How do I love thee? ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints!---I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!---and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

Rad Dad!

We are on a rescue mission...

I just rescued one from my recent past, written for a colleague who claimed he's a radical dad - we renamed him "Rad Dad" ...

He hides she seeks, He shouts she shrieks ...
There in the rush from the chaotic freaks !
there's a mad racket, they love the noise,
And when Mom comes along, they quietly poise.
He's her buddy, who's wacky, wild and mad,
A Rad Dad - the best a daughter could have had!

He's the pony, for his princess to ride,
She strokes him kindly and gleams in pride.
But a mild pinch and the pony and she fall,
And to Mom they say, "Nothing happened at all!"
He's her buddy, who's wacky, wild and mad,
A Rad Dad - the best a daughter could have had!

Now a kid, next a teenager, later a father -
He's in her times. Just as old as her rather!
In all her many moods, steady to whimsical,
Mom is usually rational and Dad is radical !
He's her buddy, who's wacky, wild and mad,
A Rad Dad - the best a daughter could have had!

Off fears...

Trying a different kind of rhyme, less structured,...

And waking up to compelling thoughts at the midnight hour after more than a month and half ! The feeling is liberating !

In the warmth of dreams,
In the twilight's lull,
Is a place with black beams
Where Darkness is beautiful.

In the rising din of our days,
In the search for a remedy,
There is a friendly little space
Where Silence is a melody.

In a world of winding ways,
Destinations not in sight.
In no answers to question plays,
Innocence is a might

In memories that you loved,
Gone by the mind's measure.
Is a chance to lose the crowd
Where Loneliness is pleasure.

Words don't matter sweet or curt.
When neither fire burning
Nor a needle's prick can hurt,
Numbness is a blessing.

What is common to this kind of being,
Is the lack of fear when we aren't seeing,
Of the unknown when we aren't listening,
Of the known when we aren't more aware,
Of the people who will always care,
And the last few moments we have to spare.

Their counterparts will come to please,
But in the loss of fear there is eternal ease!

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE---MARLOWE

COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds,
With coral clasps and amber-studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

REPLY TO MARLOWE
IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

THE LAST BUG

Another one from GNU humour
http://www.gnu.org/fun/jokes/last.bug.html

   THE LAST BUG

"But you're out of your mind,"
They said with a shrug.
"The customer's happy;
What's one little bug?"

But he was determined.
The others went home.
He spread out the program,
Deserted, alone.

The cleaning men came,
The whole room was cluttered
With memory-dumps, punch cards.
"I'm close," he muttered.

The mumbling got louder,
Simple deduction,
"I've got it, it's right,
Just change one instruction."

It still wasn't perfect,
As year followed year,
And strangers would comment,
"Is that guy still here?"

He died at the console,
Of hunger and thirst.
Next day he was buried,
Face down, nine-edge first.

And the last bug in sight,
An ant passing by,
Saluted his tombstone,
And whispered, "Nice try."

The name-less crusaders

Playing hard against the other, desirous of victory,
My brain and my heart once had a long bitter fight,
To kill with veinless nervous guile, and bask in glory
They made me the battlegorund, indifferent to my plight!

Pumping as hard as ever, she scornfully kept going,
While he sparked up every neuron, in his raging fury
Arteries all scared and worried at the heartbeat racing,
Nerves all shaken with the war getting bloody and gory...

The stomach ached, the limbs shivered and the eyes all red,
As the tiff went on affecting others, unfair and unwise,
The duo paid no heed to them, in vain, as they pleaded..
For warriors valiant and wild, show no sign of compromise !

Simmering flames on the sizzling platter of choices,
To live or let live, to win for all or all for one,
Kept them confused equally, but unyielding in the crisis,
And in a strife lost for nobody or no good and won for none!

Now thinking off my brain, now feeling with my heart,
For the years that the scrimmage lasted, I was at unrest,
Reminders of the brace together as a child when we start
To disdain till the end, don't leave me feeling at my best...

Amity descends and graces the flight of doves at the pinnacle...
Of the triumph of their egos, in a war well fought, fought steady,
And their spirits turn to ash and smoke in the mortal debacle,
As they rest in peace, bound by lasting ties of a soul and body!

- Megha

Giving

Read this beautiful piece called "On Giving" from "The Prophet" by Khalil Gibran below - may you be inspired to give freely

Giving

Then said a rich man, "Speak to us of Giving."

And he answered:

You give but little when you give of your possessions.

It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.

For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow?

And tomorrow, what shall tomorrow bring to the over-prudent dog burying bones in the trackless sand as he follows the pilgrims to the holy city?

And what is fear of need but need itself?

Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?

There are those who give little of the much which they have - and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome.

And there are those who have little and give it all.

These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.

There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward;

And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.

And there are those give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;

They give as in yonder valley the myrtle breathes its fragrance into space.

Through the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth.

It is well to give when asked, but it is better to give unasked, through understanding;

And to the open-handed the search for one who shall receive is joy greater than giving.

And is there aught you would withhold?

All you have shall some day be given;

Therefore give now, that the season of giving may be yours and not your inheritors'.

You often say, 'I would give, but only to the deserving.'

The trees in your orchard say not so, nor the flocks in your pasture.

They give that they may live, for to withhold is to perish.

Surely he who is worthy to receive his days and his nights is worthy of all else from you.

And he who has deserved to drink from the ocean of life deserves to fill his cup from your little stream.

And what desert greater shall there be, than that which lies in the courage and the confidence, nay the charity, of receiving?

And who are you that men should rend their bosom and unveil their pride, that you may see their worth naked and their pride unabashed?

See first that you yourself deserve to be a giver, and an instrument of giving.

For in truth it is life that gives unto life - while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness.

And you receivers - and you are all receivers - assume no weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives.

Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on wings;

For to be overmindful of your debt is to doubt his generosity who has the free-hearted earth for mother, and God for father.

A Networkologist's Christmas

Itz Chrissttmaasss ! ... so herez one from the GNU project.
http://www.gnu.org/fun/jokes/networkologist.html

A Networkologist's Christmas (v3.1)
" 'Tis the night before Christmas," , I thought with a frown.
I was stuck at the office.  The network was down.
The  routers were hung in the closet, all crashed.
Their tables had holes in their data, all trashed.
Remote distribution, it seems, just for fun,
had erased DLLs Windows needed to run,
on 84 desktops, way down in accounting.
I sat stunned at my desk, my blood pressure mounting.
When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter,
I saw that a server had something the matter.
There was smoke coming out of the main hard disk drive.
"No problem,"  I thought, "I'm set up with RAID 5.".
But I found out the system I thought was unstoppable
had disk drives that turned out completely unswappable!
"No problem," I thought, "I've tape backup to thank.".
And then I discovered my backups were blank.
The UPS burped, and its lights all went out.
I started to scream!  I started to shout!
But nobody heard as I vented my rage,
my gurus were all on vacation those days,
and nobody's tech support answered the phone.
I was nose deep in trouble, completely alone,
when out at reception, I heard a soft knock.
As the hands just touched midnight on my desktop clock...
"What's your problem?", he asked,
"Never mind, friend, I know.
I checked out your network five hours ago.
I did some proactive analysis, so
I knew that this time bomb was going to blow."
Who was this guy?  Who did he think that he was?
He was dressed in red coveralls, white beard, black gloves.
His eyes had the twinkle of technical genius.
His smile cut down personal distance between us.
He spread out his tools, and went straight to his work.
"Whoever configured this network's a jerk.",
he said with a :-)> as he quickly rebooted,
uploaded some software, and smoothly rerouted
the LAN to a WAN that he quickly supplied
with bandwidth at least 20 gigabits wide
that went via wireless, I think, LEO,
to tech support elves waiting at the North Pole.
"Now bridging, now routing, now Ethernet hubs!",
He chanted as each piece of hardware he rubbed.
"Cheer up, my good friend!
Lose that mindset so tragic!
Technology often looks just like some magic
To people who don't understand what we do.
Now a switch, emulation, now middleware glue!
Look at the protocols, check one or two,
Debug a bit, test a bit, presto!  We're through!"
My data was back!  Every system checked out!
Tears of joy wet my face as I wandered about.
"How can I thank you?  You must be Saint Nick!"
He said, "Really, my friend, it's not such a great trick,
If you don't give up hope, focus on what you're doing,
And read all your issues of NETWORK COMPUTING."
And I heard him exclaim, as his reindeer were coursing,
"Merry Christmas to all!   And consider outsourcing!"
    -by Timothy Haight

ಆ ನೋಟ!

Just saw an exquisite Kathak performance by Nirupama n Rajendra! The song 'MadhurashTakam' written on Krishna goes as - adaram(lips) madhuram, vadanam(face) madhuram, nayanam(eyes)madhuram, akhilam(everything!) madhuram madhuradhipathey(of the lord of sweetness)...('Kr' dhaatu- of the word Krishna itself is attraction after all!)

Hm, I wrote this poetic-bit inspired by the song/dance :-))

ನೀ ಕಣ್ಣರಳಿಸಿ ನನ್ನತ್ತ ನೋಡಿದಾಗ...

ಚಿಟ್ಟೆಯೊಂದು ರೆಕ್ಕೆ ಬಿಚ್ಚಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ನನ್ನೆದೆಯಲ್ಲೇನೋ ಚಿತ್ತಾರ ಮೂಡಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು!

ನೂರು ಹಕ್ಕಿಗಳು ನನ್ನತ್ತ ಸಂಭ್ರಮದಿ ಹಾರಿಬಂದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ಹೊಸ ಸಂದೇಶವೇನೋ ಹೊತ್ತು ತಂದಂತಾಯ್ತು

ಸಾವಿರ ಅಲೆಗಳು ನುಗ್ಗಿ ನನ್ನೆದೆಗೆ ಅಪ್ಪಳಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು
ನನ್ನೆದೆಯಂಗಳದಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲಾ ಮಳೆಯಾದಂತಾಯ್ತು!

ಅದೇಕೋ ನಿನ್ನೆದೆಯ ರಾಗಕ್ಕೆ
ನ್ನನ್ನೆದೆಯು ಅನುನಾದ ಹೊರಡಿಸಿದಂತಾಯ್ತು

ಮನದ ತುಮುಲ ಮೊಗದಿ ಮೂಡಿ ಮುಖ ರಂಗೇರಿತು,
ಕಣ್ಣು ನಾಚಿ ನೆಲ ನೋಡಿತು!

The translation (yathaavat ;-)) )-
When you looked at me, it felt like a butterfly(chiTTe) had spread its wings; it felt like someone had scribbled some art (chittara) on my heart; it felt like a hundred birds flew towards me carrying some news for me; it felt like a thousand waves (aley) splashed on my heart and wet my heart!I could see my heart resonating to the beats of your heart, my mind's turmoil showed up on my face, I blushed and my eye could not look up any more and it gazed down!

Bit o' bookish blogging

Thanks to A (my colleague at work) ! This instantly brought a smile to my face :) .. And with his kind permission,... sharing it...


Books to the ceiling,
Books to the sky,
My pile of books is a mile high.
How I love them! How I need them!
I'll have a long beard by the time I read them.

- Arnold Lobel
This is him...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arnold_Lobel

Fireflies - By Tagore

My favourite from Rabindranath Tagore's poems :

FIREFILES -

I touch God in my song
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.

The butterfly counts not months
but moments,
and has time enough.

Let my love, like sunlight,
surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Love remains a secret even when spoken,
for only a lover truly knows
that he is loved.

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.

My candle burns at both ends

A friend's favourite

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light!

Edna St. Vincent Millay ("First Fig", A Few Figs From Thistles, 1920)

ಚಂದ್ರನಿಂದ ಭೂಮಿಗೊಂದು ಪ್ರೇಮ ಪತ್ರ...

ಭುವಿ,
ನೀನು ಚಿರತರುಣಿ
ನಿನಗಲ್ಲದೆ ಇನ್ನಾರಿಗುಂಟು ಜೀವಕಳೆ?
ಆ ಉತ್ಸಾಹದ ಚಿಲುಮೆ, ಸೊಬಗಿನ ಗರಿಮೆ!

ನಾನಾದರೋ ಶಾಂತ ಶಶಾಂಕ
ತಾರಾಮಂಡಲದ ಅತಿ ಚೆಲುವ
ನನಗೇನಿದೆ ಕುಂದು ಕೊರತೆ?

ನಿನಗೇಕೆ ಆ ದೂರದ -
ಸುಡುವ ಸೂರ್ಯನ ಸುತ್ತ
ಸುತ್ತುವ ಸೊಕ್ಕು?

ಅವನಿಗಿಲ್ಲವೇ ಸುತ್ತ ಪ್ರದಕ್ಷಿಣೆ ಹಾಕುವ
ಸಾಲು ಸಾಲು ಸಖಿಯರು?
ನನಗಾರಿದ್ದಾರೆ ನಿನ್ನ ಬಿಟ್ಟು?

ಭುವಿ, ನೀನಾಗಬಾರದೆ ನನ್ನ ಪ್ರಾಣಸಖಿ?!

swapna sundari yodane love marriage flop aadaga...

this is again from a long time ago:-) ..

ake nanna swapna sundari,
kannada naadina kasthuri,
bengaloorina viswha sundari,
aadre bahle vayyari,
kalsiuvala divasa nanna,"hogi thagond bannree, tharkari".

Shubha Dina

I wrote this for a friend, on her bday a couple of years back -

munjaaneya manjinali,
suryana kiranagalu, thanditu mathonda varushava.

hosa baalina modala januma,
hosa belakanu thandu kodali,
santosha , santrupti, iveradu ninnadaagali .
dukha, sankata, iva edurisalu dhairyavirali.

namma muddina sakhiye,
ninna huttida habba,ninage saagardashtu khushiyu kodali.

The two tales of a City...

The disadvantage of living in a place too long is probably the fact that you get too comfortable with the city that was and you endlessly complain about the city that is...

But to have seen the change and to live life by the changing rules still , which most of us are involuntarily doing, gets you thinking, atleast once in a while... Owe this one to all the thinking I have done in the past few days... "with my theatre masks on - : ) one for the happy tale : ( one for the sad tale "

I squinted my eyes, at the sunlight spears
From the broad blue skies and fluffy cheers.

I spread my arms to embrace the twinkling stars
On a moonlit night, past the street light hours.

I waded, my feet in the merry, silvery lake
Across the humble dwellings painted like cake

I felt the seasons amble along in the splendid colour...
Of flowers yellow, pink and lavander, that shower.

I smelt the lovely gardens in the neighbourhoods
And walked along the tall spiny trees in the woods.

I heard a lilting tune, in the holy place nearby.
Found that in this little city, my joys truly lie.

I shed a tear once before, riding the wind over...
Brimming spirits oozed out often, never any lower.

I squint my eyes now, to look beyond the endless lines,
Of cars or people, who cannot read our traffic signs.

I spread my arms, to stretch, on this same old street,
Trying to avoid touch, amidst a tiring shoppers' fleet.

I wade through puddles, feet going sore, in the rains,
Walking on worn out roads and along overflowing drains.

I feel my life rush past me, in the big city's huddle,
Miss the friendly town with a puppies I could cuddle...

I smell the synthetic perfume, among all the phone calls,
In the neon lights of the sensational, olfactory malls.

I hear the cacophony of myriad horns waiting in impatience,
And endure the mindless music, switching radio stations.

I shed a tear again today, as my heavy heart within cries...
And the drop of regret is, for my city's despiteful demise.

And nostalgia...continued...

One of my favourite poems from school. There are a whole lot of T S Eliot's cat poems...but this, I guess, is the best.

Sidenote:
1) Check out this for more info on Macavity. It talks about the similarity between Macavity and Moriarty.
2) The Hindu, in its crossword once, had the anagram for T S Eliot as "toilets"!

Macavity: The Mystery Cat

by T.S. Eliot

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw - For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law. He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair: For when they reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there! Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime - Macavity's not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air - But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there! Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in. His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed. He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity. You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square - But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there! He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.) And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's. And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair - Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there! And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scrap of paper in the hall or on the stair - But it's useless to investigate - Mcavity's not there! And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: `It must have been Macavity!' - but he's a mile away. You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums. Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity. He always has an alibi, and one or two to spare: At whatever time the deed took place - MACAVITY WASN'T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!

And nostalgia strikes

Over dinner with a friend...

And we remember the poems we loved in school... the ones that made an impression..

"Casabianca" by Felicia Hemans

The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.

The Brook (excerpts) - Alfred Lord Tennyson

I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel
With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

The Wicked Postman - Rabindranath Tagore

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?

The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.

Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to
come home from school.

What has happened to you that you look so strange?

Haven't you got a letter from father to-day?

I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.

Only, father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.

But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.

To-morrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.

I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find a
single mistake.

I shall write from A right up to K.

But, mother, why do you smile?

You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!

But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.

When I finish my writing, do you think I shall be so foolish as
father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?

I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.

I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

The Coramandel Fishers - Sarojini Naidu

Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all
night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades
all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god
drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the moon with the sound of the voices
we love;
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild
foam's glee;
Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the
sea.

Couplets... as good as can get

These are actually the lyrics of a song I've been listening to, the voices grace the song anyway, but the lyrics are genuine poetic soup for the soul ! And my rhyming attempt to translate..... inline

Presenting Nida Fazli's couplets - Dohe...

mai.n royaa parades me.n bhiigaa maa.N kaa pyaar
dukh ne dukh se baat kii bin chiThThii bin taar

I cry far away from home, wet as my mother's love cries
No words, no letters, it's our sorrow as binding ties

chhoTaa karake dekhiye jiivan kaa rustaar
aa.Nkho.n bhar aakaash hai baaho.n bhar sa.nsaar

Squint your vision to view life and the differences unfold
An eye seeing the vast skies, an embrace of the whole world

leke tan ke naap ko ghuume bastii gaa.Nv
har chaadar ke gher se baahar nikale paa.Nv

Guaging my stature, seeking new roads, leaving towns behind
To find a befitting mattress, but my legs outstretch every find

sabakii puujaa ek sii alag-alag har riit
masjid jaae maulvii koyal gaae giit

All worship and prayer means the same, but differs in expression
A pontiff in his mosque is like a cuckoo in musical confession

puujaa ghar me.n muurtii miira ke sa.ng shyaam
jisakii jitanii chaakarii utane usake daam

The altar may bear idols, of God and his consort in splendid decor
But at the geates of heaven, it's your deeds that are accounted for

Nadiya seeche khetko, totha kuthre aam
Suraj Thekedhaar sa, sab ko baate kaam

The river quenching thirsty fields, a parrot pecking at a mango sweet
At the start of each day, the Sun watches over the industrious fleet

saato.n din bhagavaan ke kyaa ma.ngal kyaa piir
jis din soe der tak bhuukaa rahe fakiir

Each day of the week, equals another, as God's generous gift,
The day, a tramp oversleeps, hunger lingers in the day's drift!

achchhii sa.ngat baiThakar sa.ngii badale ruup
jaise milakar aam se miiThii ho gaii dhuup

In the company of the noble, an associate seeks reform
As the summer's mangoes make the sun rays sweet and warm

sapanaa jharnaa nii.nd kaa jaagii aa.Nkhe.n pyaas
paanaa khonaa khojanaa saa.Nso.n kaa itihaas

Dreams are a cascade through sleep, for eyes awake, in thirst,
Of the centuries of losses, gains and a never ending quest!

chaahe giitaa vaachiye yaa pa.Dhiye quraan
meraa teraa pyaar hii har pustak kaa Gyaan

All holy books, preach alike, all religions the same
To love each other, is the universal rule of the game!

ummmm.... :)

ಹೂವೆ, ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ...

ಹೂವೆ, ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ...

ಪ್ರತಿ ಬೆಳಗೂ ಬರುವ ಅದೇ ಸೂರ್ಯನ ಕಾಣಲು
ಕಾಲ್ತುದಿಯಲಿ ನಿಂತು, ಕೊರಳ ಚಾಚಿ,
ಕಣ್ಣರಳಿಸಿ, ಹೊಸ ನಗೆ, ಸುವಾಸನೆಯ ಬೀರಿ,
ದಿನವೂ ಹೊಸ ಉತ್ಸುಕತೆಯಿಂದ ನಲಿಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಪ್ರತಿ ದಿನವೂ ನಿಂತಲ್ಲೇ ನಿಂತರೂ
ರೆಕ್ಕೆ ಬಿಚ್ಚಿ ಹಾರಾಡುವ ಹಕ್ಕಿಗಳ ಕಂಡೂ ಕಾಣದೆ,
ಅಪರೂಪಕ್ಕೊಮ್ಮೆ ಬೀಸುವ ಗಾಳಿಯಲ್ಲೇ ಮೈಮರೆತು,
ನಿಂತಲ್ಲೇ ನೀಲಿ ಆಕಾಶದಲ್ಲೆಲ್ಲಾ ಹಾರಾಡಿದ ಅನುಭವ ಕಾಣುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಮೊಗ್ಗರಳಿ ಹೂವಾದ ಕೆಲವು ದಿನಗಳಲ್ಲೇ
ಸಾವು ಬಂದೆಳೆದು ಪಕಳೆಗಳೆಲ್ಲಾ ಉದುರಿ
ಮಣ್ಣು ಪಾಲಾಗಿ ಕೊಳೆಯುತ್ತವೆಂದು ತಿಳಿದೂ,
ನಾನು ಹೂವಾಗಿ ಅರಳಿದಾಗ ನಗುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?

ಹೂವಾಗಿ ನಗುವುದೇ ಧರ್ಮವೆಂಬ ಅರಿವು ನಿನಗಿದ್ದಂತೆ,
ಹೂವಲ್ಲದ ನನ್ನ ಧರ್ಮದ ಅರಿವು ನನಗಿದೆಯೇ?
ಹೂವೆ ನಾ ನೀನಾಗಿದ್ದರೆ,
ನಾ ನಿನ್ನನಂತಿರುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆನೇ?