News of war makes me wonder if we've really learned anything as a race from our history checkered with destruction. Listened to a Hindi song on war sometime back and I thought I'll translate it for here for friends who come from either side of this war:

Oh my enemy, my brother, yes my very own,
these burning abodes whisper something to you and me,
this destruction and death says something to you and me.
War is but a matter of few days, Life cries for ages to come.

A dark and deafening silence
spreads over villages burnt with impunity,
broken bridges lay over roaring rivers,
on a earth tired, wounded, of anxiety.

Fields are scorched with a poignant gloom,
walkways are dreaded and feared,
the cosmos grieves its loss,
staring from the stars at these burning homes and smoky air. 

Oh my enemy, my brother, yes my very own,
these burning abodes whisper something to you and me,
this destruction and death says something to you and me.
War is but a matter of few days, Life cries for ages to come.

An air heavy and toxic with gunpowder,
spreading the stench of death with it,
wounds crying out with pity,
in an alley of diseases unworthy of life.

Dead children lay in the hands,
of mothers crying incessantly in nights,
the towns are dead, and so are all cities,
with faces and hearts all turned to stone.

Why do we sow guns and grenades in our fields,
instead of sowing crops of wheat and rice,
when both of our towns have alleys with ailing and hungry children?

Oh my enemy, my brother, yes my very own,
these stone turned hearts and these burning homes,
these images of destruction, and these images of death,
some in your city and some in mine,
cry out to both of us and ask until when will death and hatred eat both of us?

Come, take a vow with me today, we will not let war tear this earth.
Come, look with me onto that day, when the sun will shine brightly and cheerfully on our skies,
On all your skies, on all my skies, on all your cities, and on all my cities.

Oh my friend, my brother, yes my very own.
these burning abodes whisper something to you and me,
this destruction and death says something to you and me.
War is but a matter of few days, Life cries for ages to come...

Nice Article!

The Bird and The Tree

The tree knows that I am moving and its not,
And its peaceful.

The bird sees that I am moving as it does,
And its peaceful.

I know I am not moving,
And yet I pretend I am,
And thus I lie, perturbed, uneasy and wanting.
Forever.

Neither tree, nor bird can I be now.
Neither tree nor bird can I look at now.
For I ignore their peace with each passing day,
To find peace in objects which neither know, nor see.

another post after a long long time, the delay is attributed to my own laziness. i'm working on my masters and phd applications and an article on the financial crisis being a boon for india. don't really know if i want to do a phd but i guess anything which helps me help others and thus help myself... charity helps no one but the giver, for whom, winning becomes richer on losing a part of what he long struggles to win.

“the Light was lost, a gleam remains,
In every inch of his being, the sight remains.
Brain is lost, the Intellect remains,
The manifestation of an Intense life-force still remains.

With your soul unscathed by the agony of Truth,
It merely reminds you of the work to be done,
of the life-force to be exalted by fasting and thinking,
And thus the desire to live still remains.

But It still sees you, constantly reminds you,
Through its dark and glary penetrating eyes,
An attempt to change you through its power and beauty still remains."

Vaishnava Jan To...

I've heard this hymn since childhood but but never quite got its meaning. Hope you like the meaning as much as I do. Let me know if you'd want the mp3 version of this.
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Vaishanav: A follower of Vaishnav school of Hinduism. Strict vegetarianism, ahimsa and simplicity are the hallmarks of a true vaishnav. The Bhajan is in essence a "definition" of "vaishnav" :-

Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye je [One who is a vaishnav]
Peed paraayi jaane re [Knows the pain of others]
Par-dukhkhe upkaar kare toye [Does good to others, esp. to those ones who are in misery]
Man abhimaan na aaNe re [Does not let pride enter his mind]
Vaishnav...

SakaL lok maan sahune vande [A Vaishnav, Tolerates and praises the the entire world]
Nindaa na kare keni re [Does not say bad things about anyone]
Vaach kaachh man nishchaL raakhe [Keeps his/her words, actions and thoughts pure]
Dhan-dhan janani teni re [O Vaishnav, your mother is blessed (dhanya-dhanya)]
Vaishnav...

Sam-drishti ne trishna tyaagi [Sees everything equally, rejects greed and avarice]
Par-stree jene maat re [Considers some one else's wife/daughter as his mother]
Jivha thaki asatya na bole [The toungue may get tired, but will never speak lies]
Par-dhan nav jhaalee haath re [Does not even touch someone else's property]
Vaishnav...

Moh-maaya vyaape nahi jene [A Vaishnav does not succumb to worldly attachments]
Dridh vairaagya jena man maan re [Who has staunch detachment to worldly pleasures]
Ram naam shoon taali laagi [Who has been edicted to the elixir coming by the name of Ram]
Sakal tirath tena tan maan re [For whom all the religious sites are in the mind]
Vaishnav...

Van-lobhi ne kapat-rahit chhe [Who has no greed and deciet]
Kaam-krodh nivaarya re [Who has renounced lust of all types and anger]
Bhane Narsaiyyo tenun darshan karta [The poet Narsi will like to see such a person]
Kul ekoter taarya re [By who's virtue, the entire family gets salvation]
Vaishnav...

Nachiketa
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(All thanks to: http://www.ramanuja.org/sv/bhakti/archives/all94/0016.html)

Jannat-e-armaan

pyaar kar duniya ko bhulane ke khwaab liye,
nikla ttha main tanha raahon mein dil ke kucch fasaane liye,
magruur khuda ne tthokron se sawara,
phir bhi phir raha hun jannat-e-armaan liye.

Dedicated to William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

As moved by his thoughts in Grade 4 when I read "Lines written in Early spring," as I was in undergraduate studies when I read the "Preface to Lyrical Ballads," this post graces my blog as a remembrance to Wordsworth's thoughts and verses close to my mind and soul...
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LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

          I HEARD a thousand blended notes,
        While in a grove I sate reclined,
        In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
        Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

        To her fair works did Nature link
        The human soul that through me ran;
        And much it grieved my heart to think
        What man has made of man.

        Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
        The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;                         10
        And 'tis my faith that every flower
        Enjoys the air it breathes.

        The birds around me hopped and played,
        Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
        But the least motion which they made
        It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

        The budding twigs spread out their fan,
        To catch the breezy air;
        And I must think, do all I can,
        That there was pleasure there.                              20

        If this belief from heaven be sent,
        If such be Nature's holy plan,
        Have I not reason to lament
        What man has made of man?
                                                            1798.
Taken from: http://www.bartleby.com/145/ww130.html
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EXCERPTS FROM THE PREFACE TO "LYRICAL BALLADS":

For the human mind is capable of being excited without the application 
of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint 
perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this, and who 
does not further know, that one being is elevated above another, in 
proportion as he possesses this capability. It has therefore appeared to
 me, that to endeavour to produce or enlarge this capability is one of 
the best services in which, at any period, a Writer can be engaged; but 
this service, excellent at all times, is especially so at the present 
day. For a multitude of causes, unknown to former times, are now acting 
with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, 
and, unfitting it for all voluntary exertion, to reduce it to a state of
 almost savage torpor. The most effective of these causes are the great 
national events which are daily taking place, and the increasing 
accumulation of men in cities, where the uniformity of their occupations
 produces a craving for extraordinary incident, which the rapid 
communication of intelligence hourly gratifies. to this tendency of life
 and manners the literature and theatrical exhibitions of the country 
have conformed themselves.

• In spite of difference of soil and climate, of language and manners, of laws and customs—in spite of things silently gone out of mind, and things violently destroyed, the Poet binds together by passion and knowledge the vast empire of human society, as it is spread over the whole earth, and over all times.

• What is a Poet?...He is a man speaking to men: a man, it is true, endowed with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the Universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them.
  • Preface

• I have said that poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.
  • Preface

• — A simple child,
  That lightly draws its breath,
  And feels its life in every limb,
  What should it know of death?
  • We Are Seven, st. 1 (1798)

Source: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/William_Wordsworth