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Asia ke hum parinde, Aasma hai had hmari,
Jante hai chand suraj, Jid hmari zad hmari,

Hum whi jisne samander ki, lehar par baandh sadha,
Hum whi jinke ke liye din, rat ki upji na badha,

Hum ki jo dharti ko mata, maan kar samman dete,
Hum ki wo jo chalne se pehle, manjile pehchan lete,

Hum whi jo sunya main bhi, sunya rachte hain nirantar,
Hum whi jo roshni rakhte, hai sabki chaukhto par,
Un ujalo ka wahi, paigam le aye hai hum,

Hum hai desi hum hai desi hum hai desi,
Ha magar har desh chaye hai hum.

Zinda rehne ka asal andaz, Sikhlaye hai humne,
Zindgi hai zindgi ke, Baad samjhaya hai humne,

Humne batlaya ki, Kudrat ka asal andaz kya hai,
Rang kya hai roop kya hai, Mehak kya hai swad kya hai,

Humne duniya mohbat, Ka asar zinda kiya hai,
Hmne nafart ko gale mil, Mil ke sharminda kiya hai,

In tarrki ke khudao, Ne to ghar ko dar bnaya,
In pde khali makano, Ko hmi ne ghar bnaya,

Hum na aate to taraki, Is kadar na bol pati,
Hum na aate to ye duniya, Khidkiya na khol pati,
Hai yasoda ke yha par, devki jaye hai hum,

Hum hai desi hum hai desi hum hai desi,
Ha magar har desh chaye hai hum.
Copyright© Shashank K Dwivedi
email-shashankdwivedi.edu@gmail.com
Follow me on Facebook-https://www.facebook.com/skdisro
sachindra jha Sep 2014
Ek pal ki khushi , ek pal ka gham
jindgi ey jindgi
kaun tum kaun hum
kabhi tum lati **
umeed ki tez lehar
kabhi nirasa se kar deti **
jindgi ko shant sehar
kabhi kabhi sochta ***
tumne mujhe kya diya
beparwah muskan ya
aankhen nam
jindgi ey jindgi
kaun tum kaun hum !
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA

I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam

like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.

Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing

sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.

A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon

turns the handle slowly  of
a broken down barrel *****.

A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.

The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.


The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey

appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.

I am far from home.
The day is dying.

I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.

It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.

The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.

The last words of
of this the final chapter

are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.

The barrel ***** peersists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film

The monkey red fez
fallen at its feet.

The monkey blissfully
asleep.

The music caught
entangled in branches and  leaves.

I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one

a silhouette of houses
like a stage set.


Houses like cut-out silhouettes
a stage set.

The last lines revealed
under a passing  lamp

"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."

I laugh at such
a coincidence.

Leave the book on the bench
for some other me

to discover
when the sun comes up.

And return
to my space ship.
Manvinder Singh Aug 2020
[ Translation of Ghazal
“Dil Mein Ek Lehar Si Uthi Hai Abhi”
Poet: Nasir Kazmi ]

Heart flutters –
with a new beat
A fresh breeze is on the move

An uproar in cavern-of-heart,
down goes
     some wall

Fragile spirits
and now, a new scar

Foggy ghosts of forgotten isles
still –
echo your voice

Down the dark alleys
searching …
for you
Ghulam Ali's performance -- https://youtu.be/s-1O7khBiI4
Donall Dempsey Aug 2022
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA

I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam

like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.

Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing

sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.

A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon

turns the handle slowly  of
a broken down barrel *****.

A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.

The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.

The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey

appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.

I am far from home.
The day is dying.

I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.

It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.

The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.

The last words of
of this the final chapter

are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.

The barrel ***** persists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film

The monkey's red fez
fallen at its feet.

The monkey blissfully
asleep.

The music caught
entangled in branches and  leaves.

I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one.

Houses like cut-out silhouettes
an old stage set.

The last lines revealed
under a passing  lamp

"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."

I laugh at such
a coincidence.

Leave the book on the bench
for some other me

to discover
when the sun comes up.

And return
to my space ship.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2019
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA

I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam

like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.

Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing

sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.

A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon

turns the handle slowly  of
a broken down barrel *****.

A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.

The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.

The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey

appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.

I am far from home.
The day is dying.

I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.

It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.

The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.

The last words of
of this the final chapter

are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.

The barrel ***** peersists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film

The monkey red fez
fallen at its feet.

The monkey blissfully
asleep.

The music caught
entangled in branches and  leaves.

I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one

a silhouette of houses
like a stage set.

Houses like cut-out silhouettes
a stage set.

The last lines revealed
under a passing  lamp

"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."

I laugh at such
a coincidence.

Leave the book on the bench
for some other me

to discover
when the sun comes up.

And return
to my space ship.
MONKEY IN A RED FEZ DANCING TO ABBA

I watch the children play
on a sunny Sunday in Rotterdam

like a stereotypical alien
studying humans.

Their cries rise and fall
like seagulls as they swing

sea-sawing or blurring into one
on a brightly coloured turnstile.

A man looking
like a badly drawn cartoon

turns the handle slowly  of
a broken down barrel *****.

A monkey in a red fez
dances on the end of a chain.

The barrel ***** spews out
everything from Abba to Franz Lehar.

The decrepit old man
and even more decrepit monkey

appear as if they have
stepped out of another century.

I am far from home.
The day is dying.

I read from my battered book
Hamsun's HUNGER.

It's lurid cover torn
half hanging on/off.

The park deserted now
as night steals its colours.

The last words of
of this the final chapter

are lost to me
swallowed by the dark.

The barrel ***** persists
the soundtrack to some forgotten film

The monkey's red fez
fallen at its feet.

The monkey blissfully
asleep.

The music caught
entangled in branches and  leaves.

I watch the yellow lights
blossom one by one.

Houses like cut-out silhouettes
an old stage set.

The last lines revealed
under a passing  lamp

"...where the windows shone so
brightly in every home..."

I laugh at such
a coincidence.

Leave the book on the bench
for some other me

to discover
when the sun comes up.

And return
to my space ship.

— The End —