Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
Chalti Chakki Dekh Kar, Diya Kabira Roye Dui Paatan Ke Beech Mein,Sabit Bacha Na
by Kabir
53 lines, 25 comments
'Attar began The Conference of the Birds (Mantiq al-tair) with an invocation praising the holy Creator in which he suggested that one mu
The green-blue ground
is ruled with silver lines
My heart leaps up when I behold
A Rainbow in the sky:
He thrust his joy against the weight of the sea;
climbed through, slid under those long banks of
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love;
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
He seemed to know the harbour, So leisurely he swam;
I WILL arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
I must tell you
this young tree
Jab Tun Aaya Jagat Mein, Log Hanse Tu Roye Aise Karni Na Kari, Pache Hanse Sab Koye
by Kabir
74 lines, 10 comments
His head between his hands, the dreamer weaves
His dream of clouds and Autumn-colored leaves.
Till dawn the winds' insuperable throng passed over like archangels in their might,
I reach deep into my lonely mind and carve out a full moon.
High into night’s starry sky I hang it like a mirror.
The day was clear as fire,
the birds sang frail as glass,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but nature more,
I hear a sudden cry of pain!
There is a rabbit in a snare:
The old orchard, full of smoking air,
Full of sour marsh and broken boughs, is there,
Thou sorrow, venom Elfe:
Is this thy play,
As fall the leaves, so drop the days
In silence from the tree of life;
This is the way that autumn came to the trees:
it stripped them down to the skin,
Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
Of February, in sobs and ink,
Ah Sunflower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the sun;
When over the flowery, sharp pasture's edge, unseen, the salt ocean
So here, twisted in steel, and spoiled with red
your sunlight hide, smelling of death and fear,
Little Tommy Tadpole began to weep and wail,
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