autisticgrandson
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o bideshi saiyaan, ab ke saawan ghar aaja.
autisticgrandson
will forever remember Kedarnath Singh for writing
"मैं जा रही हूँ—उसने कहा
जाओ—मैंने उत्तर दिया
यह जानते हुए कि जाना
हिंदी की सबसे ख़ौफ़नाक क्रिया है।"
God doesn't exist. He can't understand my love for Urdu, Hindi, English, Persian, Bengali and Kashmiri literature. He can't understand that I have no idea why I refer to him as a 'he'. Does God have a gender?
Reminds me of what Kabir wrote:-
maala pheruuN na kar japuuN aur mukh se kahuuN na raam
raam humaara humeN jape hum paayo bisraam
bhala huaa mori maala tuuTii maiN raam bhajan se chhuuTi
more sar se Talii balaa, Kabira
•
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autisticgrandson
today, a poem by hafez came to my mind.
hama shab darīñ umīmad ki nasīm-e-sub.h-gāhī
ba-payām-e-āshnā.ī ba-navāzad iiñ gadā rā
All night long, I live in the hope that the morning breeze will bring a message from the One I know, and grace this humble beggar with its touch.
Which reminds me of what Mir wrote:
mizhgān-e-tar ko yār ke chehre pe khol 'mīr'
is-aab KHastā sabze ko Tuk āftāb de
open those tear-ridden eyelashes on the face of your beloved, o mir
let the sun finally shine on this grass, drowning in its own rain
•
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ayendrla
your works always had me awed, gonna give you as a literary sacrifice to our literature forefathers.
autisticgrandson
o bideshi saiyaan, ab ke saawan ghar aaja.
autisticgrandson
will forever remember Kedarnath Singh for writing
"मैं जा रही हूँ—उसने कहा
जाओ—मैंने उत्तर दिया
यह जानते हुए कि जाना
हिंदी की सबसे ख़ौफ़नाक क्रिया है।"
God doesn't exist. He can't understand my love for Urdu, Hindi, English, Persian, Bengali and Kashmiri literature. He can't understand that I have no idea why I refer to him as a 'he'. Does God have a gender?
Reminds me of what Kabir wrote:-
maala pheruuN na kar japuuN aur mukh se kahuuN na raam
raam humaara humeN jape hum paayo bisraam
bhala huaa mori maala tuuTii maiN raam bhajan se chhuuTi
more sar se Talii balaa, Kabira
•
Reply
autisticgrandson
today, a poem by hafez came to my mind.
hama shab darīñ umīmad ki nasīm-e-sub.h-gāhī
ba-payām-e-āshnā.ī ba-navāzad iiñ gadā rā
All night long, I live in the hope that the morning breeze will bring a message from the One I know, and grace this humble beggar with its touch.
Which reminds me of what Mir wrote:
mizhgān-e-tar ko yār ke chehre pe khol 'mīr'
is-aab KHastā sabze ko Tuk āftāb de
open those tear-ridden eyelashes on the face of your beloved, o mir
let the sun finally shine on this grass, drowning in its own rain
•
Reply