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Bs ek tamanna hai agar janam mile fir se,
Meri sacchi mohabat mujhe har janam mein mile.

Zindagi ka har pal khubsurat hai jab aap saath **,
ye dil shiddat se chahta hai sirf aapko.

Aap dharti kya jahan bhi honge,
Aapki khusbu se hum aapko pehchaan lenge.

Aankh band kar dadhkano se pehchaan lenge,
Din maheene saal guzarte jayenge.

Pyar mein aapke har pal har lamha badhte jayenge,
Jab jab janam lenge hum sirf aur sirf aapke rahenge.

Ye dil sirf us dadhkan ki hai pehchaan,
Aapki rooh mein basti hai hamari jaan.

Har dua mein us rabb se hum aapko maangte,
Is dil mein sirf aap hi ** rehte.

Dil bhi bekaraar hain aapse milne ko,
Khushnaseeb hain hum jo aap humein mile **.

Saare jahan ki hasi aapke labe par saja de khuda,
Aapse  kabhi nahi hongey hum juda.

Har saans par hamari hai aapka naam,
Aapke bin zindagi hai gumnaam.

Chand ki chandani madhamm padh sakti,
Phulon ki khusbu feeki ** jaati.

Hamari sacchi mohabbat ki khusbu is qadar faile,
Ki dharti ke yug bhi kam padh jaaye.

Karte hain kkhuda se hum gujarish,
Aapki mohabbat ke siwa koi bandagi ki na ** baarish.

Chahe hazaaron dafa waqt le le hamare imtehaan,
Nahi chhodenge hum aapka saath meri jaan.

Kuch ehsaason ke saaye dil ko chhu jaate,
Zindagi mein phul khil jaate jha aap kadam rakhte.

Gulaab tou kaaton mein bhi khila hain karte,
Kabhi kabhi apne bhi paraya kar dete.

Shukriya hai aapka jab hazaaron log khilaaf hote hum khuda kehte,
Tab sirf aap hi ** jo hamara haath thame hamare saath khade rehte.

Khubsurat hai har subah aur har shaam,
Achaa lagta hai hamara naam jab judta aapka naam.

Aap saath hain tabhi khush hai saara chaman,
Aapse mohabbat karne ko le le hum hazaro janam.

Aap jaise dost milte hain taqdeer walon ko,
Mile yhi taqdeer aur is dil mein sirf aap rho.

Aapki rag rag se waakiff hain hum,
Saath hain humesha mere humdum.

Bs ek tamanna hai is dil mein,
Har janam mein aap hi hamare mahadev bane
To God our strength sing loud, and clear,
Sing loud to God our King,
To Jacobs God, that all may hear
Loud acclamations ring.
Prepare a Hymn, prepare a Song
The Timbrel hither bring
The cheerfull Psaltry bring along
And Harp with pleasant string.
Blow, as is wont, in the new Moon
With Trumpets lofty sound,
Th’appointed time, the day wheron
Our solemn Feast comes round.
This was a Statute giv’n of old
For Israel to observe
A Law of Jacobs God, to hold
From whence they might not swerve.
This he a Testimony ordain’d
In Joseph, not to change,
When as he pass’d through Aegypt land;
The Tongue I heard, was strange.
From burden, and from slavish toyle
I set his shoulder free;
His hands from pots, and mirie soyle
Deliver’d were by me.
When trouble did thee sore assaile,
On me then didst thou call,
And I to free thee did not faile,
And led thee out of thrall.
I answer’d thee in *thunder deep                 *Be Sether ragnam.
With clouds encompass’d round;
I tri’d thee at the water steep
Of Meriba renown’d.
Hear O my people, heark’n well,
I testifie to thee
Thou antient flock of Israel,
If thou wilt list to mee,
Through out the land of thy abode
No alien God shall be
Nor shalt thou to a forein God
In honour bend thy knee.
I am the Lord thy God which brought
Thee out of Aegypt land
Ask large enough, and I, besought,
Will grant thy full demand.
And yet my people would not hear,
Nor hearken to my voice;
And Israel whom I lov’d so dear
Mislik’d me for his choice.
Then did I leave them to their will
And to their wandring mind;
Their own conceits they follow’d still
Their own devises blind
O that my people would be wise
To serve me all their daies,
And O that Israel would advise
To walk my righteous waies.
Then would I soon bring down their foes
That now so proudly rise,
And turn my hand against all those
That are their enemies.
Who hate the Lord should then be fain
To bow to him and bend,
But they, His should remain,
Their time should have no end.
And he would free them from the shock
With flower of finest wheat,
And satisfie them from the rock
With Honey for their Meat.
Dylan Gabo Nov 2016
"When the Thin Whyte Duke
And the Prince lay colde
When the fools stande talle
And the bigots bolde
The man of orange shall seize the throne
From the one they calle "The Clyntoone Crone"
Then men wille weepe and children waile
(The internete declare a "FAILE")
To no availe fore I have seene
The worlde will ende in twenty hundrede and sixteene!"
Not my own work but rather a lost quatrain of Nostradamus that I found on ancient parchment whilst dusting behind my telly!

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