बुनाई का गीत  – केदारनाथ सिंह 

उठो सोये हुए धागोंउठो

उठो कि दर्जी की मशीन चलने लगी है

उठो कि धोबी पहुँच गया घाट पर

उठो कि नंगधड़ंग बच्चे

जा रहे हैं स्कूल

उठो मेरी सुबह के धागो

और मेरी शाम के धागों उठो
उठो कि ताना कहीं फँस रहा है

उठो कि भरनी में पड़ गई गाँठ

उठो कि नाव के पाल में

कुछ सूत कम पड़ रहे हैं

झाड़न में

मोजो में

टाट में

दरियों में दबे हुए धागो उठो

उठो कि कहीं कुछ गलत हो गया है

उठो कि इस दुनिया का सारा कपड़ा

फिर से बुनना होगा

उठो मेरे टूटे हुए धागो

और मेरे उलझे हुए धागो उठो

कि बुनने का समय हो रहा है

Basanta – Kedarnath Singh

और बसन्त फिर आ रहा है

शाकुन्तल का एक पन्ना

मेरी अलमारी से निकलकर

हवा में फरफरा रहा है

फरफरा रहा है कि मैं उठूँ

और आस-पास फैली हुई चीज़ों के कानों में

कह दूँ ‘ना’

एक दृढ़

और छोटी-सी ‘ना’

जो सारी आवाज़ों के विरुद्ध

मेरी छाती में सुरक्षित है
मैं उठता हूँ

दरवाज़े तक जाता हूँ

शहर को देखता हूँ

हिलाता हूँ हाथ

और ज़ोर से चिल्लाता हूँ –


मैं हैरान हूँ

मैंने कितने बरस गँवा दिये

पटरी से चलते हुए

और दुनिया से कहते हुए

हाँ हाँ हाँ… 

Poem – The Artist 

In deafening silence she examines

 the portraits of her begoned past, 

surrounding her entity with dark, 

pieces of life lost in every one. 
That what she has painted haunts 

the empty hours late at night, 

that what was sculpted in love, 

now brings forth tears of silver 
Back broken and barely breathing 

I deliver you a matt woven canvas, 

with pallets of joy and happiness 

And brushes of absolute precision 
The artist will paint again, 

It‘s engraved in their way of life, 

paint with your heart, to fix it, 

paint with your mind, to find it. 
Have faith dearest artist, have faith, 

The demons you’ve painted will forgive 

Poem – Achieve Your Dream

Achieve your dream today, 

For it will come soon, 

Work hard to it’s your chance to, 
Take your dream steadfast, 

You can be what you want to, 

It is your dreams go, 
I dare you to go for it, 

Like a flower you have to bloom, 

Why don’t you just show? 
How will you achieve this dream? 

Are you like a strong oak tree? 

Or just a sapling? 
Don’t let you dream defer like raisins, 

Have you decided yet? 

You crouch inside of my hand, 
I whisper words to you, 

The world is your hands now, 

Make it what you will. 

Poem – My Native Land

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d,

As home his footsteps he hath turn’d

From wandering on a foreign strand!

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;

For him no Minstrel raptures swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentred all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. 

Poem – Border Ballad

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order! 

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, 

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. 

Many a banner spread,

Flutters above your head, 

Many a crest that is famous in story. 

Mount and make ready then, 

Sons of the mountain glen, 

Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. 
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, 

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; 

Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, 

Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. 

Trumpets are sounding, 

War-steeds are bounding, 

Stand to your arms, then, and march in good order; 

England shall many a day 

Tell of the bloody fray, 

When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. 

Poem – Bonny Dundee

To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke. 

‘Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; 

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, 

Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,

Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; 

Come open the West Port and let me gang free, 

And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!’ 
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, 

The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat;

But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘Just e’en let him be, 

The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.’ 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, 

Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; 

But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, 

Thinking luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee! 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
With sour-featured Whigs the Grass-market was crammed, 

As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged;

There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e, 

As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, 

And lang-hafted gullies to kill cavaliers; 

But they shrunk to close-heads and the causeway was free, 

At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, 

And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; 

‘Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, 

For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.’ 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
The Gordon demands of him which way he goes— 

‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose!

Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, 

Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
‘There are hills beyond Pentland and lands beyond Forth, 

If there’s lords in the Lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North;

There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, 

Will cry hoigh! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
‘There’s brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; 

There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside;

The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free, 

At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
‘Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks— 

Ere I own an usurper, I’ll couch with the fox; 

And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, 

You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!’ 

Come fill up my cup, etc. 
He waved his proud hand, the trumpets were blown, 

The kettle-drums clashed and the horsemen rode on, 

Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermiston’s lee 

Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 

Come saddle the horses, and call up the men, 

Come open your gates, and let me gae free, 

For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!