HOPE ~BY EMILY DICKINSON
Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
A tiny brown triangle on the finger tip
Promises to explore distant lands on a trip
My first love killed herself,
Not in the way you think,
Not with a gun to her head,
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
A Bird, came down the Walk –
He did not know I saw –
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Aaj phir dastak ne mujhko jagaya hai
Kya kisi ne dhoondha hai ya khud se mil gaye ho
It seems a lot of work.
Looks difficult, somehow.
But if it’s got to be done,
स्पन्दन में चिर निस्पन्द बसा
क्रन्दन में आहत विश्व हँसा
नयनों में दीपक से जलते,