URI TERROR STRIKE --- HEIGHT OF COWARDICE

 Uri  Terror Strike---

 Monday, Sept  19 /16








          Yet another bloody episode,

          In the nasty drama,

          Being directed,

          From across the border.

           Waves of shock and anger,

           Are running across,

          The length and breadth,

           Of the nation.

           How heinous and  cowardly, 

           To target soldiers in their sleep!
           No words are hard enough,

           To condemn an action so mean.

           All that can be said for now is ,

           The martyrs' souls may get peace, 

           And the perpetrators of such crime,

           Be treated with befitting revenge.

            

           


            

My First Teachers

             TEACHERS' DAY

         Here are these few verses,
         Dedicated to my first teachers, 
        Who taught me even before,
         I was able to reciprocate.

       My mother  who was second --
       To none but  Nature herself,
       Who taught me to express myself ,
       With just a few gestures.
      

          When I could express myself ,
          Only through  a few signs, 
           Sometimes with sweet smiles, 
           Sometimes with loud cries.  

           But she could understand all,
          Without  my uttering a word,
          And  sense my humblest  need, 
          As if it were her own.

          My Father, who helped me enter,
          The vast world of knowledge,  
          Starting with the first alphabet, 
          To all about the three Rs. 

           Having made me familiar with, 
            Letters, numbers and  figures,
           He took me by hand one morning,  
           To a school for formal learning.

           And that was a new beginning, 
           But  not the end of  their role, 
           As mentors and guides to me, 
              In facing life's ordeals.

           Till the close  of their  own  times,
           They kept enriching  my mind, 
           With precious pearls of  wisdom, 
            They themselves had gathered.

            These precious gems of wisdom, 
             I  treasure as priceless assets, 
             I'll preserve  with pride always,  
             As long as this life permits.

            For though the teachers  depart,
            The legacies they leave live  on,
            And carried forward in time,
           To benefit generations to come.



    

   


      

Ode to the Holy Ganga

       Hail to you, O holy  Ganga , -
       Merely a river you never have been, 
       Darling daughter of the mighty Himalayas,
       A doting mother to countless children.

    Descending from   heavenly heights,
    Like a playful, agile girl child,             
    Out on an adventure spree,
    Ever in search of fun and frolic.

     From your snow-capped pristine abode,
     You rush out carving your own  route,
     Skipping gleefully on mountainous  rocks, 
     Jumping daringly into dangerous ravines.

      Traversing  through alpine forests,,
      And rough, unfriendly,  tough terrains,,
      Emerging cheerfully safe out forever,
    Filling the environs with melodious chants.


     The childlike mirth and merry movement,
     Slowly  gives way to  mature   gestures,
     And  as a lady of elegance and grace, 
     You enter regions of plain landscapes.

 

        Taking onward  your eventful  journey,
        You cover more than a thousand miles,  
        Flowing   elegantly with graceful charm,
        Prior to plunging into the vast ocean. 

         All along this  long  trajectory,
         You  provide nectar-like waters,
        Sustaining living beings on your way 
        And even those that are out of sight. 

       Since  time immemorial in  the history 
        You have been nurturing this land of ours
       Making it beautiful, cultured and  rich 
       With gems of material and spiritual wealth.

        I  bow to you,  O gracious Goddess!
        With  deep reverence and gratitude, 
        Pray go on blessing  us as kindly,        
        As you have been doing for countless ages.

Picture Credit--   eUttaranchal.com, EXOTIC UTTARAKHAND





    

Rain , Rain , Go Away........

      Hey Rain!  A blessing though you are,
     You  bring  not   the same cheer always,
       Why behave rather  madly  at times,

       Like an enemy practising vengeance?

      True, you arrive with soothing relief,
      When the earth is all  parched up,
       Its creatures  desperate and famished,
      Praying for mercy all day and night.

     Then you descend down from the sky,
     Like  a shower of  sweet nectar,  
     Sprinkled over the dying  landscape,
      Reviving its life with timely succour.

      But this bonhomie does not  last long,
       When you shed off your sweet appearance,
      Turning  hostile and  deadly violent,
      With all the fury of a callous marauder.
 
         And  start unleashing   havoc all around,
         Right from the hills to the deep valleys,
         Down the  planes damaging rich crops,
         Ravaging animals and human habitats.

         With thunder, cloudbursts, and torrents,

        Submerging villages, fields,  hamlets,
         Blocking hill roads with frequent landslides,
       Collapsing bridges with vehicles on them.

          Trees, men, animals being inundated,
           Carried away by monstrous waters,
          Vehicles on roads being swept away,
          Instead of reaching their destined places.

          All this arrogant show of power,,
          Is sorely condemned and despised,
          Stop this cruel  game of  death, 
          Destroying life and peace around.

        Enough of  all the  frightening  actions,
        Now put an end to this horrid  nightmare,
        And let  normalcy resume  its place,
        To repair and rebuild the huge damage.

        Else who will ever welcome you here,
        In this ravaged and lifeless land?

       who will need  your blessings even,
        If no one is left alive to re-create?                

      

The Saintly Scientist

              




                                                                

              Gifting his  'Wings of Fire ',
              To the young generation 
              The angel has taken flight ,
              To regions unknown.

            Standing in front of admiring youths,
           Enriching  them with deep knowledge,

           Advising them to aim always high,
           And toil tirelessly to reach their goals.
 .
           In rapt attention, they listened to him,
           As he was to them a living legend, 
           The  object of  utmost honour, 
           The epitome of accomplishments.

           And all so sudden that shocking collapse,
            Caused  as if with a bolt from the blue, 
            Alas ! that your end  did come  so sudden
             Leaving us poorer for the loss of a gem.

            Wonder if you're summoned  up there,
            To plan  urgently a divine project,  
          Or maybe you needed some leisure moments
            To set new notes on your favourite Veena!

             Genius and simplicity personified,  
             Words fail to measure your worth,
            Never did  you take a day off, they say, 
          As devotion to work was your prime concern.  

          A star among the scientists, patriot and saints, 
           Role model of the youth, People's President,, 
           Decked with the nation's  highest award,,   
            The spectrum of life was just perfect!

            Now Adieu ! as you make exit from here,
            To join the ranks of  the immortals there,
             We shall  look for a new star tonight,
            Added to the galaxy of the great, up there.

           For sure, you will get your  pride of place,  
           To  be with the immortals in peace,  
           And we on the earth shall find you alive,
           In the great legacy, you have left behind.
       
         
          
           






              
             

A POEM FROM GITANJALI

             I  thought  that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power -that the path before me was closed , that provisions were exhausted and the time had come to take shelter in a silent obscurity .

But I find that thy will knows no end in me  , and when old memories die out on the tongue , new melodies break forth from the heart  ;and where the old tracks are lost , new country is revealed with its wonders .

Gitanjali -- xxxvii

A favourite poem from Gitanjali ----

   

      In the night  of weariness let me give myself  up  to sleep without struggle

       resting my trust upon thee.

       Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship .

        It is thou who draw the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day  to renew its sight 

        in a fresher gladness of awakening 

 .

                  RabindranathTagore ------    Gitanjali-- xxv