All one needs, in order to succeed,
Is to leave from every come-uppance,
All one needs to know is to concede,
Opportunities come more than once,
All one needs to do is to prepare,
In single steps by leaving out nothing,
Learn the witty-gritting with due care.
Ignoring, not even the smallest thing.
All we need perform is to match
Our efforts to mushrooming wishes
All one needs learn to attach
Equality to catch and misses
If one can do it, suddenly one might
Gain the higher than the wanted height.
The reckless pain lies bruised in my heart.
It rises in a few sudden, startling spurts.
Unfeelingly it pierces like a dart.
O! pull it slowly, for it hurts, it hurts.
Your unkind words- inadvertently said;
Flow gurgling in my blood streams and they look,
So patient and what crooked paths they tread,
In veins, and blinded turn at every nook.
Pray, listen to what I have got to say,
We, hand in hand did come and hand in hand,
I pray to God, shall go; I always pray,
And so unfettered hand in hand we stand.
And if you want to leave me ,you can go,
With ease and just a formal parting bow.
Narinder is no more, boundless treasure
Is lost to Dogri language. Without pleasure
And hyperbola I tell this happenstance;
In Nineteen fifty five- poesy- bitten,
I met him just for once and perchance
I handed him a poem, I had written.
And what he did to it, is the measure,
With which I judge his greatness at my leisure.
He read it in my presence seriously
And with a question mark, comma, word-
Corrected it and thus , mysteriously-
A pristine beauty on it he conferred.
But who could guess or think- at that time
That he would call it quit in his prime.
A shy maiden’s pure caress
We panted through our copulation, we,
Then twaddled with endearing, purring sounds,
To slake the thirst of passion without bounds.
You, at that sleepy moment caressed me.
With tenderness and brushed my stubby cheek,
With lips, devoid of passion, full of ruth,
To bid your last adieus, with a smooth,
And silky, sideways glance, or so meek.
But afterwards the twain has never met,
We carved our separate niches in the world,
And often in my cozy corner curled-
The fire and heat of passion,- I forget.
But that blessed, solitary caress,
Has ever been a source of happiness.
Love is some one hanging by the thread,
With tenderest cares spun, but fragile.
The threat of breaking, falling on the head,
Exists and fear is present all the while.
The balance in affection and envy-
At best precarious is. The feelings are
So easily hurt in love that you can see,
The wounds will, after healing, leave a scar.
We careful, careful dangling- hang on it,
We tie a well intentioned simple knot.
But when we want to unite, it is writ,
We try with hands and nails, it opens not.
With tears in eyes and panting, wheezing breath,
Then in the end we have to use our teeth.
There lives in me somewhere a little boy,
Who loves a man without a regular daily wage.
And without any guile or any ploy
Is happy with his lot in middle ok.
I have a stereotypical image
Of such an unimaginable man,
I often look at it in deep amaze,
and often wonder if a human can
So choose deliberately to live,
On whatsoever lightly he can carry.
Incredibly I like to so believe,
And still be healthy, hearty, hale and merry.
There is a boy who still resides in me
And such an rageless man we desire to be.
She launched herself upwards in her haste,
Got tangled in the branches and the leaves.
Her effort ended in a bruised waste.
With downward hanging head she sorely grieves
With more than wounded limbs bruised flesh,
Under the spell of soul destroying blues,
Which have spun a byzantine mesh,
Around her person without any clues.
For coming out of it and extricate
Her mind frowning state and privacy,
As all the indicators indicate,
It merely is an old woman’s tale.
That opportunities, once only knocks.
That chance not taken , future chance blocks.
Two winding trails issue from the hill,
Thickly wooded ,foliage curved one.
And recede each towards the silent watermill,
Which sits along the river- on the run.
Towards overhanging river cliff,
Precariously where sits the town
Where perched a town preciously, as if,
At any moment, it was going to fall,
Into the river below. All in all.
The trails, river, watermill and town
Are parts of an ever-recovering theme,
The patent, I have always, called my own,
Ingredients of my being, what I mean.
This is a thing one can not wait to learn.
Come drain the cup and let me fill it more,
And drain it once again and have a treat.
My store of love is full for you. The store
Is my waiting for your lips and I repeat:
When you need love, my love, to me you come
To quench your thirst and deaden all your cares
Of ifs and buts. Be one with me, handsome,
To forget life’s why’s and when’s and where’s.
If you can forgive- one thing I recommend,
Be one with me and give me all your love.
For I can always die for you, my friend;
No alibis would crumble my resolve.
For without you, my love, I am not I,
But with you, Earth is mine and so is sky.
What acts I do (I do in such excess)
Of power, women, wealth and wine included
With poesy. And hence in mute distress,
The woods of life look barren and denuded
Of trees. The living symbols of desire
Are felled without the least discrimination;
And all these sinful logs when set afire,
Result in one black smokey hallucination.
On mental crutches, ego trips galore
I spend these heady moments as if stoned
And when unhinged, I drug myself bit more
And sink in deepest stupor. Unatoned/Unattended ,
I live these moments – loving one and all;
And willy, nilly, to my end – I crawl.
At all pretentions, one should look askance,
And falsehood poison, ivy – like avoid.
This life is, but an accidental chance,
And world is nothing but a nameless void.
These pains and pleasures pure illusions are,
All sight is sightless, viewless in all view
To all – perceiving eye, the twinkling star,
In sky so blue, thought twinkles, has no hue.
This life is short, so one must live it pure
By concentrating on the distant spot
Where all mirages merge. The verdure,
A movement lingers – them it lingers not.
But hurries in a flash as though unseen,
And nothing is will be, no nor has been.
हर आदत मकड़ी का जाला इसकी सख्त जकड़,
निकल न पाता जो फंस जाता, इस जाले अंदर |
जिस्म झिंझोड़े, उछालो-कूदो मुक्ति नहीं है मिलती,
बड़ा ही जकडालू होता है मकड़ियों का घर ||
Recipient of first Prem Jamwal Youth Art Innovation Award for staging the Hindi adaptation of one of Shakespeare’s popular English play ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’ at the 2016 Kunwar Viyogi Utsav, Aarushi Thakur Rana is the daughter of Padma Shri awardee Balwant Thakur.
She has worked in more than ten plays as a child artist and has participated in various national festivals organised by National School Of Drama and Sangeet Natak Akademi.
Aarushi has acted in major nationally acclaimed productions like Ghumayee, Bawajitto, and Richard III and has established herself as a theatre director to reckon with by adapting and directing a full-length play based on Charles Dickens’ Classic, “Great Expectations”.
The young theatre director has written, designed and directed ‘Henry & Anne’, a play based on the life of Henry VIII and his second wife Anne Boleyn. Aarushi has also been conferred Young Women Achiever Award and Certificate of Excellence by the Nirvana Academy.
At the ‘Cultural Cocktail: Youth for Art’ event, Shakespeare’s huge fan Aarushi Thakur Rana adapted his ‘Twelfth Night’ in Hindi. It is Shakespeare’s most famous comedy with a twist. The comedy hinges on mistaken identity and role reversal.
“I believe in making Shakespeare more available for our own audience because his stories have universal appeal,” Aarushi said. “While reading Macbeth in college, I started wondering why easier translations of Shakespeare were not attempted. Even the Hindi translations are so difficult that they’re nearly impossible to understand.”
The play was a roller-coaster ride for the audience where its love scenes warmed everyone’s heart and its comedy made the audience laugh hard.
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