I tell you.
They fight over it
I think they go to war."


Babboon eats a louse
"They also kill each other?
Is that for mating
or for partition of food?
I am scared of humans.
Not to be trusted
This world is unfair."


"Do not lose hope friend
When tables are turned
Humans will not survive.
They would die in days.
They think they figured
Out life fully on earth
But they are coconut heads."


"Coconut heads? That's funny!
I can't wait for the day
See humans fall on their knees
Walk on their four feet again.
Crawl on their belly for food
Eat insects like me, yummy!
And to be scared of us!"


Meerkat looks down
"No, I don't want that
The day they will fear us
Power is brought by hate
Humans live in contempt
If we aspire for fear
We are no different.
We are animals.
We have our own kingdom.
Humans have none
For they are divided.
If we want to rule
we become them, greed.
Vicious cycle begins
Killing each other
For power."



Babboon sighs at the sunset
"I heard enough about humans.
I saw a fallen tree by the river
I bet there are tasty maggots
for our sumptous meal, my friend
Humans probably came from maggots
What do you think?."

Hazel Bernardo

WheRE dO You seArCH mE

Where do you search me?
I am with you
Not in pilgrimage, nor in icons
Neither in solitudes
Not in temples, nor in mosques
Neither in Kaba nor in Kailash
I am with you o man
I am with you
Not in prayers, nor in meditation
Neither in fasting
Not in yogic exercises
Neither in renunciation
Neither in the vital force nor in the body
Not even in the ethereal space
Neither in the womb of Nature
Not in the breath of the breath
Seek earnestly and discover
In but a moment of search
Says Kabir, Listen with care
Where your faith is, I am there.

Kabir

How Long!

Unable to come to you, and helpless to invite
The heart remains lonely, separation makes me burn
Shall burn the body to ash, like smoke soar above
May RAM bless the mind, His grace extinguish the flame
Shall burn the body to make ink, I write the Name of RAM
Write I shall with bones as pen, and send messages to Him
Shall make the body a lamp, the wick being my life
My blood fueling the lamp aglow, I shall see the face of Love
Either destroy this loneliness, or show me your Self
This unceasing separation, I cannot endure myself

Kabir's mystic poems.

wHeRe dO wE gO fROm hEre

Where do we go from here?

Several centuries
Have slipped by between our thin fingers
The Rani of Jhansi asks me from the grave
Are we free and equal at last?

I hang my head: there is so much to do.
My feminine paranoia has no cure,
Some drunken husband is beating his wife,
Some female child has seen her starving grave,
Some woman went with only half the wages
Some woman was raped and could not fight
Some woman married an irregular old chap
And I still have to prove everything I do.
And you call this a hyperbola of my fantasy?

Two droplets of summer
Three teaspoons of hope
Two tablespoons of courage
A jug of education
A sprig of equal laws
Ten sticks of economic liberty

Will you concoct me this elixir
So I may tell the Rani that she may breathe?

By- Sujata Venkatraman

Walking Along!

CROSSING THE RIVER

It is possible that you just happened to stray

into this secluded pathway,

just as it is equally possible

that you were destined to walk this road with me,

even if for a very short distance.

For I know that the rest of the people

who are walking this pathway with me

had to come. They had to.

I cannot tell how many kalpas(Sanskrit expression for an

immeasurably long span of time that has

special status in Buddhist cosmology)

brought us together

on this darkling road.

We feel we've known each other all along,

now we walk, our faces turned to the east,

the air misting over with our whispered liturgy.

Perhaps the same cycle of kalpas

brought you here, or else you would not have come

and i,

I wouldn't have answered your voice.

I did, however, answer.

For it seemed to be a voice I'd heard before,

somewhere, someplace.

Then as now, the udumbara bloomed.

(Udumbara us a mythical plant said to bloom only once in three

thousand years to herald the advent of a Buddha)

But your voice has an urgency now.

"I've met you late, very late in life," you said,

"it's all so sad. Why did I have to meet you so late?"

you lamented, your anguish too rich in contrast

to the lean and mean tick of time.

I felt strangely happy though

about our age

not only because it freed us from fretting, from

clinging,

but more because it took me closer

to the river Phalgu.(Siddartha Gautama attained

enlightenment and became the Buddha

on the banks of the river Phalgu in Bihar)

O yes, we're nearing Phalgu.

I can even smell the waters from afar.

See, the far-reaching riverine Mahabodhi?

I walked faster.You kept pace with me.

Silver waters,

what an unhurried calm in their flow.

In a way you were right about the 'late' part.

It is time for me to cross the river.

I shall stand here on the bank of the Phalgu

and wait for that ferryman

to take me acrros the river.

He'll come, my ferryman

on whose brow sits an expansive sky

whose arched eyebrows almost meet over his nose

whose almond eyes, curtained by heavy eyelids

can yet see it all, see it all.

Even if you decide to stay behind on the riverbank

and let me cross the river alone with the ferryman

I'm sure I'll see you

on the other side of the Phalgu.

You'll be there,

just like you're here, now.

Lakshmi Kannan, novelist, short story writer, poet

and translator, she writes in English under the

pen-name Kaveri in Tamil. she lives in Delhi.

On bEinG WitH yoU

Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort,

Of feeling safe with a friend,

Having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words

But pouring them out

Just as they are,

Grain and chaff together,

Certain that a faithful hand

Will take and sift them,

Keep what is worth keeping

And, with the breath of kindness,

Blow the rest away.

GEARGE ELIOT.

TELL ME NOW

If it is with pleasure that you are viewing any

work that I am doing,

If you like me, or you love me, tell me now.

Don't withhold your approbation till the priest makes

his oration and I lie with snowy lilies o'ver my brow.

For no matter how you shout it, I'll not care much about it

I won't see how many tears you've shed.

If you think some praise is due on me, now's the time to slip it to me,

For I cannot read my tombstone when I'm dead.

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

A SeCreT

A SECRET

I heard my father murmur

when we lowered him in the grave

Did he wish to pass on a secret to me,

his only son, his only heir?

Everyone was chanting verses,

everyone in a hurry to leave him behind.

The secret remains buried,

but the tree I had planted

by the side of the grave

is now big,

with leaves shining,

with children climbing it

and with occasional flowers.

Was the secret about

how to make a tree grow,

how to keep it green,

how to save it from the dust and the sun?

Manzur-i-Mouwla is a noted poet, playwright, critic and literary

editor of Bangladesh. A former Director General of the Bangla

Academy, he lives in Dhaka.

GuEsT roOM

GUEST ROOM

Self pity

is a quilt other guests

have used.

I loathe the stench

of other's bodies

clinging to a guest bed.

I am at last

a pativrata

a pativrata to suit

the traditions

of this ancient land.

I shall touch

only the male

who gave me a ring --

a ring with his name

engraved.

It gives me a sense

of respectability.

The dead mate stirs

no guilt in me.

The living one

makes me want to cry.

KAMALA DAS, now Kamala Suraiya, is a pathbreaking author and poet.

She writes as Madhavikutty in Malayalam and as Kamala Das in English.

She lives in Kochi, Kerala.
--

ThIrSt

THIRST

Thirst is the root of sorrow -- Siddartha Buddha.

Thirst is the root of my sorrow

Thirst is the root of woman's sorrow

Thirst is the root of the poet's sorrow

Thirst is the sharp blade of my agony

Thirst is the painfilled resonance of my senses

Thirst pervades my innermost being

What happens when thirst calls out to my archetype

What hapens when thirst wipes from my eyes.

The dark, dense aloneness

What happens when thirst clings to me

In an adult embrace

Slowly, surely, the game of thirst grows brutal

And my lap fills with

Plenteous flowers of pain

The flowers of pain are berry-black

To the flowers of pain I gave the moisture of blood

From the flowers of pain I pluck and scatter the stamens

I hug to my breast the ancestry of the flowers of pain

I become the hunger in Buddha's begging nowl

This age-old affliction

Affects all existence

Permeates all living

This eternal thirst in me

Does not die with my death.

Pradnya Lokhande is a poet and critic. A lecturer in Marathi, she lives in MUmbai.

(Translated from the Marathi by Shanta Gokhale.)

All You Who Sleep Tonight

All you who sleep tonight

Far from the ones you love,

No hand to left or right

And emptiness above ---

Know that you aren't alone

The whole world shares your tears,

Some for two nights or one,

And some for their years.

VIKRAM SETH

Have Courage!

Question not, but live and labour
Till your goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.


ADAM LINDSAY GORDON.

Aggression

Aggression

Human nature is such
that if you sit, they'll say - "No, don't sit!"
If you stand, "What's the matter, walk!"
And if you walk, "Shame on you, sit down!"

If you so much as lie down, they'll bother you - "Get up."
If you don't lie down, no respite, "Lie down for a bit!"

I'm wasting my days getting up and sitting down.
If I'm dying right now, they speak up - "Live."
If they see my living, who knows when
they'll say - "Shame on you, die!"

In tremendous fear I secretly go on living

Taslima Nasreen, a Bangladeshi writer and poet. Translated by Carolyne Wright in the book, "The Game In Reverse."

Rumi and his love of God

What can I do, Muslims? I do not know myself.
I am no Christian, no Jew, no Magian, no Musulman.
Not of the East, not of the West. Not of the land, not of the sea.
Not of the Mine of Nature, not of the circling heavens,
Not of earth, not of water, not of air, not of fire;
Not of the throne, not of the ground, of existence, of being;
Not of India, China, Bulgaria, Saqseen;
Not of the kingdom of the Iraqs, or of Khorasan;
Not of this world or the next: of heaven or hell;
Not of Adam, Eve, the gardens of Paradise or Eden;
My place placeless, my trace traceless.
Neither body nor soul: all is the life of my Beloved.
I have put away duality: I have seen the Two worlds as one.
I desire One, I know One, I see One, I call One.

---Jalaluddin Rumi---("Divan-i-Shams-i-Tabriz.")

A Small Whisper to All Muslim Women

A Small Whisper to All Muslim Women


You look at me and call me oppressed,

Simply because of the way I'm dressed,

You know me not for what's inside,

You judge the clothing I wear with pride,

My body's not for your eyes to hold,

You must speak to my mind, not my feminine mold,

I'm an individual, I'm no man's slave,

It's Allah's pleasure that I only crave

I have a voice so I will be heard,

For in my heart I carry His word,

"O ye women, wrap close your cloak,

So you won't be bothered by ignorant folk",

Man doesnt tell me to dress this way,

It's a Law from God that I obey,

Oppressed is something I'm truly NOT,

For liberation is what I've got,

It was given to me many years ago,

With the right to prosper, the right to grow

I can climb mountains or cross the seas,

Expand my mind in all degrees,

For God Himself gave us LIB-ER-TY,

When He sent Islam,

For You and Me!

Website: http://www.iio.org/poetry/whisper_to_women.htm

Gibran on 'Love'

It is something that

gathers strength with patience,

grows despite obstacles,

warms in winter,

flourishes in spring,

casts a breeze in summer,

and bears fruit in autumn -- I found Love.

Khalil Gibran

The Manifesto

THE MANIFESTO

Accepting human beings as they are

Regardless of who they are

The insane and the intelligible

The insidious and the insensible

The intellectuals and the idiots

The insincere and the intemperate

THAYA THIAGARAJA