मौत जब तू आना - मेरी आवाज़ में « स्याह इंद्रधनुष और चाँदनी रातें

March 30, 2008...8:27 am

मौत जब तू आना - मेरी आवाज़ में

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यह मेरी लिखी एक कविता है, मेरी ही आवाज़ में जिसकी लिंक नीचे दी गई है :

Maut Jab Tu Aana

Some Rights Reserved for the picture above

This image was originally posted to Flickr by wimayr at http://flickr.com/photos/45295883@N00/47525464.

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Filed under Hindi Poetry, Kavita, Poetry, voice, आवाज़, कविता

Tags: मेरी आवाज, मेरी आवाज़, Vocal poetry, Voice. मेरी कविता

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 India License.
I have attributed the works which are not mine to the original creator of the work
GOD

इस घट अन्तर बाग बगीचे,
इसी में सिरजनहारा|
इस घट अन्तर पारस मोती,
इसी में नौ लख तारा|
इस घट अन्तर सात समन्दर,
इसी में उठत फ़ौव्वारा|
इस घट अन्तर अनहत गूंजे,
इसी में सांई हमारा|

Kabir - God lives within, not without
Death - By Grey Rainbow

There is so much that we think we will be able to do in this life,
there is so much we want to believe we will accomplish.
And then comes death, suddenly, it comes to the person closest to your heart.
There is nothing after that, no dreams, no desires, there is nothing to be accomplished. One thing remains :
TIME - and you don't know how to kill it.
What People Said & I Liked

If my doctor told me
I had only six minutes to live,
I wouldn't brood.
I'd type a little faster.
- ISAAC ASIMOV

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd.
- WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

I am ready to meet my Maker.
Whether my Maker is prepared
for the great ordeal of meeting me
is another matter.
- WINSTON CHURCHILL

If I were not a physicist,
I would probably be a musician.
I often think in music.
I live my daydreams in music.
I see my life in terms of music.
- ALBERT EINSTEIN

When it's a question of money,
everybody is of the same religion.
-VOLTAIRE
कारवां गुज़र गया

हाथ थे मिले कि जुल्फ चाँद की सँवार दूँ,
होठ थे खुले कि हर बहार को पुकार दूँ,
दर्द था दिया गया कि हर दुखी को प्यार दूँ,
और साँस यूँ कि स्वर्ग भूमी पर उतार दूँ,
हो सका न कुछ मगर,
शाम बन गई सहर,
वह उठी लहर कि दह गये किले बिखरबिखर,
और हम डरेडरे,
नीर नयन में भरे,
ओढ़कर कफ़न, पड़े मज़ार देखते रहे।
कारवाँ गुज़र गया, गुबार देखते रहे!

(c) - श्री गोपाल दास नीरज ।
There was a Naughty Boy - By John Keats

There was a naughty boy,
A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
He could not quiet be-
He took
In his knapsack
A book
Full of vowels
And a shirt
With some towels,
A slight cap
For night cap,
A hair brush,
Comb ditto,
New stockings-
For old ones
Would split O!
This knapsack
Tight at 'is back
He rivetted close
And followed his nose
To the North,
To the North,
And followed his nose
To the North.

There was a naughty boy,
And a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
The people for to see-
There he found
That the ground
Was as hard,
That a yard
Was as long,
That a song
Was as merry,
That a cherry
Was as red-
That lead
Was as weighty
That fourscore
Was as eighty,
That a door
Was as wooden
As in England-
So he stood in his shoes
And he wondered,
He wondered,
He stood in his shoes
And he wondered.
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