DEMOCRACY

Democracy rendered the citizens destitute, as

Emerging political scenario dire than

Monarchy, and the so called

Oligarchy, has created

Crisis by exploiting the

Rule of the people

At the cost of the

Country’s welfare

Yielding chaos

 

© uniqusatya, All rights reserved

Tribute to a Leader-Visionary -Poetess

The poet fraternity of India is privileged to have this nightingale among them and on their behalf; I dedicate few words to her on her 135th birthday anniversary today.

One with a magical pen,

And proved an ideal women

For country’s freedom she did strive

And, so for her family, she did thrive

As the nation salutes one of its leaders

I present to you some of her inspiring letters:

http://www.rediff.com/freedom/19let3.htm

http://www.rediff.com/freedom/19let2.htm

Cheers to ‘The Nightingale of India’

Hyderabad is fortunate for such a jewel is born here who exposed the beauty of the city with her magical words.

Simple yet fascinating is her style of expression which you can see for yourself in two of the works in her own words here

NIGHTFALL IN THE CITY OF HYDERABAD

SEE how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon’s throat, 
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote.

See the white river that flashes and scintillates, 
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates.

Hark, from the minaret, how the muezzin’s call 
Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall.

From trellised balconies, languid and luminous 
Faces gleam, veiled in a splendour voluminous.

Leisurely elephants wind through the winding lanes, 
Swinging their silver bells hung from their silver chains.

Round the high Char Minar sounds of gay cavalcades 
Blend with the music of cymbals and serenades.

Over the city bridge Night comes majestical, 
Borne like a queen to a sumptuous festival.

In The Bazaars of Hyderabad

What do you sell, O ye merchants?

Richly your wares are displayed,

Turbans of crimson and silver,

Tunics of purple brocade,

Mirrors with panels of amber,

Daggers with handles of jade.

What do you weigh, O ye vendors?

Saffron, lentil and rice.

What do you grind, O ye maidens?

Sandalwood, henna and spice.

What do you call, O ye pedlars?

Chessmen and ivory dice.

What do you make, O ye goldsmiths?

Wristlet and anklet and ring,

Bells for the feet of blue pigeons,

Frail as a dragon-fly’s wing,

Girdles of gold for the dancers,

Scabbards of gold for the king.

What do you cry, O fruitmen?

Citron, pomegranate and plum.

What do you play, O ye musicians?

Sitar, Sarangi and drum.

What do you chant, O magicians?

Spells for the aeons to come.

What do you weave, O ye flower-girls?

With tassels of azure and red?

Crowns for the brow of a bridegroom,

Chaplets to garland his bed,

Sheets of white blossoms new-gathered

To perfume the sleep of the dead.

—Sarojini Naidu—