Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
RAJ NANDY Feb 2015
AN INTRODUCTION TO INDIAN ART IN VERSE  
By Raj Nandy : Part One

INTRODUCTION
Background :
The India subcontinent and her diverse physical features,
influenced her dynamic history, religion, and culture!
The fertile basin of the Sapta-Sindu Rivers* cradled one of
world’s most ancient civilization, (seven rivers)
Contemporary to the Sumerians and the Egyptians, popularly
known as the Indus Valley Civilization!
The Sindu (Indus), Jhelum, Chenab, Ravi, Sutlej, Bias, along
with the sacred river Saraswati, shaped India’s early History;
Where once flourished the urban settlements of Harappa and
Mohenjodaro, which lay buried for several centuries;
For our archaeologists and scholars to unravel their many
secrets and hidden mysteries!
Modern scholars refer to it as ‘Indus-Saraswati Civilization’;
By interpreting the text of the Rig Veda which mentions
eclipses, equinoxes, and other astronomical conjunctions,
They date the origin of the Vedas as earlier as 3000 BC;
Thereby lifting the fog which shrouds Ancient History! +
(+ Two broad schools of thoughts prevail; Max Mullar refers
to 1500 BC as the date for origin of the Vedas, but modern scientific findings point to a much earlier date for their Oral composition and
their long oral tradition!)

On the banks of the sacred Saraswati River the holy sages
did once meditate, *
When their third eye opened, as all earthly bonds they did
transcend !
From their lips flowed the sacred chants of the Vedas, as
they sang the creator Brahma’s unending praise!
These Vedic chants and incantations survived many
centuries of an oral tradition,
When Indian Art began to blossom into exotic flowers like
Brahma’s divine manifestations;
With all subsequent art forms following the model of
Brahma’s manifold creations!
The Vedas got written down during the later Vedic Age
with commentaries and interpolations,
And remain as India’s indigenous composition, forming a
part of her sacred religious tradition! *
(
Rig Veda the oldest, had hymns in praise of the creator;
Yajur Veda spelled the ritual procedures; Sama Veda sets
the hymns for melodious chanting, & is the source of seven
notes of music; Artha Veda had hymns for warding off evil
& hardship, giving us a glimpse of early Vedic life.)

IMPACT OF FOREIGN INVASIONS:
Through the winding Khyber Pass cutting through the rugged
Hindu Kush Range,
Came the Persians, Greeks, Muslims, the Moguls, and many
bounty hunters storming through north-western frontier gate;
Consisting of varied racial groups and cultures, they entered
India’s fertile alluvial plains!
Therefore, while tracing 5000 years of Art Story, one cannot
divorce Art from India’s exotic cultural history.
From the Cave Art of Bhimbetka, to the dancing girl of Harappa,
To the frescoes and the evocative figures of Ajanta and Ellora;
Many marvelous and exquisitely carved temples of the South,
And Muslim and Mogul architecture and frescoes along with
India’s rich Folk Art, enriched her artistic heritage no doubt!
Yet for a long time Indian Art had been the least known of
the Oriental Arts,
Perhaps because from Western point of view it was difficult
to understand the spirit behind Indian Art!
For Indian Art is at once aesthetic and sensual, also passionate,
symbolic, and spiritual !
It both celebrates and denies the individual’s love of life,
where free instinct with rigid reason combine !
These contradictory elements are found side by side due to
her culturally mixed conditions, as I had earlier mentioned!
Now, if we add to this the constant religious exaltation,
With the extensive use of symbolic presentation, from the
early days of Indian civilization;
We have the basic elements of an Art, which has gradually
aroused the interest of Western Civilization!

The further we get back in time, we only begin to find,
That religion, philosophy, art and architecture,
Had all merged into an unified whole to form India’s
composite culture!
But while moving forward in time, we once again find,
That art, architecture, music, poetry and dance, all begin to
gradually emerge, with their separate identities,
Where Indian Art is seen as a rich mosaic of cultural diversity!

(NOTES:-In the ancient days, the Saraswati River flowed from the Siwalik Range of Hills (foothills of the Himalayas) between Sutlej & the Yamuna rivers, through the present day Rann of Kutch into the Arabian Sea, when Rajasthan was a fertile place! Indus settlements like Kalibangan, Banawalli, Ganwaiwala, were situated on the banks of Sarsawati River, which was longer than the Indus & ran parallel, and is mentioned around50 times in the Rig Veda! Scientists say that due to tectonic plate movements, and climatic changes, Saraswati dried up around 1700BC ! The people settled there shifted east and the south, during the course of history! Some of those Indo-Aryan speaking people were already settled there, & others joined later. Max Muller’s theory of an Aryan Invasion which destroyed the Indus Valley Civilization during 1500BC, supported by Colonial Rulers, was subsequently proved wrong ! Indo-Aryans were a Language group of the Indo- European
Language Family, & not a racial group as mistaken by Max Mullar! Therefore Dr.Romila Thapar calls it a gradual migration, & not an invasion! The Vedas were indigenous composition of India. However, they got compiled & written down for the first time with commentaries, at a much later date! I have maintained this position since it has been proved by modern scholars scientifically!)

SYMBOLISM IN INDIAN ART
From the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic to the Cretan Bull
of Greece,
Symbols have conveyed ideas and messages, fulfilling
artistic needs.
The ‘Da Vinci Code’ speaks of Leonardo’s art works as
symbolic subterfuge with encrypted messages for a secret
society!
While Indian art is replete with many sacred symbols to
attract good fortune, for the benefit of the community!
The symbols of the Dot or ‘Bindu’, the Lotus, the Trident,
the Conch shell, the sign and chant of ‘OM’, are all sacred
and divine;
For at the root of Indian artistic symbolism lies the Indian
concept of Time!
The West tends to think of time as a dynamic process which
is forward moving and linear;
Commencing with the ‘Big Bang’, moving towards a ‘Big
Crunch’, when ‘there shall be no more time’, or a state of
total inertia !
Indian art and sculpture is influenced by the cyclic concept
of time unfolding a series of ages or ‘yugas’;
Where creation, destruction and recreation, becomes a
dynamic and an unending phenomena!
This has been artistically and symbolically expressed in the
figure of Shiva-Nataraja’s cosmic dance,
Which portrays the entire kinetic universe in a state of
eternal flux!
The hour-glass drum in Nataraja’s right hand symbolizes
all creation;
Fire in his left hand the cyclic time frame of destruction!
The raised third hand is in a gesture of infinite benediction;
And the fourth hand pointing to his upraised foot shows the
path of liberation!

It was easier to teach the vast untutored population through
symbols, images, and paintings in the form of Art;
For a picture is more effective than a thousand words!
The Dot or ‘bindu’ becomes the focus for meditation,
Where the mental energies are focused on a single point of
creation,
As seen in the cotemporary art works of SH Raza’s
artistic representations!
Yet the same dot when expanded as a circle becomes
wholeness and infinity;
The shape of celestial bodies of the cyclic universe in its
creativity!
The Lotus seen in many sculptures, on temple walls, and
majestic columns, denotes purity;
A symbol of non-attachment rising above the muddy waters,
retaining its pristine color and beauty!
The Lotus is a powerful and transformational symbol in
Buddhist Art,
Where pink lotus is for height of enlightenment, blue for
wisdom, white for spiritual perfection, and the red lotus
symbolizing the heart!
This Lotus symbol also finds a place in Mughal sculptural
carvings and miniatures;
The inverted lotus dome resting on its petals, forms the
crown of Taj Mahal’s white marble architecture!
The trident or ‘trishul’ symbolizes the three god-heads
Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva;
As the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer, in that cyclic
chain which goes on forever!
The ***** stone of Shiva-lingam surrounded by the oval
female yoni symbolizes fertility and creation,
Usually found in the inner sanctuary of Hindu temples!
Finally, the symbol of ‘OM’ and its vibrating sound,
Echoes the primordial vibrations with which space and
time abounds!
All matter comes from energy vibrations manifesting
cosmic creation;
Also symbolized in Einstein’s famous matter-energy equation!
The Conch Shell a gift of the sea when blown, sounds the
ancient primordial vibration of ‘OM’!
It’s hallowed auspicious sound accompanies marriage
ceremonies and rituals whenever occasion demands;
And pacifies mother earth during Shiva-Nataraja’s sudden
seismic dance! (earthquakes)
Dear readers the symbols mentioned here are very few,
Mainly to curb the length, while I pay Indian Art my
artistic due!

A BRIEF COMPARISON OF ART:
Despite the many foreign influences which entered India
through the Khyber and Bholan pass,
India displayed marvelous adaptability and resilience, in
the development of her indigenous Art!
The aesthetic objectivity of Western Art was replaced by
the Indian vision of spiritual subjectivity,
For the transitory world around was only a ‘Maya’ or an
Illusion,- lacking material reality!
Therefore life-like representation was not always the aim
of Indian art,
But to lift that veil and reveal the life of the spirit, - was
the objective from the very start!
Egyptian funerary art was more occupied with after-life
and death;
While the Greeks portrayed youthful vigor and idealized
beauty, celebrating the joys of life instead!
The proud Roman Emperors to outshine their predecessors
erected even bigger statues, monuments, and columns
draped in glory;
Only in the long run to drain the Roman treasury, - a sad
downfall story!
Indian art gradually evolved over centuries with elements
both religious and secular,
As seen from the period of King Chandragupta Maurya,
Who defeated the Greek Seleucus, to carve out the first
united Indian Empire ! (app. 322 BC)

SECULAR AND SPIRITUAL FUSION IN ART:
Ancient Indian ‘stupas’
and temples were not like churches
or synagogues purely spiritual and religious,
But were cultural centers depicting secular images which
were also non-religious!
The Buddhist ‘stupa’ at Amravati (1stcentury BC), and the
gateways at Sanchi (1stcentury AD), display wealth of carvings
from the life of Buddha;
Also warriors on horseback, royal procession, trader’s caravans,
farmers with produce, - all secular by far!
Indian temples from the 8th Century AD onwards depicted
images of musicians, dancers, acrobats and romantic couples,
along with a variety of Deities;
But after 10th Century ****** themes began to make their mark
with depiction of sensuality!
Sensuality and ****** interaction in temples of Khajuraho and
Konarak has been displayed without inhibition;
As Tantric ideas on compatibility of human sexuality with
human spirituality, fused into artistic depictions!
Religion got based on a healthy and egalitarian acceptance
of all activities without ****** starvation;
For the emotional health and well-being of society, without
hypocritical denial or inhibition!
(’Stupas’= originated from ancient burial mounds, later became devotional Buddhist sites with holy relics, & external decorative gateways and carvings!)

KHJURAHO TEMPLE COMPLEX (950 - 1040 AD) :
Was built by the Chandela Rajputs in Central India,
When Khajuraho, the land of the moon gods, was the first
capital city of the Chandelas!
****** art covers ten percent of the temple sculptures,
Where both Hindu and Jain temples were built in the north-Indian
Nagara style of Architecture.
Out of the 85 temples only 22 have stood the vagaries of time,
Where a perfect fusion of aesthetic elegance and evocative
Kama-Sutra like ****** sculptural brilliance, - dazzle the eyes!

KONARAK SUN TEMPLE OF ORISSA - EAST COAST:
From the Khajuraho temple of love, we now move to the
Konark temple of *** in stones - as art!
Built around 1250 AD in the form of a temple mounted on
a huge cosmic chariot for the Sun God;
With twelve pairs of stone-carved wheels pulled by seven
galloping horses, symbolizing the passage of time under
the Solar God !
Seven horses for each day of the week, pulls the chariot
east wards towards dawn;
With twelve pairs of wheels representing the twelve calendar
months, as each cyclic day ushers in a new morn !
The friezes above and below the chariot wheels show military
processions, with elephants and hunting scenes;
Celebrating the victory of King Narasimhadeva-I over the
invading Muslims!
The ****** art and voluptuous carvings symbolizes aesthetic
bliss when uniting with the divine;
Following yogic postures and breathing techniques, which
Tantric Art alone defines!
(
Both Khjuraho & Konark temples were re-discovered by the
British, & are now World Heritage Sites!)

Artistic invention followed the model of cosmic creation;
Ancient Vedic tradition visualized the spirit of a joyous
self-offering with chants and incantations!
The world was understood to be a structured arrangement
of five elements of earth, water, fire, air, and ethereal space;
Where each element brought forth a distinct art-expression
with artistic grace!
Element of Sculpture was earth, Painting the fluidity of water,
Dance was transformative fire, Music flowed through the air,
and Poetry vibrated in ethereal space!

CONCLUDING INTRODUCTION TO INDIAN ART:

Indian Art is like a prism with many dazzling facets,
I have only introduced the subject with its symbolism,
- without covering its complete assets!
After my Part Three on ‘Etruscan and Roman Art’,
Christian and Byzantine Art was to follow;
But following request from my few poet friends I have
postponed it for the morrow!
Traditional Indian Art survives through its sculptures,
architecture, paintings and folk art, ever evolving with
the passing of time and age;
Influenced by Buddhist, Jain, Muslim, Mogul, and many
indigenous art forms, enriching India’s cultural heritage!
While the art of our modern times constitutes a separate
Contemporary phase !
The juxtaposition of certain concepts and forms might
have appeared a bit intriguing,
But the spiritual content and symbolism in art answers
our basic artistic seeking!
The other aspects of Indian Art I plan to cover at a later
date,
Hope you liked my Introduction, being posted after
almost forty days!
ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH RAJ NANDY
E-Mail: rajnandy21@yahoo.
    FEW COMMENTS BY POETS ON 'POETFREAK.COM' :-
I have a vicarious pleasure going through your historical journey of Indian art! Thanks for sharing this here! 2 Mar 2013 by Ramesh T A | Reply

The prism of Indian Art is indeed has myriads of facets and is an awesome mixture of many influences some of which you list here so clearly - a very understandable presentation of symbolism too - -thank you for your fine effort Raj. 2 Mar 2013 by Fay Slimm | Reply

Oh what an interesting read with immense information capturing every single detail. You painted this piece of art with utmost care. Truly, it's works Raj…tfs 2 Mar 2013 by John Thomas Tharayil | Reply

First, I have to say, the part about the lotus symbolism reminds me – My name ‘NILOTPAL’ can be split into ‘NIL’ meaning BLUE and ‘UTPAL’ meaning LOTUS. So my name represents wisdom (although it contradicts ME.. LOL). A lot of things were mentioned in the veda and other ancient Indian texts that were way ahead of the time Like the idea of ‘velocity of light’ got considerable mention in the rig veda-Sahan bhasya, ‘Elliptical order of planets, ‘Black holes’ , although these are the scientific aspects. The emphasis on contradictory elements or even the idea of opposites in Indian art is interesting because India developed the mathematical concept of ‘Zero’ and ‘infinity’. Hard to believe Rajasthan was a fertile place but now it possesses its own beauty. It was great to read about the Natraja, ‘OM’ and the trident(Trishul). Among symbolisms, Lord Ganseha is my favorite because a lot is portrayed in that one image like the MOOSHIK representing
When I composed the History of Western Art in Verse & posted the series on 'Poetfreak.com', few Indian poet friends requested me to compose on Indian Art separately. I am posting part one of my composition here for those who may like to know about Indian Art. Thanks & best wishes, -Raj
Àŧùl May 2013
Before you criticize me too soon, I think you should spare some seconds and answer a simple question to yourself...

If Shahjahan loved Mumtaz Mahal so much, why he had a harem of wives to use at his own pleasure?

While I agree that the Taj Mahal is arguably the most extraordinarily beautiful monument in the world, I don't agree upon the fact that it was built as a tomb of love. It is just a symbol of madness if you asked me. An emperor's insecure feeling to get his name registered in the history books. While it may be one of the most beautiful architectural monument, it was built by over 20,000 architects, craftsmen, masons and engineers who took over 16 years to build the magnificent building.

He got this apparently high & prestigious monument of love built but everything that the Emperor did was not pleasant at all.

° The lavishly living Mughal Emperor spent all his - his subjects' money into building this monument of love instead of keeping his subjects well-fed.
° Mumtaz Mahal might have been the luckiest woman to have died and got such a marvelous building built as her mausoleum but she died giving birth to her & Shahjahan's 17th offspring and then Shahjahan who had uncountable other wives was inspired by her demise apparently to undertake what is termed as the biggest project in history build the costliest monument proclaiming his rule.
° The arrogant - falsely proud lover - Mughal emperor didn't know that what he thought to be looked at as the greatest symbol of love will be criticized by some poet in his own land nearly 375 years later. The insane Mughal Emperor got all the builders of the Taj Mahal's fingers cut-off of so that there could be no other Taj Mahal.

But Aurangzeb, his & Mumtaz Mahal's son overthrew his power when Shahjahan got older and locked him up in a jail at the other end of Yamuna river where the emperor then died a sad old lovelorn bedlamite person in prison. Aurangzeb was the exact opposite of his dad, he showed religious intolerance and his habits drove the empire towards its doom after his death.

But let me think this way; when I look at any picture of the Taj Mahal, what I get the first thing in mind is this: *Such a CRAZY emperor who got such a beautiful monument of Egotism built!
Sorry Shahjahan's admirers, his love's sympathizers, people with softer views towards such love & romance.
But I believe that such people are just confused in their lives.
My idea of love isn't just that ideal.
My HP Poem #222
©Atul Kaushal
PNasarudheen Jul 2013
Think!
In the Past, under clear sky, any could walk
all over Bharat, though an Indian or not so.
The notion of a nation merging petty kingdoms
dimmed the vision of the people of tolerance.
Selfish kings and selfish landlords together
severed India proclaiming "save India", alas!
     In the post independent India, I was born,
walked freely even in the starry night, till 1970s,
enjoyed outing, slept in lodges, snored under trees.
Then came the Emergency, amidst it, against people;
politicians exploited communal thoughts, Delhi burnt,
for votes; created vote banks; nothing learnt from riots;
no merging, but diverging forces hurled us, viciously
forced us to riots-in Gujarat, Assam, Bombay;
panic people run helter -skelter, in Delhi, elsewhere,
in Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, no exemption.
How lucky were Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!
The former founded four Mutts at the pulse-points
of Bharat- the latter roamed not in Rome but in India
(the land of saints, temples, home of gods and godly men)
instilling the spirit of nationalism and social reformation.
    But…while dollars roll over the sovereignty of rupees,
as a ****, with drooping eyes among nations -a land
de jure integrated and de facto dissipated and dejected
by linguistic, fiscal and parochial aspirations strutting us on-
we stand.. Who cares? Sitting around the dying culture  
all Jackals, devour and howl as vultures hover around-I shudder
to move along the road, freely breathe; as espionage, tolls
identification cards, to the satisfaction of the jackals,
that create hurdles on my way, materially, spiritually; and
bribe legislature, corrupt executive,  and blur judiciary,
****** growth and progress -even a lively move of nerves.
Independence led us to dependence to MNCs , in fact
from East India Company the baton went to British kings
and Queens; to lobbies of MNCs later it glided wasting
the blood of revolutionary freedom fighters, hurting them.
The Red Fort became the fort for the corrupted blabbers
who roar by constitution breaking the constitution of the polity.
     I don't dream of Lord Krishna dancing on the hood
of Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi waters-polluted.
How nice to recall the glory of the past with love and toleration
that assimilated all thoughts of human beings in the world
and flowed  for ages through the canopy beside my cave,
than to shudder at every knock, and to brood in my flat gasping!
……………………………………………………………………
Note:1.Gujarat , Assam, Bombai(Mumbai), Pune, Bangalore, Poovar or Marad, :  these are places where riots or blasts occurred in India
Adi Sankara and Swami Vivekenanda!:two sanyasins(monks) of India the Former proponent of Advaita Vedanta Philosopy and the latter preached it disciple of Sri Ramakrishna  and founder of Ramakrishna Mission in Kolkota, India.
four Mutts: the mutts(Seminaries) established by Adi Sankara in Badarinath in the North , Puri in the East. Dwaraka in the West and Sringeri in the South of India to propagate the Vedic philosophy. It also proves the Undivided Indian concept the ancients had .
MNCs:Multi-National Corporations.
Kaliya on the banks of the Kalindi: A very venomous snake representing Power and torture.Lord Krishna danced on the hoods of it and killed it as per the mythology. Kalindi is River Yamuna in India that divides Delhi in to two.
a miracle child
born to a mortal mother
the creator pretends
to be the created


stealing butter,
breaking pots,
teasing girls,
Gokulam’s naughtiest child

and then one day
the friends complain
“Mother Yashoda, your little one
is eating mud from the Yamuna banks”

worried she rushes
to her darling boy
her anxiety disguised as anger
he smiles - the sly little blue-eyed boy

in his musical voice he cries-
“I did not eat mud, sweet mother, the boys lie!
come look within
and see with your own eyes!”



poor Mother Yashoda
not knowing she stared
into that little mouth
and lost herself in what was there

he lifted swiftly the
veil of maaya
the truth shone forth
with a blinding light!

                                                  * त्वमेव माता च पिता त्वमेव ।
                                                   त्वमेव बन्धुश्च सखा त्वमेव ।
                                                   त्वमेव विद्या द्रविणम् त्वमेव ।
                                                   त्वमेव सर्वम् मम देव देव ॥


she saw herself
and her dear little boy
the whole of Gokulam
within his jaws lay!

and the whole earth
and the universe
galaxies and multiple worlds
was her little boy cursed?

her fear mounted as she saw
the entire cosmos
the boundaries blurred
time - a non-entity

the past, present and future
only a tiny river
she saw the vast expanse
of his creation

he made these worlds
held them like puppets on a string
and then morphing
he became death!

and unable to take more
she swooned
when the Creator, the Preserver and the Destroyer
merged to become-her adored little one!

                                                    
You are my mother, and my father
                                                     You are my relative and my friend
                                                     You are knowledge, You are prosperity
                                                     You are my everything, My God of Gods*


and then he looked at her
with an infinite compassion
he’d shown her
what she needed to see

now it was time
for her to forget, to become
his doting mother again
he kisses her with innocent love and toothy grin

once more
maaya takes hold
the illusion more beautiful
more irresistible to behold!

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
         04.09.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
This poem describes an incident from Lord Krishna's life when he was a child. His friends complain to his mother Yashoda, that he has been eating mud. When she looks into his mouth he reveals his divinity for a short while, before becoming her baby again.
Àŧùl Apr 2013
Transliteration:

Jana-gaṇa-mana adhināyaka jaya he
Bhārata bhāgya vidhātā
Pañjāba Sindhu Gujarāṭa Marāṭhā
Drāviḍa Utkala Baṅga
Vindhya Himāchala Yamunā Gaṅgā
Uchhala jaladhi taraṅga
Tava śubha nāme jāge
Tava śubha āśhiṣa māge
Gāhe tava jaya gāthā
Jana gaṇa maṅgala dhāyaka jaya he
Bhārata bhāgya vidhāta
Jaya he, jaya he, jaya he
Jaya jaya jaya, jaya he.


Translation:

Thou art the ruler of the minds of all people,
Dispenser of India's destiny.
Thy name rouses the hearts of Punjab, Sindhu,
Gujarat and Maratha,
Of the Dravida and Odisha and Bengal;
It echoes in the hills of the Vindhyas and Himalayas,
mingles in the music of Yamuna and Ganges and is
chanted by the waves of the Indian Ocean.
They pray for thy blessings and sing thy praise.
The saving of all people waits in thy hand,
Thou dispenser of India's destiny.
Victory, victory, victory to thee.
This is Jan Gana Mana - The Indian National Anthem as composed by Rabindranath Tagore and as translated in English by Tagore along with the Irish poet James H. Cousins' wife, Margaret who was an expert at English language.
It is addressed to the Bharat Bhagya Vidhata (India's Destiny Dispenser God) contrary to the popular belief that it is addressed to a person particular.
It is known that the Sanskritized Bengali version of the same, called Jana Gana Mana has been hugely popular worldwide. Listen to it on YouTube now and feel something in your heart for India.
© Rabindranath Tagore 27th December, 1911 originally in Bengali
© Rabindranath Tagore, Margaret H. Cousins who together translated it in 1919 at Besant Theosophical College, Madanapalle where Margaret's husband James H. Cousins was the principal who invited Rabindranath Tagore to sing the anthem in front of an assembly of people.
the lone boatman Dec 2014
A rain shatters the silent peace of the dark blue Yamuna... flowing
guilelessly on its own accord by the eroded banks of time...
with waters that rise and fall, and move along in silent obedience.
In the melancholuous rain, drown the voices of those that have
sinned
voices of wet Lovers that echoed through time...
greener pastures and parched blues....
men who left their footprints in the soft sands of an immense depth ..& emerged with a part of the river,
that today carries their sins...
what kind of affection is this O'Yamuna..
abathed in the sins of our time, yet you flow so guilelessly..
1. The Yamuna river is the largest tributary of the Ganges in Northern India.  Just like the Ganges, the Yamuna too is highly venerated in Hinduism and worshipped as goddess Yamuna, throughout its course.
2. While the Ganges is considered an epitome of asceticism and higher knowledge and can grant us Moksha or liberation, it is Yamuna, who, being a holder of infinite love and compassion, can grant us freedom, even from death....
(Source: Wikipedia)
In the twilight zephyrs
under milky way skies
I stroll beside my peacock plumed God

Along the banks of the Yamuna river
with captivating charm
He teaches me
the Language of Love

Honeybees buzz around us
even though the coral pink
sun has melted into a
puddle of nectar at
His silken lotus Feet
and all the flowers have
folded their drowsy petals

raven heavens raise their
ebony veils and a
chorus of rhapsodic stars
chant Krishna's glorious name

I feel His raincloud blue face
close to mine
lightning from His eyes
strikes my Soul

...and We dance...

A trillion psychedelic umbrellas
whirling, dazzling Sufi circles
beneath the Golden parasol
of God's enormous
Love

    Share/Save
The cycle of time never stops,
That has never forgiven anyone,
Moves fast, slow and sometimes hops,
None can claim from it to be won,
The kings or beggar it behaves the same,
Justice, its essence and time its name.

O, the king lying with the queen,
Thou's given a figure to the love,
The lovers and beloveds are keen,
To visit the Taj as pilgrim of love.
Thousands of the people visit at a time,
To pay tribute a to building of ever prime,

Ah! The mosque is empty but I hear,
Silent prayer calls in surrounding of thine,
People are surrounding thee far and near,
They look happy but sad is the heart of mine,
O Yamuna! Beside thee one is seeing another age,
But time is the obstacle to show its visage.
Copy right @ muzzammailshah
Donall Dempsey Jan 2016
FINGERTIP
( for Shyam )

as a little child
I travelled

up & down the Ganges
its sister Yamuna..her brother Brahmaputra

their names
upon my tongue

my voice calling them
into being

awed by their sound
mantras for my mind

riding their waters
in the little ship

of a
fingertip

traveling only as a child
can

now
here I am

still that child
become this man

still offering
my devotion

from the Dev Bhoomi I come

tracing Shiva's hair
from here to there

"Ganga Ma...Ganga Ma!" I cry
herding the river

from Gaumukh
watching her

spread her fan
into the Bay of Bengal and beyond

still sailing the same old
fingertip ship

a bit old and
battered now

soon I will stand
on Indian soil

call all my childhood rivers
to me

bow as they
flow into me

their names
upon my tongue

calling upon
all the Gods to come

as
one

"OM!"
Arpita Banerjee Jan 2019
A mutilated corpse in the middle of the city
Frothing at the mouth
A suffocating hostage
A sacrilege
A sacrifice of religious anonymity
You flow and stagnate
Making us all ruminate
What life has created
Is nothing but destruction in its wake

In the hustle of the city
You remind me of pity
Not for you
Not for your desperately dark waters
Not for your absence of tethers
But for me
You remind me how small and insignificant
Is the mind that dares to see
Dares to write
Dares to referee
Against your will to end
No destiny can revoke your decision
No human can make you bend

In your twists and turns
Your tortuitous burns
You are resolute
That the ones who killed you
Will not play the immortal flute
Or their resonating glory
Of conquering what you are

They tried to claim you
They tried to blame you
They tried to reduce and maim you
But from your eternal sleep you may never wake
The city may run
The city may burn
You will support no flora
No fauna
Rest in peace, Yamuna.
The Yamuna is one of the most significant rivers in India, a civilization that is historically dependent on rivers and attributes them a divine status. For the past few months it has been covered in industrial froth and the dark waters of the severely polluted river resemble a scene of heaven, with soft white clouds covering the deceased soul. The poem is a reflection on the ghastly vision of the transcendent glory of the river, whose waters are now a toxic propagator of death. Yamuna could not be brought back, but Yamuna's death is a protest against the vile species that inhabits its banks and turns a blind eye towards its writhing crawling tormented journey with an aching will to survive. Yamuna is lost to us forever. Rest in peace, blessed river. The human race never deserved you.
sit with me before the dance
in my little thatch hut
on a mat of yellow reeds
together we’ll string
garlands
marigolds, jasmine,
roses
to offer at His petite, azure feet
with glossy red kisses
we’ll serenade our Sri Krishna
weave peacock feathers through His
perfumed tresses
the Yamuna river is lit up with
lotus lanterns and
vrindavan incense
we have adorned ourselves
in the finest silk saris
and red *** *** dots
we are ready with
aching, ardent hearts to
dance with the Lord
come into our eager, hopeful arms
darling Giridhari
MdAsadullah Nov 2014
As I sauntered on banks of Yamuna at night.
I saw a man old, bent, with stick in dhoti white.
Tardily, step by step as he came nearer to me.
With joy I smiled as our own beloved Bapu was he.

With tears in my eyes I asked, ' Bapu you are still alive! ,
those three bullets holed your chest, how did you survive?
What happened to you? Where were you all these days?
What you ate? How you lived? Now where do you stay?

Condition of your beloved land is deteriorating day by day.
Countrymen have left your path, they have gone astray.
Your image, your killers are trying to malign and degrade.
Berating your ways, encouraging means which you forbade.

******'s advocates on chariots are traversing Nation's length.
Day by day Fascism is gaining ground , gaining strength.
Disguised as followers of Sri Ram, deeds of Ravan they do.
Riots and killings are frequent, women and minors are targeted too.

Terrorism nourishing on terrorism, cruelty at its worst.
Targeting anyone, anywhere, time and again bombs burst.
Once a land of peace, land of sufism, land of saints,
now ******. Innocent souls being killed without restraint.

Regionalism is being encouraged and taking roots.
Unity of the Nation selfish politicians reduce and dilute.
Corruption is increasing everywhere and in all spheres
Even highest office of respect could not keep itself clear '

Passing his hand over my head he smiled and said '
I am just a spirit, long ago my weak body was dead.
Daily with expectation I rise and daily with despair I die
Daily my hope is shattered and daily with grief I sigh

They may have killed me but now I live in numerous hearts
They may write me down in history yet my message will dart.
See this flag, colour saffron is dear to me, colour green I love.
between them is colour white, colour of peace, colour of dove.

Nation divided in three hurts me more than bullets three
From casteism and regionlism country should be free.
Communalism should not be allowed to raise its ugly head.
With sword of constitution Fascism we need to behead '

Three sound disturbed the calm, beloved Bapu fell on the ground
I went to help but Bapu vanished with words 'Hey Ram' echoing around
Determined that this time his innocent blood will not go waste.
I collected his non-violent blood in my pen like ink with haste.
Within the lotus pink petals
of my tear soaked *****
He has hidden His splendor

Under a raincloud the color
of His peacock skin

camouflaged

He waits

Darling Giridhari
I have driven the tenacious, evil
bats of hatred, envy, anger and
greed from the tall steel towers, belfry
of my mind

Nectarine incense of prayer
and contemplation on You
burns day and night on the altar
of my penitent heart

Ceaselessly my breath does not
hesitate to chant Your divine name

From these eyes the Yamuna river
pours and floods its banks
while I wait for You to
dance with me

Every season is an endless Winter
without your warm Spring embrace
snow drifts pursue and threaten to bury
the tender shoots of love

Hurry Hari Krishna
pull this poison cupid's arrow
from Your devotee's
smitten heart
Causticji May 2015
Fluff and puff,
water plugs,
power plants,
paper over eyesores,
paint it matte,
pink as salmon,
pack the homeless
into the Bird's Nest,
ghettoise Moses,
bleed the Amazon
down to size,
moor the battleships
to Yamuna Bank,
let white elephants
run riot on warm Black ice
over those who won't
play ball in our
electric garden
free your head
from the rails
for what?
roti kapda makaan
or BSP ki maya?
be buried or a sport
let laal battis through
ab bus, stop
blaming it on Rio
don't you know
how India shone
in October 2010,
or that Russians love
their children too?
So what if they don't
believe in modern love?
Potemkin villages are
built brick by brick
by BRICS,
Red, Yellow, Orange
kilned to Black.
Eventiasis. Eventism. What's in a name? The fact is, these major sporting events are bleeding the developing countries dry while killing the world in the bargain.
O Ganga!
You flow
Across the mighty
Mountains
O your youthful
Playful force
Making its way
Through the
Ancient boulders
Stream after stream
Joins you
To find its destiny
Happily
In your depths
To make you
O the vast Ganga we know
The Aryans found their
Abode on your banks
You saw the rise of Jainism
And Buddhism
O civilization
Not only flourished
But flowered
On your banks!
You've seen it all!
You travel down the Tehri dam
Across Rishikesh
And Haridwar
From the cow's mouth
O the Gomukh
Where your mother
Glacier Gangotri rests!
You enter the plains
Having crisscrossed
Roads many
And lives
Of many a being
Who consider you
As mother
Worship you
You bear their brunt also
Carrying heaps of
Garbage
You flow Kanpur
You see tanneries
And many more
You nourish them
Keep them running
But they end up
Slowing your run
You reach Allahabad
What's in a name
A tryst of cultures
O you have the
Gangs Jamuni doab
And Gangs jamuni tehzeeb!
Your sisters join you
And here at Prayag
You have Yamuna with you
O a mythical sister
Saraswati does find here way to you
They say
Life goes on on your ghats
As usual
People washing clothes
Themselves
And people offering
Flowers and performing
Rituals on your banks
O all but consider you
As an earthly mother
A heavenly gift
Just like Saraswati
You have your place in the scriptures as well!
You also
Flow out of mythology
Into our minds
O the mighty Shiva
Took you
In his mighty curls
Of hair
To allay your spirit
As you descended
Onto the Earth
To purge peoples
Lives
The Bhagiratha's
Penance you saw then
He got back his wish
Thousand brothers
They say
O you but still see
The Kumbh Mela(fair)

So many souls
You see the serenity
Of Varanasi
The beautiful spirituality
Of its
Ghats
O young wrestlers
Massaging before
The day's fight
Alongside
Seers in
Deep meditation
On your banks
O you have settled
This city
You flow across
Patna
The ancient
Pataliputra
Seen many imperial
Rise and falls
History echoes in you
You enter Bengal
The fertile
Gangetic plains
Bear testimony
To your gifts
With their lush green
And swaying fields
The Farakka barrage
Sees you in one of your
Giant avatars
You irrigate
And touch people!
You flow as the Padma in
Bangladesh
O you know
Two lands separated
By political shadows
You flow
As Bhagirathi
Hooghly
In Bengal
The rice bowl!
O your Ilish(Hilda)
People do relish
You flow graciously
Through
Flat extensive plains
Past Kolkata
The city of joy
And into the sea
At Gangasagar
Taking with you
So many memories
And promising
The continuity
Of your divine
Grace
O dear river,
You are Ganga!
Loko ndzi tihanyela andzi hanyeli nwina ndzi hanyela xikwembu xamina.
Loko ndzi famba miri ndzina matsolo yontswontswana,xana amilava ni fambisa leswi milavisaka xiswona ndzi tshika leswi hosi yindzi endliseke swona.

Loko ndzi khongela miri ndzi twa ndlala,xana ndzinga tshika kukhongela hosi yamuna hikwalaho ka nwina.

Ndzi tisomele tintombi nwina miku ndza oswa,amolava ndzi soma nwina ,mitaswivona leswaku ndzi soma hirirhandzu kungari Ku huha.
Xana ni endliwa yini?

Xankoka kanwina iku vona munhu axaniseka,leswaku mitaba swikhiyana minga heti.
Ebo mhe na ala,ndzi nge pfuki ndzi ni yingisile.

Loko mindzi vona ndzi hundza hi ndlela mi yimbelela tinsimu ta michongolo,onge hiloko mondzivona ndzimu vhevhulela.
Amilava ndzi titshova tshova bya vanwambhurhi kona mita tsaka ,Mina andzi fambeli kutsakisa munhu ndzi fambela kufika laha ndzi yaka kona.

Xana mindzi endla yini.
Andzi dyi swanwina ndzatitirhela himavoko ya Mina,nwina miendla onge vatomihakela.

Ndzi tshikeni ndzi tihanyela Mina.
Xana mindzi endla yini.
Ndza engeta nakambe xana mindzi endla yini?
Meera Jul 2020
the town i was born in wasn't big enough
to contain the vastness of my dreams
so i moved out
i spent hours upon hours on the bank of river yamuna
looking for a sign
completely forgetting that a dead river can't speak
i misunderstood its silence for an invitation
so i moved in
i traded my inner peace for smoke filled air
and my innocence for the facade of a happy woman
delhi, i spent years of my life trying to fit in
to make sure that i belong
then why do the stares on the streets
tell me that i don't
delhi why have you been so cruel to me
like a failed mother forcing her expectations on her daughter
no matter what i did
i was never good enough
every time i tried to speak
you just didn't want to hear
you're a city trying to hide its deafness from its people
delhi why are you so unfair?
you throw stones at the workers that build you
and bow down at the feet of your destroyers
maybe you're just as confused and tired as me
people have taken more from you than you could give
so you stand exhausted, defeated and short of breath
and i do the same
for both of us have failed miserably
i could never be your daughter
and you could never be my home
i came looking for a home in a city which doesn't have space
Àŧùl May 2017
FEMALE
Oh my lover, oh my lover!
We are two bodies with connected lives,
We are the desires of the same heart.
Oh my lover, oh my lover!

I surrendered my body & soul to you,
Nothing remains that I call mine.
The love I hope to get from you,
Even God can't fulfill this hope of mine.
Since the day we belong to each other,
We know nothing about the world over.
We are the desires of the same heart,
Oh my lover, oh my lover!

MALE
They narrate that in the world of love,
Two hearts are seldom compatible.
If they are compatible somewhere,
Even shadows of others don't enter there,
Even shadows of others don't enter there.
What situation now meets our lives,
Lest I name it or just remain amazed.
We are the desires of the same heart,
Oh my lover, oh my lover!

FEMALE
My lover, our this union,
Is as if is Ganga-Yamuna's union.
The truth has come to fore,
The dream has passed before,
The dream has passed before.
This land belongs to humans,
We are nothing else but humans,
We are the desires of the same heart,
Oh my lover, oh my lover!

MALE
Oh my lover, oh my lover!
We are two bodies with connected lives,
We are the desires of the same heart.
Oh my lover, oh my lover!

FEMALE*
Oh-oh-oh!
My HP Poem #1532
©Atul Kaushal
Shashwat Garg Sep 2020
I remember going to Taj Mahal lying on the banks of Yamuna river.
After having a glimpse, I said “It is the best monument ever!!”
It revealed the exquisite Persian architecture and mystery,
Built by Shah Jahan, The Mughal Emperor of history.

I was amused by the beautiful garden leading to the lanes
Of huge multifarious fountains.
And the intricate carvings of the magnificent Quran
Represented the emperor’s glorious clan.

The monument of love made of white marble
Showed the greatest love story possible.
It was where Shah Jahan and Mumtaz lay
Showing their love for each other every day.

I took a last glance on the epic dome
Because now it was the time to go home.
I, very sadly farewell bid
And stared at the monument until from sight it completely hid.

The Taj Mahal’s motifs, calligraphy, love story makes it a wonder true
Under the skies blue with an orangish hue.
When I see Taj Mahal through my eyes
The beauty of the whole world in it lies.
Michael Marchese Oct 2017
Fireworks scream, but so few of them seen
The Delhi night sky is of pure gasoline
It’s a maze of a haze that is thicker than thieves
It’s a Christmas without any Adams and Eves
A festival littered with living for less
Than the worth I assign my semantic excess
I am one in a billion perceiving it thus
Because I am afraid it returns us to dust
Of invisible stars, so unnoticeably
Lost on these earthling’s electricity
How could they be phased by the brilliance of gods
When they drool at bedazzling splendors of frauds
And they worship mirages of angels and demons
Polluting their Ganga and Yamuna Edens
With Kashmiri violently mountains eroding
Partition eruptions of chaos exploding
Like Company cannons that made them all pay
To celebrate freedom in slums of Bombay
I danced with my Lord
in all the holy places of
the earth

His golden flute
constant companion of
those rosebud lips
suffused the atmosphere
with inexplicable charm and ananda

Skipping with sheer abandon
of children romping through
summertime meadows
we whirled far from
the riverbanks of the Yamuna

Twin stars, inseparable, indistinguishable
On a clear night, when heaven empties
all her treasures
you may see us with the naked eye
dancing on the star kissed shores
of Eternity
IncholPoem Feb 2019
Stool on  a
  polythene carry  bag.



No  child
  only    men  and  women.




Morning  breakfast  is
  ready  for
crows,  dogs and  pigs.




Throw  is  to
     sky.



Eagle  may  think  it
a  new kind of  rat.



That  one  to
bot  in Sangam
  Of  Ganga, Yamuna  and  dead  Saraawati
river.
Ranjit Kr Baruah Jul 2019
Clean and smooth ,both are,
***** and plate, keep on tightening till
Air displaces, vacuum sets in ,
And they are cold soldered
Life long!

Some do it passionately,
Maqbool Fida Husain ,  
Tajmahal erupts, by the witnessing Yamuna.

Not all, always, can
Do it ; end of Alma Tunnel is not
Explored beyond its ends, steps
Stop only few inches from
The entrance !

Rain pours in ,like,
Broken porcelain on watermelon,
Wind gusts in like hammer,
And the rock is made sand, if,
You can’t carve  Khajuraho  
With your head and heart.

Cold soldering, it works,
and doesn’t always,
depend , entirely on you.

— The End —