Dharmvir Bharti | धर्मवीर भारती

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Dharmvir Bharti

Vida deti ek dubli baanh

विदा देती एक दुबली बाँह सी यह मेड़
अंधेरे में छूटते चुपचाप बूढ़े पेड़

ख़त्म होने को ना आएगी कभी क्या
एक उजड़ी माँग सी यह धूल धूसर राह?
एक दिन क्या मुझी को पी जाएगी
यह सफर की प्यास, अबुझ, अथाह?

क्या यही सब साथ मेरे जायेंगे
ऊँघते कस्बे, पुराने पुल?
पाँव में लिपटी हुई यह धनुष-सी दुहरी नदी
बींध देगी क्या मुझे बिलकुल?

Poetry in storytelling or storytelling in poetry?

Many of us know Dharmvir Bharti as a novelist. Titles like ‘Gunaho ka Devta’ are popular in every Indian household. However, Dharmvir Bharti was also an equally mesmerizing poet as he was a novelist and a playwright.

I’ve been specially inclined to read the master works of authors who dabbled in both storywriting as well as poetry. It is a nuanced art – balancing both poetry and stories. Many writers often believe otherwise. Popular notion goes that storywriting and poetry go hand in hand, co-exist on the same plane and often require the same mindset.

On the contrary, although both come from the same gene of writing, poetry and storywriting are different. Consider this poem, ‘Vide deti ek dubli baanh’, the title indeed fits both for a story and a poem. But as Dharmvir starts emphasizing on the details of the journey, dubli baanh se yeh med’, he moves from the plane of storywriting to pure poetry. He sets the mood with the first line, vida na degi kya kabhi’ and then moves on to present a beautifully painted picture of a village. He does not go into characters, he moves into the details of the scene. Something commonly seen in classical poetry. Reading Dharmvir’s works of poetry is like reading a travelogue. Specially this one, ‘ujadi maang si yah dhool dhoosar raah’, and ‘oonghte kasbe purane pul’. Dharmvir weaves poetic finesse in every word and this is what had enthralled his readers for years.

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गुलज़ार । Gulzar

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Gulzar

Gulzar

सहमा सहमा डरा सा रहता है
जाने क्यूँ जी भरा सा रहता है

काई सी जम गई है आँखों पर
सारा मंज़र हरा सा रहता है

एक पल देख लूँ तो उठता हूँ
जल गया घर ज़रा सा रहता है

सर में जुम्बिश ख़याल की भी नहीं
ज़ानुओं पर धरा सा रहता है

सिद्दीक़ मुजीब । Siddique Mujeeb

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Siddique Mujeeb

Siddique Mujeeb

One of the most remarkable ghazals by Siddique Mujeeb saheb, this work makes him stand tall in the world of Urdu poetry. He has penned numerous other beautiful ghazals. The meter is melodious and instantly echoes through one’s heart. Read the full ghazal and do not forget to share it with your friends and loved ones who appreciate poetry.

आग देखूँ कभी जलता हुआ बिस्तर देखूँ
रात आए तो यहीं ख़्वाब-ए-मुकर्रर देखूँ

एक बेचैन समुंदर है मिरे जिस्म में क़ैद
टूट जाए जो ये दीवार तो मंज़र देखूँ

रात गहरी है बहुत राज़ न देगी अपना
मैं तो सूरज भी नहीं हूँ कि उतर कर देखूँ

ख़ुद पे क्या बीत गई इतने दिनों में तुझ बिन
ये भी हिम्मत नहीं अब झाँक के अंदर देखूँ

कोई इस दौर में एलान-ए-नबूवत करता
आरज़ू थी कि ख़ुदा-साज़ पयम्बर देखूँ

एक सन्नाटा हूँ पत्थर के जिगर में पैवस्त
मैं कोई बुत तो नहीं हूँ कि निकल कर देखूँ

यूँ नशे से कभी दो चार तिरा ग़म हो कि मैं
बंद आँखों से खुली आँख का मंज़र देखूँ

ओढ़ कर ख़ाक ‘मुजीबी’ सुनूँ दुश्नाम-ए-जहाँ
ये तमाशा ही किसी रोज़ मियाँ कर देखूँ

पाब्लो नेरूदा । Pablo Neruda

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Ode to Salt by Pablo Neruda

Ode to Salt by Pablo Neruda

We often hear that poets have their muses, they get inspiration from the nature, from the bounties of the skies, from ravishing waterfalls, from delicate beauties and so on. But have you ever heard that someone got inspired from salt! Yes, salt, our very own, the homely, white, fine-grained beauty that quaintly sits in the uniquely designed porcelain shakers.
And not only inspiration, Neruda decides to render an ode to this taste enhancing grain from the oceans.
Read this wonderful poem titled ‘Ode to Salt’ by Pablo Neruda. Read it again till you start feeling the taste of salt lingering on your lips. Then, you would have actually read what Neruda meant.

This salt in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won’t
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

यूजीन फ़ील्ड । Eugene Field

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Eugene Field

A spring poem from Bion

One asketh:
“Tell me, Myrson, tell me true:
What’s the season pleaseth you?
Is it summer suits you best,
When from harvest toil we rest?
Is it autumn with its glory
Of all surfeited desires?
Is it winter, when with story
And with song we hug our fires?
Or is spring most fair to you–
Come, good Myrson, tell me true!”

Another answereth:
“What the gods in wisdom send
We should question not, my friend;
Yet, since you entreat of me,
I will answer reverently:
Me the summertime displeases,
For its sun is scorching hot;
Autumn brings such dire diseases
That perforce I like it not;
As for biting winter, oh!
How I hate its ice and snow!

“But, thrice welcome, kindly spring,
With the myriad gifts you bring!
Not too hot nor yet too cold,
Graciously your charms unfold–
Oh, your days are like the dreaming
Of those nights which love beseems,
And your nights have all the seeming
Of those days of golden dreams!
Heaven smiles down on earth, and then
Earth smiles up to heaven again!”

विकास राणा । Vikas Rana

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Poetry, it’s not just about the bearded men in their royal robes. It is as much about a budding flower as it is about a dated tree. Here at Mukarrar, we keep an eye for gems of poetry all around us. While many popular poets still manage to find a place amid readers, it becomes difficult for works of masters who have long perished from the memory of public to find its relevance. While Mukarrar started with the thought of curating collections of master poets across the world, somewhere down the road, we thought it is equally rewarding to feature young poets as well. 

In this post, we are featuring Shayar Vikas Rana from Delhi. His poetry has a unique flavour of age old stories and copybook romance as well as portrayal of imagery in such simple instances that you would wonder why didnt it come across to you. 

Read, share, comment if you like how Vikas, who goes by the pen name of ‘Fikr’ leaves you drowned with subtle melody of urdu shayari. 

Vikas Rana

Vikas Rana