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The bright n’ sweet, the fresh and cheerful,

the sad n’ grieved, the pained and the hopeful,
varied as life, oh! so magical,so mystical,
as true as God, beautiful and wonderful,

come dear friend, come, let us together see
the golden smiles and tears of poetry!

A cheery hello to whoever visits this blog.

I love poetry. And that’s exactly what this blog is going to have. All the poems that I read, have read, and fallen in love with. Slowly and over time, I hope to build here a treasure trove of great poetic gems. I’d appreciate it a lot if you help me by sharing your favourite English poems. Let’s revel in the magic of poesy and discover great gems…

Best wishes to all who visit,

Do come again…

If you’d like to check out my novels and the blog where I post my stories and articles, please visit Jyoti Arora

तेरा है / अशोक चक्रधर

तू गर दरिन्दा है तो ये मसान तेरा है,
अगर परिन्दा है तो आसमान तेरा है।

तबाहियां तो किसी और की तलाश में थीं
कहां पता था उन्हें ये मकान तेरा है।

छलकने मत दे अभी अपने सब्र का प्याला,
ये सब्र ही तो असल इम्तेहान तेरा है।

भुला दे अब तो भुला दे कि भूल किसकी थी
न भूल प्यारे कि हिन्दोस्तान तेरा है।

न बोलना है तो मत बोल ये तेरी मरज़ी
है, चुप्पियों में मुकम्मिल बयान तेरा है।

तू अपने देश के दर्पण में ख़ुद को देख ज़रा
सरापा जिस्म ही देदीप्यमान तेरा है।

हर एक चीज़ यहां की, तेरी है, तेरी है,
तेरी है क्योंकि सभी पर निशान तेरा है।

हो चाहे कोई भी तू, हो खड़ा सलीक़े से
ये फ़िल्मी गीत नहीं, राष्ट्रगान तेरा है।

Gratitude by Henry Van Dyke

“Do you give thanks for this? — or that?”
No, God be thanked
I am not grateful
In that cold, calculating way, with blessing ranked
As one, two, three, and four, — that would be hateful.

I only know that every day brings good above”
My poor deserving;
I only feel that, in the road of Life, true Love
Is leading me along and never swerving.

Whatever gifts and mercies in my lot may fall,
I would not measure
As worth a certain price in praise, or great or small;
But take and use them all with simple pleasure.

For when we gladly eat our daily bread, we bless
The Hand that feeds us;
And when we tread the road of Life in cheerfulness,
Our very heart-beats praise the Love that leads us.

This blog is managed by Indian novelist Jyoti Arora. Check out her novels and personal blog at jyotiarora.com

करे कोशिश अगर इन्सान तो क्या-क्या नहीं मिलता / अशोक अंजुम

करे कोशिश अगर इन्सान तो क्या-क्या नहीं मिलता
वो उठकर चल के तो देखे जिसे रास्ता नहीं मिलता

भले ही धूप हो कांटे हों पर चलना ही पड़ता है
किसी प्यासे को घर बैठे कभी दरिया नहीं मिलता

कमी कुछ चाल में होगी , कमी होगी इरादों में
जो कहते कामयाबी का हमें नक्शा नहीं मिलता

कहें क्या ऐसे लोगों से जो कहकर लड़खड़ाते हैं
की हम आकाश छू लेते मगर मौक़ा नहीं मिलता

हम अपने आप पर यारो भरोसा करके तो देखें
कभी भी गिडगिडाने से कोई रुतबा नहीं मिलता

This blog is managed by Indian novelist Jyoti Arora. Check out her novels and personal blog at jyotiarora.com

A Woman’s Shortcomings, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

She has laughed as softly as if she sighed,
She has counted six, and over,
Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried –
Oh, each a worthy lover!
They “give her time”; for her soul must slip
Where the world has set the grooving;
She will lie to none with her fair red lip:
But love seeks truer loving.

She trembles her fan in a sweetness dumb,
As her thoughts were beyond recalling;
With a glance for one, and a glance for some,
From her eyelids rising and falling;
Speaks common words with a blushful air,
Hears bold words, unreproving;
But her silence says – what she never will swear –
And love seeks better loving.

Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar,
And drop a smile to the bringer;
Then smile as sweetly, when he is far,
At the voice of an in-door singer.
Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes;
Glance lightly, on their removing;
And join new vows to old perjuries –
But dare not call it loving!

Unless you can think, when the song is done,
No other is soft in the rhythm;
Unless you can feel, when left by One,
That all men else go with him;
Unless you can know, when unpraised by his breath,
That your beauty itself wants proving;
Unless you can swear “For life, for death!” –
Oh, fear to call it loving!

Unless you can muse in a crowd all day
On the absent face that fixed you;
Unless you can love, as the angels may,
With the breadth of heaven betwixt you;
Unless you can dream that his faith is fast,
Through behoving and unbehoving;
Unless you can die when the dream is past –
Oh, never call it loving!

This blog is maintained by Indian novelist Jyoti Arora. Check out her novels and personal blog at jyotiarora.com

‘My Vocation’ by Toru Dutt

A waif on this earth,
Sick, ugly and small,
Contemned from my birth
And rejected by all,
From my lips broke
Where – oh where shall I fly?
Who comfort will bring?
Sing, – said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Life struck me with fright –
Full of chances and pain,
So I hugged with delight
The drudge’s hard chain;
One must eat, – yet I die,
Like a bird with clipped wing,
Sing – said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

Love cheered for a while
My morn with his ray,
But like a ripple or smile
My youth passed away.
Now near Beauty I sigh,
But fled is the spring!
Sing – said God in reply,
Chant poor little thing.

All men have a task,
And to sing is my lot –
No meed from men I ask
But one kindly thought.
My vocation is high –
‘Mid the glasses that ring,
Still – still comes that reply,
Chant poor little thing.