8 verses · ~2 min
तुम मन्द चलो, ध्वनि के खतरे बिखरे मग में- तुम मन्द चलो।
सूझों का पहिन कलेवर-सा, विकलाई का कल जेवर-सा, घुल-घुल आँखों के पानी में- फिर छलक-छलक बन छन्द चलो। पर मन्द चलो।
प्रहरी पलकें? चुप, सोने दो! धड़कन रोती है? रोने दो! पुतली के अँधियारे जग में- साजन के मग स्वच्छन्द चलो। पर मन्द चलो।
ये फूल, कि ये काँटे आली, आये तेरे बाँटे आली! आलिंगन में ये सूली हैं- इनमें मत कर फर-फन्द चलो। तुम मन्द चलो।
ओठों से ओठों की रूठन, बिखरे प्रसाद, छुटे जूठन, यह दण्ड-दान यह रक्त-स्नान, करती चुपचाप पसंद चलो। पर मन्द चलो।
ऊषा, यह तारों की समाधि, यह बिछुड़न की जगमगी व्याधि, तुम भी चाहों को दफनाती, छवि ढोती, मत्त गयन्द चलो। पर मन्द चलो।
सारा हरियाला, दूबों का, ओसों के आँसू ढाल उठा, लो साथी पाये-भागो ना, बन कर सखि, मत्त मरंद चलो। तुम मन्द चलो।
ये कड़ियाँ हैं, ये घड़ियाँ हैं पल हैं, प्रहार की लड़ियाँ हैं नीरव निश्वासों पर लिखती- अपने सिसकन, निस्पन्द चलो। तुम मन्द चलो।
इति
The Poet
माखनलाल चतुर्वेदी
Makhanlal Chaturvedi
1889 · 1968
There is a poem that lives at the absolute center of the Indian literary imagination of sacrifice a poem in which a flower, offered for worship, instead asks to be pressed into the wreath of a martyr, to fall upon a brave man's chest as he marches into the cannon's mouth. That poem is Pushp Ki Abhilasha The Flower's Longing and its author, Makhanlal Chaturvedi, composed it with the hand of a man who had already offered himself in exactly the same spirit. He was imprisoned multiple times by British colonial authorities for his journalism and his poetry. He was the editor of Prabha, one of the luminous literary political journals of the independence era. He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi's very first prize in 1955, and the Padma Bhushan followed. But what no institutional recognition can fully capture is the texture of his moral life the extraordinary combination of burning patriotic fire and absolute personal humility, a man who wrote about martyrdom while quietly being available for it himself. Born in Babai in 1889, he lived to see the independence he had helped dream into existence, and then he wrote on for two decades more, finding in a free India new obligations for the literary conscience. He is the poet of pure sacrifice not sacrifice celebrated from a distance, but sacrifice inhabited, practiced, and offered without expectation of return.
Paired Painting
Lady in Moonlight Meeting Snakes in a Forest
This exquisite miniature transports us into the velvety, hushed depths of a midnight forest where earthly fears dissolve into the profound quiet of devotion and longing. Dressed in deep indigo and violet garments that shimmer under the pale moonlight, a solitary lady braves the dark woodland. At her feet, delicate serpents undulate gently across the mossy earth, yet there is no terror here, only a mystical harmony between humankind and nature. The weeping branches of the trees drip with blossoms, framing the vignette like a sacred stage. Classical Indian poetry often immortalized the Abhisarika Nayika, the courageous heroine who steps out into the dangerous night to meet her beloved, completely protected by the purity of her intentions and the intensity of her love.
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