the age of innocence

dolls

ruslan and lyudmila-an ode to love

RUSLAN AND LYUDMILA: THE PROLOGUE l A green oak tree’s by a cove curving; A gold chain on that oak is found, And night and day a cat most learned Walks by that chain, around, around, When he walks right, sweet songs intoning, When leftwards, tells a fairy tale. Wonders are there, wood spirits roaming, Mermaids from branches hang their tail, On paths of which no one has knowledge Of unseen beasts there lurk the spoors, On chicken legs a little cottage Stands without windows, without doors. With visions wood and vale are yawning, There waves come crashing at light’s dawning Upon the sandy, empty beach, And thirty knights in armor gorgeous The clear sea one by one disgorges With their sea-uncle them to teach. And there a king's son, that way chancing, Does a dread monarch captive seize, There past the people, in clouds passing, Right through the woods, right through the seas, A wizard bears a knight with ease. A princess there's in prison pining. A brown wolf by her, faithfully lying , There Baba-Yaga's mortar dread Itself, with her inside, does tread. There Tsar Kashey on his gold moulders, There Russian scents of Rus' give odors! And there I've passed, and honey quaffed And seen the oak by that cove curving, Sat under it, and the cat learned His fairy tales to me repassed. I've one remembered, and this story Through me now comes to light, world, glory. Руслан и Людмила: Пролог У лукоморья дуб зеленый; Златая цепь на дубе том: И днем и ночью кот ученый Все ходит по цепи кругом; Идет направо – песнь заводит, Налево – сказку говорит.                                  Там чудеса: там леший бродит, Русалка на ветвях сидит; Там на неведомых дорожках Следы невиданных зверей; Избушка там на курьих ножках Стоит без окон, без дверей; Там лес и дол видений полны; Там о заре прихлынут волны На брег песчаный и пустой, И тридцать витязей прекрасных Чредой из вод выходят ясных, И с ними дядька их морской; Там королевич мимоходом                              Пленяет грозного царя; Там в облаках перед народом Через леса, через моря Колдун несет богатыря; В темнице там царевна тужит, А бурый волк ей верно служит; Там ступа с Бабою Ягой Идет, бредет сама собой; Там царь Кащей над златом чахнет; Там русский дух…там Русью пахнет! И там я был, и мед я пил; У моря видел дуб зеленый; Под ним сидел, и кот ученый Свои мне сказки говорил. Одну я помню: сказку эту Поведаю теперь я свету.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niR6AGa0zSs

Raja ravi varma-artist extraordinaire

mirza ghalib-poet of the revolution

Hain aur bhi duniya mein sukhanwar bahut acche par kehte hain ke ghalib ka hai andaaz e bayaan kuch aur
poets there are many but ghalib remains unsurpassed.



Na tha kuchh to khudaa tha, kuchh naa hota to khudaa hota,
Dubayaa mujhko honay ne, na hota main toh kya hota ?
Hua jab ghamm say yoon behiss to ghamm kya sarr kay katnay ka,
Na hota gar juda tann say to zanoo par dharaa hota,
Huye muddat key ghalib marr gaya par yaad aata hai,
Har ek baat par kahnaa key yun hota to kya hota 

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? 

Hathoon key lakiroon pay matt jaa ae Ghalib,
Naseeb unkay bhi hotay hain jinkaay haath nahi hotay 

be the creator of your own fate



Kaiday-hayaat, banday-gham asal may dono eik hain,
Maut say pahlay aadmey gham say nigaat paye kyun?

being and nothingness are the two faces of the same truth


Hazaroon khwaheeshen aise ki har khwahesh pay dum nikale,
Bahhut nikale meray armaan lekin phirr bhi kam nikale 

the brilliant atman is essentially a dreamer


Nuktaa chi hai gam e dil, key sunayaa na banay,
Kya baat banay wahan, jahan baat banyay na banay,
Ishq par zorr nahi hai yeh woh attissh Ghalib,
Jo lagaye na lagay bhujhaye na banay 

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.
That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour! Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.