Ungrateful Sorrow

At dawn she took her farewell
The mind tried to console me saying,
"Everything is an illusion".
I was resentful and I replied:
"Here is the table with her sewing box on it,
those flower-pots on the balcony,
the fan on the bed bearing her name---
surely they are real."

The mind explained: "Yes, and yet try and think."
I answered back, "there is nothing to think-just see,
there is the novel that is lying with her hairpin struck in the middle of the pages,

still waiting to be finished.
If these are only illusions,

is she then to be even a greater illusion that all this?

The mind kept silent.
A friend came over and consoled me,
"What is good, is true, it never fades.

The living world preserves

it like the rare gem of a necklace on its breast."

I got furious and replied, "How do you know?
Do you mean to say that the body is no good? Why then the body must perish?"

Like a child in rage who keeps hitting his mother,
I tried to hurt every little refuge that I had in the whole world in the same manner.

And I complained," The world is treacherous."

Suddenly, I was startled.
I seemed to hear someone say," You- ungrateful ! "

Looking out through the window, 

just behind the tamarisk tree, 

I saw the moon just three days old, 

it were, as if, 

the laughter of the one who had departed, 

playing hide and seek!

A voice of censure came through the star-sprinkled dark night,

"I gave myself to you, was that treachery?

And now when I am shadowed, is it there that you place your tremendous faith?"

Found in Short story masterpieces, "5 Indian Masters - Raja Rao, Tagore, Premchand, Mulk Raj Anand, Khuswant Singh". Published by Jaico Publishing House, 2003

~~~

The last para has been translated and worded differently by Snehendu Bikash Kar - though the meaning has been the same.

I looked at the crescent moon
hidden behind the tamarisk tree outside my window.
As if the dear departed one is smiling
and playing hide-and-seek with me.

From the depth of darkness punctuated by scattered stars
came a rebuke: "when I let you grasp me you call it an deception,
and yet when I remain concealed,
why do you hold on to your faith in me with such conviction?"

~~~

Such a beautiful poem. It has been taken from Lipika,  By Rabindranath Tagore.  

Sometimes people leave to never come back. They cross the river of life to go to another world, from which there is no coming back. What refuge should the dear ones take in then? If everything around us is  an illusion, then was their presence an illusion too? Was the warmth you felt and the tears you shed, the times you bled and the moments you enjoyed an illusion too? What was illusion...what was a figment of your imagination?

And if it was all real, then is your absence real too? Do you not exist anywhere anymore? If I call out your name, would I ever get an answer?  Would you not exist even in the windmills of my mind? If you would, what would one call that then, real or illusion?

One of the most inspirational poems I have ever heard...

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai
Dekhna hai zor kitna baazu-e-qaatil mein hai

Aye watan, Karta nahin kyun doosraa kuch baat-cheet
Dekhta hun main jise woh chup teri mehfil mein hai
Aye shaheed-e-mulk-o-millat main tere oopar nisaar
Ab teri himmat ka charcha gair ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Waqt aanay dey bata denge tujhe aye aasman
Hum abhi se kya batayen kya hamare dil mein hai
Kheench kar layee hai sab ko qatl hone ki ummeed
Aashiqon ka aaj jumghat koocha-e-qaatil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Hai liye hathiyaar dushman taak mein baitha udhar
Aur hum taiyyaar hain seena liye apna idhar
Khoon se khelenge holi agar vatan muskhil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Haath jin mein ho junoon katt te nahi talvaar se
Sar jo uth jaate hain voh jhukte nahi lalkaar se
Aur bhadkega jo shola-sa humaare dil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Hum to ghar se nikle hi the baandhkar sar pe kafan
Jaan hatheli par liye lo barh chale hain ye qadam
Zindagi to apni mehmaan maut ki mehfil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Yuun khadaa maqtal mein qaatil kah rahaa hai baar baar'
Kya tamannaa-e-shahaadat bhi kisee ke dil mein hai
Dil mein tuufaanon ki toli aur nason mein inqilaab
Hosh dushman ke udaa denge humein roko na aaj
Duur reh paaye jo humse dam kahaan manzil mein hai
Sarfaroshi ki tamanna ab hamaare dil mein hai

Wo jism bhi kya jism hai jismein na ho khoon-e-junoon
Toofaanon se kya lade jo kashti-e-saahil mein hai

Chup khade hain aaj saare bhai mere khaamosh hain
Na karo to kuch kaho mazhab mera mushkil mein hai

If You Forget Me - Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I …
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost.