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C. RAJAGOPALACHARI ³I have struggled for thirty years´ Said my friend,± ³He was preparing for a Jubilee. ³But who that lives struggles not?´ I asked, and he agreed. Life is a struggle all the time One or another sort for every one; From when the child is pushed Head foremost into the cold world Each breath is a struggle And every thought is a struggle, For struggle is the throb of life. Envy not, for every soul And every breathing body struggles. And those who live in ease They struggle too against hated ennui. The fatigue you feel as the years grow It is the gentle voice of nature That you must round your stalks And prepare to fall away. Spring! And Summer! Then Autumn comes And the leaves that served the mother tree And shone in the splendour of active life Softly they drop with rounded stalks; And in golden yellow quietly smile At the leafy vanities that are over. Ah, men! Our foolish loves And our more foolish hates They also find their dropping dates, And sometimes suddenly the date arrives, Yet always as an unfailing friend does Death Ring down the curtain on our follies.

Yet shown myself as a servant of Vishnu. In doing good you have felt no interest. however. For nothing have I laboured thus foolishly. that you are so anxious? For whom do you hoard this wealth? Wife and children. None of them will go with you when you leave the world. For improper expenditure a crore has been a pie. In discourse greatly learned. I have toiled and toiled and got money. For giving in charity a pie has been a thousand. In doing evil awake and active.The Shield of Life BY NARAHARI-TIRTHA 1 (Translated from Kannada by Masti Venkatesa Iyengar) I have been foolish in this wise. Give up the enemies within the self. As the years have passed I have grown more covetous And am loading myself with error. And have married young women. I have lost God and fallen. the King of the Universe. Save me my God. and felt no fear. For whom is it. Call on Him whom all righteous men worship. loved money and worldly pleasure And wronged God and the teachers. In words I have been God¶s servant. . friends and others. The Lord of all good. The mind has. Call on God to whom all creation submits. If people abuse my wife I abuse in return. If they abuse God I hear and smile. And worshipped low gods. soul. I have gathered stone and shell like a child And given up the shield of life. Straying from the path and immersed in desire.

My soul athrill would wing! But does one know When they outflow And whither they are bound? When in blind glooms The cannon booms From clouds¶ artillery. where Nerbudda rang through the echoing precipices. R. from the poem "Jirna Durga" in Marathi) Stretched in front. Such heroes dwelt of old in this±in this very heap! But now doth here some lowly priest the idol-goddess worship. O starry King. In sweetness the world is drowned. sang the songs of success. Not only life but all that life is for they gave. brave and venturesome. Thy lightning-flares reply. Deshpande. their dwellings made. where. lion-like men. the gruesome citadel lies dilapidated««. A Dilapidated Fort BY BALAKAVI (Rendered by B. their creed. Flowery beds were strewn in this very fort¶s pleasure-palaces and when the fire of freedom flamed. told them of their duty. As the shadows drum Thy anklets numb. of old. and to anoint it ever with blood.Krishna's Anklets BY RAIHANA TYABJI (Translated by Dilip Kumar Roy from the original poem in Hindi) Thy anklets ring around Whence-who can tell? Like a trailing bell Thy love¶s own footfalls sound! In the sky at peace. . Their only goddess was their sharp sword-blade. To cadences Of thy Flute. in their freedom¶s need. all were burnt to ashes.

not here alone but everywhere! In us too no feeling arises.His hand besmears the image with sandal-paste. . Drunk with intoxicating µbhang. vermilion powder mixed. with feelings none±glad for a pie or two! Such is the sport of time. For we dwell in a dingy attic. µWhy should such lowly creatures as ourselves great mansions have?¶ . and that one rented! And say we. incoherent and fixed. contentedly.¶ he babbles a tale of old.

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