You must read this poem of Gopal Das Neeraj
There were many lyricists in the film industry who immortalized many songs by incorporating philosophy in their lyrics. Gopal Das Neeraj was such a great poet whose pearl words, when met with sensitivity, created a series of songs which was praised by everyone. He wrote very few songs compared to other lyricists in the film industry, but those songs were such that they are remembered even after 5 decades. Their relevance is such that these songs come to the lips of people of every generation. When it comes to romance, Neeraj writes the song ‘Shokhiyon Mein Ghola Jaye Phoolon Ka Shabab’ and makes everyone intoxicated with the divine intoxication of love. When he put the meaning of life in his songs, he wrote ‘Ae Bhai Zara Dekh Ke Chalo’.
When he captured in his songs the distress of man with the increasing hands of time, he wrote –
I had not even woken up before the sun went down.
As soon as my feet stood up, life slipped away.
The rain fell and the branches were burnt.
The desire could not be fulfilled, but the age has passed.
songs became tears
verses got buried
All the lamps accompanying us went out in smoke.
And we bowed down
halting at the turn
keep watching the ups and downs of age
The caravan passed, we kept watching the clouds.
A capable poet always writes poems not only on the past and present but also creates his vision for the future. Now its significance is that if those poems go into the future and meet the circumstances. Today destruction is spread everywhere. People are ready to kill and destroy. The powers that be are dominating in the wrong direction. In such a situation, Gopal Das Neeraj had also made a hypothesis decades ago through which he had ruled out the possibility of a third world war. Today, when unfortunately such possibilities are heard from anywhere, then this rock-like poem by Gopal Das comes before it. This in itself preserves the possibilities of life becoming cheerful and enlightened in the difficult times to come. Let us read this poem written by Gopal Das Neeraj on his 100th birth anniversary.
Title of the poem- ​​I am wondering if there is a third war-
I am wondering what will happen to the new crop of this new morning if there is a third war. I am wondering what will happen to the hustle and bustle of this Rang Mahal if there is blood on the ground.
These smiling roses, these fragrant candles, these buds of beauty spreading magic, these lovely swinging earrings, this joy of the paddy fields, these blushing wheat lanes
This slow laughter of the gurgling pomegranates, these swinging wings of the lovers, this movement of the rivers with the waves loose, this song of the waterfalls on the strings of water.
The mischievous chatter of the eyes, the noise of the parrots, the dawn of the peacock, the hum of the beetles, the crackle of lightning, the flickering of the clouds, the jog of the fireflies, the jingle of crickets
These children squealing with milk, a group of soldiers jumping fearlessly, these moon-like faces making Rati blush, these words of Payal stealing the music
This challenge of Allah, this beat of Dholak, the recitation of Sura-Meera, Kabira’s speech, this teasing of the agile girls at Panghat, Radha’s secret reluctance to meet Kanha.
Will silence spread death over all of them? Will everything remain in the form of mist and smoke? Will the coal ever cook? Will the puppy never come to the garden again? Will the beloved be called near?
Who has just come home with vermilion, whose henna on her hands is still wet, who has not been able to come out of the veil, whose hair is still yellow due to turmeric.
Will she take off her dear sister’s saree and sell her bangles in the markets every day? Will that mother, whose motherhood has burst from her breast, bury her milk in the tombs?
Will there be a shower of bullets, what destruction will the monsoon bring, will the embers bloom in the swing of Amrai, will the embers blossom in the branches of the garden, will hatred sound in the clarinet of the bumblebees?
Chanakya, Marx, Engels, Lenin, Gandhi, Subhash, whose voices the centuries repeat, Tulsi, Barzil, Homer, Gorky Shah, Milton, whose songs the rocks still sing.
I wonder whether their pens will not wake up when huts are set on fire, whether their graves will turn when their daughters sleep on the road hungry.
When Asia will suffer with a wounded chest, then how will Valmiki’s patience not waver? When the hungry Quran’s verses will die, then will the blood of Firdausi say anything?
In the same way, the movements are like this, the juice is flowing like this, the body is shaking like this, the mind is shaking like this, the mind is such that the chirping is like this, the bumblebee, the bud, the bud opens the veil.
Drums should play like this, manjire chimes should play like this, musical instruments should jingle like laughter, earrings should swing like this, cheeks should kiss the hair like songs, lullabies should be sung like this.
This is how the clouds changed, Kajali Akulaaye, this is how the separation words were recited, Saawariya, this is how Holi lit up, Diwali smiled, this is how every garden blossomed and blossomed.
Let the stoves burn like this, ashes remain hot, let Mahavira keep offering food like this, let the pulses boil like this, let the baskets be churned like this, let the meera of the house sing like this.
It has progressed a long way, now the chariot construction will not be stopped by the force of bombs, the camp of the martyrs is peaceful, there will be no war on every floor, now there will be no war.
