Mahak kya hai fizaao se puchhu,
Pyar kya hai mere dil se puchhu,
Tadap kya hai meri deewangi se puchhu,
Hum kitne tanha hai tumhare bina ye bhari mehfil se puchhu,
(FROM SAMEER)
Not the poem which we have read , but that to which we return , with the greatest pleasure, possesses the genuine power, and claims the name of essential poetry .
Freedom of life does not mean disorder of life, does not mean chaos, and just everyone doing anything he wants. That is not the freedom of life. The tree, when you give it a chance, protect it when it is young, will grow straight, because it has developed its own resistance; but the moment you make it delicate, then it gets crooked.
For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist with his own petar; and't shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines And blow them at the moon.
Possibly it had occurred to him the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. [...] It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one.
Ishq ka wasta de ke ek dafa hame
manaya to hota,
Dil laga k ek aawaaz lagaya to
hota,
Kaanto bhara safar bhi hum yu tay
kar lete,
bBas jaan kah k ek baar hame
bulaya to hota.....
The art of living... is neither careless drifting on the one hand nor fearful clinging to the past on the other. It consists in being sensitive to each moment, in regarding it as utterly new and unique, in having the mind open and wholly receptive.