Poems of Sarojini Naidu kavita सरोजिनी नायडू की कविताएं

sarojini naidu

Patriotic Poem by Sarojini Naidu – The Gift of India

क्या यह जरूरी है कि मेरे हाथों में

अनाज या सोने या परिधानों के महंगे उपहार हों?

ओ ! मैंने पूर्व और पश्चिम की दिशाएं छानी हैं

मेरे शरीर पर अमूल्य आभूषण रहे हैं

और इनसे मेरे टूटे गर्भ से अनेक बच्चों ने जन्म लिया है

कर्तव्य के मार्ग पर और सर्वनाश की छाया में

ये कब्रों में लगे मोतियों जैसे जमा हो गए।

वे पर्शियन तरंगों पर सोए हुए मौन हैं,

वे मिश्र की रेत पर फैले शंखों जैसे हैं,

वे पीले धनुष और बहादुर टूटे हाथों के साथ हैं

वे अचानक पैदा हो गए फूलों जैसे खिले हैं

वे फ्रांस के रक्त रंजित दलदलों में फंसे हैं

क्या मेरे आंसुओं के दर्द को तुम माप सकते हो

या मेरी घड़ी की दिशा को समझ करते हो

या मेरे हृदय की टूटन में शामिल गर्व को देख सकते हो

और उस आशा को, जो प्रार्थना की वेदना में शामिल है?

और मुझे दिखाई देने वाले दूरदराज के उदास भव्य दृश्य को

जो विजय के क्षति ग्रस्त लाल पर्दों पर लिखे हैं?

जब घृणा का आतंक और नाद समाप्त होगा

और जीवन शांति की धुरी पर एक नए रूप में चल पड़ेगा,

और तुम्हारा प्यार यादगार भरे धन्यवाद देगा,

उन कॉमरेड को जो बहादुरी से संघर्ष करते रहे,

मेरे शहीद बेटों के खून को याद रखना!

A Love Song from the North

Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,

Wouldst thou recall to my heart, papeeha,

Dreams of delight that are gone,

When swift to my side came the feet of my lover

With stars of the dusk and the dawn?

I see the soft wings of the clouds on the river,

And jewelled with raindrops the mango-leaves quiver,

And tender boughs flower on the plain…..

But what is their beauty to me, papeeha,

Beauty of blossom and shower, papeeha,

That brings not my lover again?

Tell me no more of thy love, papeeha,

Wouldst thou revive in my heart, papeeha

Grief for the joy that is gone?

I hear the bright peacock in glimmering woodlands

Cry to its mate in the dawn;

I hear the black koel’s slow, tremulous wooing,

And sweet in the gardens the calling and cooing

Of passionate bulbul and dove….

But what is their music to me, papeeha

Songs of their laughter and love, papeeha,

To me, forsaken of love?

Ecstasy

Cover mine eyes, O my Love!

Mine eyes that are weary of bliss

As of light that is poignant and strong

O silence my lips with a kiss,

My lips that are weary of song!

Shelter my soul, O my love!

My soul is bent low with the pain

And the burden of love, like the grace

Of a flower that is smitten with rain:

O shelter my soul from thy face!

A Rajput Love Song

(Parvati at her lattice)

O Love! were you a basil-wreath to twine

among my tresses,

A jewelled clasp of shining gold to bind around my sleeve,

O Love! were you the keora’s soul that haunts

my silken raiment,

A bright, vermilion tassel in the girdles that I weave;

O Love! were you the scented fan

that lies upon my pillow,

A sandal lute, or silver lamp that burns before my shrine,

Why should I fear the jealous dawn

that spreads with cruel laughter,

Sad veils of separation between your face and mine?

Haste, O wild-bee hours, to the gardens of the sun set!

Fly, wild-parrot day, to the orchards of the west!

Come, O tender night, with your sweet,

consoling darkness,

And bring me my Beloved to the shelter of my breast!

(Amar Singh in the saddle)

O Love! were you the hooded hawk upon my hand

that flutters,

Its collar-band of gleaming bells atinkle as I ride,

O Love! were you a turban-spray or

floating heron-feather,

The radiant, swift, unconquered sword

that swingeth at my side;

O Love! were you a shield against the

arrows of my foemen,

An amulet of jade against the perils of the way,

How should the drum-beats of the dawn

divide me from your bosom,

Or the union of the midnight be ended with the day?

Haste, O wild-deer hours, to the meadows of the sunset!

Fly, wild stallion day, to the pastures of the west!

Come, O tranquil night, with your soft,

consenting darkness,

And bear me to the fragrance of my Beloved’s breast!

The Poet’s Love-Song

In noon-tide hours, O Love, secure and strong,

I need thee not; mad dreams are mine to bind

The world to my desire, and hold the wind

A voiceless captive to my conquering song.

I need thee not, I am content with these:

Keep silence in thy soul, beyond the seas!

But in the desolate hour of midnight, when

An ecstasy of starry silence sleeps

And my soul hungers for thy voice, O then,

Love, like the magic of wild melodies,

Let thy soul answer mine across the seas

Coromandel Fishers

Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,

The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.

Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,

To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!

No longer delay, let us hasten away in the track of the sea gull’s call,

The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother, the waves are our comrades all.

What though we toss at the fall of the sun where the hand of the sea-god drives?

He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and the scent of the mango grove,

And sweet are the sands at the full o’ the moon with the sound of the voices we love;

But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray and the dance of the wild foam’s glee;

Row, brothers, row to the edge of the verge, where the low sky mates with the sea.

Palanquin Bearers

Lightly, O lightly we bear her along,

She sways like a flower in the wind of our song;

She skims like a bird on the foam of a stream,

She floats like a laugh from the lips of a dream.

Gaily, O gaily we glide and we sing,

We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Softly, O softly we bear her along,

She hangs like a star in the dew of our song;

She springs like a beam on the brow of the tide,

She falls like a tear from the eyes of a bride.

Lightly, O lightly we glide and we sing,

We bear her along like a pearl on a string.

Transience

Nay, do not grieve tho’ life be full of sadness,

Dawn will not veil her splendour for your grief,

Nor spring deny their bright, appointed beauty

To lotus blossom and ashoka leaf.

Nay, do not pine, tho’ life be dark with trouble,

Time will not pause or tarry on his way;

To-day that seems so long, so strange, so bitter,

Will soon be some forgotten yesterday.

Nay, do not weep; new hopes, new dreams, new faces,

The unspent joy of all the unborn years,

Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow,

And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears.

In Salutation to the Eternal Peace

Men say the world is full of fear and hate,

And all life’s ripening harvest-fields await

The restless sickle of relentless fate.

But I, sweet Soul, rejoice that I was born,

When from the climbing terraces of corn

I watch the golden orioles of Thy morn.

What care I for the world’s desire and pride,

Who know the silver wings that gleam and glide,

The homing pigeons of Thine eventide?

What care I for the world’s loud weariness,

Who dream in twilight granaries Thou dost bless

With delicate sheaves of mellow silences?

Say, shall I heed dull presages of doom,

Or dread the rumoured loneliness and gloom,

The mute and mythic terror of the tomb?

For my glad heart is drunk and drenched with Thee,

O inmost wind of living ecstasy!

O intimate essence of eternity!.

Poem by Sarojini Naidu, Poems of Sarojini Naidu kavita सरोजिनी नायडू की कविताएं