SINGH, Khushwant

…..
Once through this ruined city did I pass

I espied a lonely bird on a bough and asked

‘What knowest thou of this wilderness?’

It replied: 'I can sum it up in two words:

‘Alas, Alas!

(Delhi)

…..


Not forever does the bulbul sing
…..
Not forever does the bulbul sing

In balmy shades of bowers,

Not forever lasts the spring

Nor ever blossom the flowers.

Not forever reigneth joy,

Sets the sun on days of bliss,

Friendships not forever last,

They know not life, who know not this.

(Train to Pakistan)

…..


So many gods, so many creeds,

so many paths that wind and wind,

when just the art of being kind

Is all that the sad world needs.

( The End of India )


Pickled in Rum

*The horse and the mule live for 30 years,*

*And know nothing of wines and beers;*

*The goat and sheep at 20 die,*

*And never get a taste of Scotch and rye.*

*The cow drinks water by the tonne*

*And at 18 is mostly done*

*Without the aid of rum and gin.*

*The cat in milk and water soaks,*

*And then in 12 short years it croaks.*

*The modest, sober, bone-dry hen*

*Lays eggs for others, then dies at 10.*

*All animals are strictly dry,*

*They sinless live and swiftly die.*

*But sinful, ginful, rum-soaked men*

*Survive for three score years and ten,*

*And some of them, though very few,*

*Stay pickled till they’re 92.*