This is a lovely Hindi poem written by Zakir khan.

मुझसे पहली सी मोहब्बत मिरी महबूब न मांग मैने समझा था कि तू है तो दरख़्शां है हयात तेरा ग़म है तो गम-ए-दहर का झगड़ा क्या है तेरी सूरत से है आलम में बहारों को सबात तेरी आँखों के सिवा दुनिया मे रक्खा क्या है तू जो मिल जाये तो तक़दीर निगूँ हो जाये यूँ न था, मैने फ़क़त चाहा था यूँ हो जाये और भी दुख हैं ज़माने में मोहब्बत के सिवा राहते और भी हैं वस्ल की राहत के सिवा अनगिनत सदियों से तारीक़ बहीमाना तिलिस्म रेशम-ओ-अतलस-ओ-कमख़्वाब में बुनवाए हुए जा-ब-जा बिकते हुए कूचा-ए-बाज़ार में जिस्म ख़ाक में लिथड़े हुए, ख़ून मे नहलाये हुए जिस्म निकले हुए अमराज़ के तन्नूरों से पीप बहती हुई गलते हुए नासूरों से लौट जाती है उधर को भी नज़र क्या कीजे अब भी दिलकश है तेरा हुस्न मगर क्या कीजे और भी दुख हैं ज़माने मे मोहब्बत के सिवा राहतें और भी हैं वस्ल की राहत के सिवा मुझसे पहली सी मोहब्बत मिरी महबूब न मांग-फैज़ अहमद फैज़ मायने दरख़्शां है हयात = जीवन सुखमय है, गम-ए-दहर=सांसारिक दुःख, आलम = दुनिया, सबात=ठहराव, निगूँ=बदल जाना, वस्ल =मिलन, तारीक़ बहीमाना तिलिस्म=क्रूरता का अंधकारमय जाल, रेशम-ओ-अतलस-ओ-कमख़्वाब=रेशम के कीमती वस्त्र, जा-ब-जा=जगह-जगह, कूचा-ए-बाज़ार = बाज़ार की गलियां, अमराज़ के तन्नूरों=बीमारियों की भट्टी, दिलकश=आकर्षक

I have been broken Broken for long Too long I have been a mess Since the day I remember As far as I can recall I am not easy to love Difficult to make sense of Impossible to predict I bring along with me the thunders and cyclones I'm the desert and the mirage Scorching sun and the warmth of the moon I can't promise you a fairytale No where close to it, But you will have demons to fight Demons residing in my past Demons of my mind and soul You'll have to conquer them all You'll be hurt, burnt and bruised Loved in a way you can never imagine Nothing will match your expectations So my darling! It's your call To stick or to move on Make your way through petals Or take me in With the thorns I adorn

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.

Poem by Amrita Pritam

I know. I know. they are limited, have different needs and concerns. but I watch and learn from them. I like the little they know, which is so much. they complain but never worry, they walk with a surprising dignity. they sleep with a direct simplicity that humans just can't understand. their eyes are more beautiful than our eyes. and they can sleep 20 hours a day without hesitation or remorse. when I am feeling low all I have to do is watch my cats and my courage returns. I study these creatures. they are my teachers.

Poem by Dushyant Kumar

Hindi poem

Take bread away from me, if you wish, take air away, but do not take from me your laughter. Do not take away the rose, the lance flower that you pluck, the water that suddenly bursts forth in joy, the sudden wave of silver born in you. My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth, but when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me and it opens for me all the doors of life. My love, in the darkest hour your laughter opens, and if suddenly you see my blood staining the stones of the street, laugh, because your laughter will be for my hands like a fresh sword. Next to the sea in the autumn, your laughter must raise its foamy cascade, and in the spring, love, I want your laughter like the flower I was waiting for, the blue flower, the rose of my echoing country. Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die. Pablo Neruda