कविता – प्रार्थना कि निशी – लक्ष्मी प्रसाद देवकोटा

लक्ष्मी प्रसाद देवकोटा

लक्ष्मी प्रसाद देवकोटा


पलक निमीलित आज निशि,
प्रार्थना छन् सलिलदृशी !


दुइटा उडुकण ढुल्कन्छन्
बादलपरेला छिचली !


निश्चल, निस्पन्द !
श्वासबन्द !


क्षणकन पार्छिन् अनन्त–दर्पण !
अर्पण !


निभिरहेछ संसार उनको !
उडिरहेछ नीरव,
दुइटा पखेटा क्रन्दनको !


बज्दछ अश्रुतबीच मसिनो
मनको तार !
अन्तर–श्वसनकनको परी प्रहार !
“ए ! सुन्दर !
एक किरण !
अमृत मुहार ! ……….”


जीवन घडीजस्तो छ !
व्यष्टि, समष्टि !
घडीका सूईका दुई हात
जोर्छिन् शिरमा, रात !
आँखा मुदी,
माग्छिन् प्रभात !

The Suicide’s Soliloquy Abraham Loncoln 

Here, where the lonely hooting owl 

Sends forth his midnight moans, 

Fierce wolves shall o’er my carcase growl, 

Or buzzards pick my bones. 
No fellow-man shall learn my fate, 

Or where my ashes lie; 

Unless by beasts drawn round their bait, 

Or by the ravens’ cry. 
Yes! I’ve resolved the deed to do, 

And this the place to do it: 

This heart I’ll rush a dagger through, 

Though I in hell should rue it! 
Hell! What is hell to one like me 

Who pleasures never know; 

By friends consigned to misery, 

By hope deserted too? 
To ease me of this power to think, 

That through my bosom raves, 

I’ll headlong leap from hell’s high brink, 

And wallow in its waves. 
Though devils yell, and burning chains 

May waken long regret; 

Their frightful screams, and piercing pains, 

Will help me to forget. 
Yes! I’m prepared, through endless night, 

To take that fiery berth! 

Think not with tales of hell to fright 

Me, who am damn’d on earth! 
Sweet steel! come forth from your sheath, 

And glist’ning, speak your powers; 

Rip up the organs of my breath, 

And draw my blood in showers! 
I strike! It quivers in that heart 

Which drives me to this end; 

I draw and kiss the bloody dart, 

My last—my only friend!

My Childhood Home I See Again – Abraham Lincoln 

My childhood’s home I see again, 
And sadden with the view; 

And still, as memory crowds my brain, 

There’s pleasure in it too. 
O Memory! thou midway world 

‘Twixt earth and paradise, 

Where things decayed and loved ones lost 

In dreamy shadows rise, 
And, freed from all that’s earthly vile, 

Seem hallowed, pure, and bright, 

Like scenes in some enchanted isle 

All bathed in liquid light. 
As dusky mountains please the eye 

When twilight chases day; 

As bugle-tones that, passing by, 

In distance die away; 
As leaving some grand waterfall, 

We, lingering, list its roar– 

So memory will hallow all 

We’ve known, but know no more. 
Near twenty years have passed away 

Since here I bid farewell 

To woods and fields, and scenes of play, 

And playmates loved so well. 
Where many were, but few remain 

Of old familiar things; 

But seeing them, to mind again 

The lost and absent brings. 
The friends I left that parting day, 

How changed, as time has sped! 

Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray, 

And half of all are dead. 
I hear the loved survivors tell 

How nought from death could save, 

Till every sound appears a knell, 

And every spot a grave. 
I range the fields with pensive tread, 

And pace the hollow rooms, 

And feel (companion of the dead) 

I’m living in the tombs. 
But here’s an object more of dread 

Than ought the grave contains– 

A human form with reason fled, 

While wretched life remains. 
Poor Matthew! Once of genius bright, 

A fortune-favored child– 

Now locked for aye, in mental night, 

A haggard mad-man wild. 
Poor Matthew! I have ne’er forgot, 

When first, with maddened will, 

Yourself you maimed, your father fought, 

And mother strove to kill; 
When terror spread, and neighbors ran, 

Your dange’rous strength to bind; 

And soon, a howling crazy man 

Your limbs were fast confined. 
How then you strove and shrieked aloud, 

Your bones and sinews bared; 

And fiendish on the gazing crowd, 

With burning eye-balls glared– 
And begged, and swore, and wept and prayed 

With maniac laught[ter?] joined– 

How fearful were those signs displayed 

By pangs that killed thy mind! 
And when at length, tho’ drear and long, 

Time smoothed thy fiercer woes, 

How plaintively thy mournful song 

Upon the still night rose. 
I’ve heard it oft, as if I dreamed, 

Far distant, sweet, and lone– 

The funeral dirge, it ever seemed 

Of reason dead and gone. 
To drink it’s strains, I’ve stole away, 

All stealthily and still, 

Ere yet the rising God of day 

Had streaked the Eastern hill. 
Air held his breath; trees, with the spell, 

Seemed sorrowing angels round, 

Whose swelling tears in dew-drops fell 

Upon the listening ground. 
But this is past; and nought remains, 

That raised thee o’er the brute. 

Thy piercing shrieks, and soothing strains, 

Are like, forever mute. 
Now fare thee well–more thou the cause, 

Than subject now of woe. 

All mental pangs, by time’s kind laws, 

Hast lost the power to know. 
O death! Thou awe-inspiring prince, 

That keepst the world in fear; 

Why dost thos tear more blest ones hence, 

And leave him ling’ring here?

Poem -Hymn III: All That Pass By, To Jesus Draw Near – John Wesley 

All that pass by, To Jesus draw near, 

He utters a cry, Ye sinners, give ear! 

From hell to retrieve you He spreads out his hands; 

Now, now to receive you, He graciously stands. 
If any man thirst, And happy would be, 

The vilest and worst May come unto me, 

May drink of my Spirit, Excepted is none, 

Lay claim to my merit, And take for his own. 
Whoever receives The life-giving word, 

In Jesus believes, His God and his Lord, 

In him a pure river Of life shall arise, 

Shall in the believer Spring up to the skies. 
My God and my Lord! Thy call I obey, 

My soul on thy word Of promise I stay, 

Thy kind invitation I gladly embrace, 

Athirst for salvation, Salvation by grace. 
O hasten the hour! Send down from above 

The Spirit of power, Of health, and of love, 

Of filial fear, Of knowledge and grace, 

Of wisdom and prayer, Of joy and of praise; 

The Spirit of faith, Of faith in thy blood, 

Which saves us from wrath, And brings us to God, 

Removes the huge mountain Of indwelling sin, 

And opens a fountain That washes us clean.