Autophony

انسے کوئ گلہ نہیں جو خطا کر کے پچھتائ پر انسے تو سرف شکوا ہےجو نیکی کر کے یترائ

اے مھبوب یہ کیسا انساف تمہارا ذرا سی گستاخی کی سزا اس وفہ زندگی کو ملی

آپکی ذرا سی احسان فراموشی زندگی کے ترازو پر میرے تمام وفہ سے بھاری پڈ گئی

لطف آتا ہے آپکے ہر ایک بات سے ابر بہار برستے ہےں خوف لگتا ہے آپکی خاموشی سے ابر یورش پنپتے ہےں

Don't ask me how I am doing. Do you really want to know how I'm coping with my hernia, asthma, astigmatism and piles? Do you really want to know how I cope everyday - everyday - with a genetically constipated boss and colleagues as warm as snakes? Do you really want to know how I deal with daily disappointments of failure, that I'm just another stattisitc, an also-ran, not done in life as well as you? Do you really want to know how I fret and fume watching politicians, businessmen, athletes, work up sleaze and scandal to fill screen after television screen, while I wallow in obscurity? Do you really want to know?

Many hues of green, grey shade, bit of brown - perfect background for red blooms.

Orange-pink-red silk cotton flowers make the word blossom, meaningful.

Never let bloodstains dry on the blade; they dull its keenness, you cannot cut smoothly and will need four or five clumsy strokes. Wrap sandpaper around the handle, so that sweat doesn't loosen grip, else hacking off limbs becomes tiresome. Rub grit on the blade, sand with vigour - first with coarse, then fine paper - till the surface is evened. Make sure every inch from tip to hilt has sparked on the whetting-wheel. It should cut away arms in clean, efficient strokes. Rub down the edge with hemp and linen, till it neatly severs the spine in one graceful swing. Then rub down hard, first with a cotton rag, then silk, Rub keen till it rends the soft skin of the abdomen elegantly. Rub last with satin and dacca muslin. Then you will have an edge so sharp, you can gouge out eyes with the most delicate of movements. That is how you sharpen a machete.

A kite broken from its string, I rise, I fall, I swirl, I sail, Over land, over water, over homes; Plaything of the winds I be - I go where the current bids me... Till at last trapped in a tree, I flutter pinned to a twig; I can hear the breeze whistle As it rushes through my tatters, And that gentle, creaking sound As the rends expand... And then some boys discover me, take me down, mend me, string me, But dreams taped together fly no more... Can I protest aloud If they choose to string a newer kite?

They ask me at the city gates Who I am - May I say I am a flower fallen, Withering in the dust, Longing for the bough I was born on; May I say I am a kite broken, Plaything of the winds, Longing for the string that held me; May I say I am a son exiled, To wander from shore to shore, Longing for the soil that made me; But the bough bears new blooms, The string flies new kites, My motherland has new sons; All we can do is wander, drift, meander; Can you, O city guards, Give us a home to die in? But all they can give us is a rubbish bin's damp, smouldering fire. Thus must we - The flower, the kite and I perish. All they agree to do Is scatter our ashes in the wind, And in its ceaseless motion, We find our graves.

நாள் பின்னால் ஓடும் சூரியனைப்போலா, நீ - காலையில் பிரகாசித்து பகலில் எறிந்து மாலையில் மறைந்து இரவில் துலைவாயா?

Don't ask me to remember birthdays. Or your name. That's hard. But. I'll remember your face forever. If I've lent you anything, that too. The good and bad moments we've had, (I'll be discreet about the bad ones). Any favours you've done for me, And need repaying, those certainly. Much of what (and whom) You like and dislike, Even things you're allergic to. Just don't ask me to remember birthdays.

Es tu comme le soleil Chassant le jour- Espérant pendant l’aube, Brillant pendant la matineé, Brûlant pendant l’après-midi, Pâlissant pendant la soireé Et perdu dans les ténèbres?

भक्त एक था नारायण का, नारायण का, नारायण का परम भक्त था नारायण का, बचपन में था, यौवन में था सुबह शाम पूजा करता था, घी और गुड़ के भोग चढ़ाता जय हरि की, जय नारायण, जय हरि की, जय नारायण एक दिन एक चूहा आया, घी चट गया, गुड़ चट गया श्री नारायण देखते रह गए, देखते रह गए, देखते रह गए हरी से बढ़कर चूहा होगा, भक्त ने समझा, भक्त ने माना जय चूहे की, चूहे की जय, जय चूहे की, चूहे की जय अब चूहे को भोग चढ़ाता, घी चढ़ाता, गुड़ चढ़ाता लेकिन एक दिन बिल्ली आयी, डरकर चूहा बिल में भागा चूहे से बढ़कर बिल्ली होगी, भक्त ने समझा, भक्त ने माना जय बिल्ली की, बिल्ली की जय, जय बिल्ली की, बिल्ली की जय अब बिल्ली को दूध पिलाता, बिल्ली बिल्ली जपता रहता एक दिन जब एक कुत्ता भौंका, दूध गिराकर बिल्ली भागी बिल्ली से बढ़कर कुत्ता होगा, भक्त ने समझा, भक्त ने माना जय कुत्ते की, कुत्ते की जय, जय कुत्ते की, कुत्ते की जय अब कुत्ते को अन्न चढ़ाता, उसकी पूजा वन्दना करता पर पत्नीजी ने डन्डा लेकर, उस कुत्ते को मार भगाया कुत्ते से बढ़कर पत्नी होगी, भक्त ने समझा, भक्त ने माना जय पत्नी की, पत्नी की जय, जय पत्नी की, पत्नी की जय