Kumar Vishwas

sab fasile hote nahi sikke uchal ke
ye dil ke mamle hain zara dekh bal ke
mobileo ke daur ke ahshiq ko kya pata
rakte the khat mein kaleja nikal ke

murda lohe se bhi auzar banae wale,
apne ansoon ko bhi hathiyaar banane wale,
humko bekar samajhte hai siyasadna magar
hum hain is mulq ki sarkar banane wale

jo waqt ki andhi se khabar dar nahi hai,
kuch aur hi hoga wo wo kalankar nahi hai,

sada ye hain neende cheen li dono ki ankhon se,
khata ye thi ki dono ne milkar khwab dekha,

pyar jab jism ki cheekho mein dafan ho jaye
odni is taraf uljhe ki kafan ho jaye
ghar ke aisas jab bazar ki sharto mein dhale
ajnabi log jab hamrah ban ke sath chale
labon se asman tak sabki dua chubh jaye
bheed ka sor jab kano ke pass ruk jaye
sitam ki mari hui waqt ki in ankhin mein
nami ho lakh magar fir bhi muskurayeinge
andhere waqt mein bhi geet gayenge

log kehte rahein is raat ki subah hi nahi
keh de suraj ki rosni ka tajurba hi nahi
wo ladaye ko bhale aar par le jayen
loha le jaye wo lohe ki dhar le jaye
jiski chaukhat se taraju tak ho unpar girwi
us adalt mein hamein bar bar le jaye
hum agar gunguna bhi denge to wo sab ke sab
humko kagaz se hara kar bhi har jayenge
andhere waqt mein bhi geet gayen jayenge

The Growth Of Love By Robert Seymour

The whole world now is but the minister
Of thee to me: I see no other scheme
But universal love, from timeless dream
Waking to thee his joy's interpreter.

I walk around and in the fields confer
Of love at large with tree and flower and stream,
And list the lark descant upon my theme,
Heaven's musical accepted worshipper.
 
Thy smile outfaceth ill: and that old feud
'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce;
And nature now dearly with thee endued
No more in shame ponders her old excuse,
But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude,
So kindly hath she grown to her new use.

The Broken Heart by William Barnes

News o' grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen
Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the hans that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceare that drowned all ceare bezide it.

When a man, wi' heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden's blighten, 
He mid cearelessly vorseake her,
But must answer to her Meaker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' loven-kindness,
God wull waigh 'em wi' the slighten
That mid be her love's requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do break the heart ov ev'ry griever.