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Shakespeare’s Sonnet 15

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night,
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Jagadish Chandra Bose Achievements

When we talk about the science and the contribution of Indian Scientists, the foremost name we utter instinctively, is Jagadish Chandra Bose. Born on 30 November 1858, in Bikrampur, Bangladesh, Jagadish Chandra Bose was truly a scholar when we come across a prodigy like him who was a Bengali Polymath, Physicist, biologist, botanist, archaeologist, and writer of science fiction.

His true worth is realized when we hear the words of D.S. Dasgupta. He said, “Bose was modern India’s first Physicist, after all, one of her very first scientists. He was his motherland’s first active participant in the Galilean – Newtonian tradition. He had confounded the British disbeliever. He had shown that the Eastern mind was indeed capable of the exact and exacting thinking demanded by western science. He had broken the mold.”

After the failure of their studies in medicine due to health problems, he returned to India and joined Presidency as a professor of Physics in 1885. He then began his research on refraction, diffraction, and polarization. There is a controversy about whether he was the inventor of wireless telegraphy. After his successful research on physics, he turned to metals and plants. He proved that metals do have feelings and memory.

But Bose is highly acclaimed for his research on plants. With the help of poison, he
proved that plants have life and react to heat, cold and other sensitivities. He recorded his experiments and availed to us through his books. He wrote ‘Response in the living and Non-living” and “The nervous mechanism of plants”. He was even the inventor of an instrument called “coherer” which he used to prove reactions to radio waves.

The famous ‘Bose Institute’ was established by him before his death in 1937. This
great scientist passed away on November 23, 1937. Scientists die but their contributions always remain relevant to us. J.C. Bose started an era in Indian Science that must excel in its full colour. Let reverent Bose become a source of inspiration beyond in the future generations.

Daffodils I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

The Darkling Thrush BY Thomas Hardy ISC English Poem

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was
spectre-grey,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of
day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken
lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their
household fires.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse
outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his
death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled
plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

Birches By Robert Frost ISC English Poem

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

The Dolphins By Carol Ann Duffy ISC English Poem

World is what you swim in, or dance, it is simple.
We are in our element but we are not free.
Outside this world you cannot breathe for long.
The other has my shape. The other’s movement
forms my thoughts. And also mine. There is a man
and there are hoops. There is a constant flowing guilt.

We have found no truth in these waters,
no explanations tremble on our flesh.
We were blessed and now we are not blessed.
After travelling such space for days we began
to translate. It was the same space. It is
the same space always and above it is the man.
And now we are no longer blessed, for the world
will not deepen to dream in. The other knows
and out of love reflects me for myself.
We see our silver skin flash by like memory
of somewhere else. There is a coloured ball
we have to balance till the man has disappeared.

The moon has disappeared. We circle well-worn grooves
of water on a single note. Music of loss forever
from the other’s heart which turns my own to stone.
There is a plastic toy. There is no hope. We sink
to the limits of this pool until the whistle blows.
There is a man and our mind knows we will die here.

The Gift Of India By Sarojini Naidu ISC English Poem

Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo ! I have flung to the East and the West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of the duty, the sabers of doom.
Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands,
they are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France.
Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro’ my heart’s despair
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of victory?
when the terror and the tumult of hate shall cease
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought on the dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the dauntless ones,
Remember the blood of my martyred sons!

Crossing The Bar By Alfred Lord Tennyson ISC English Poem

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

John Brown by Bob Dylan ISC English Poem

John Brown went off to war to fight on a foreign shore
His mama sure was proud of him
He stood straight and tall in his uniform and all
His mama’s face broke out all in a grin
“Oh son, you look so fine, I’m glad you’re a son of mine
You make me proud to know you hold a gun
Do what the captain says, lots of medals you will get
And we’ll put them on the wall when you come home”
As that old train pulled out, John’s ma began to shout
Tellin’ ev’ryone in the neighborhood
“That’s my son that’s about to go, he’s a soldier now, you know”
She made well sure her neighbors understood
She got a letter once in a while and her face broke into a smile
As she showed them to the people from next door
And she bragged about her son with his uniform and gun
And these things you called a good old-fashioned war
Oh, good old-fashioned war!
Then the letters ceased to come, for a long time they did not come
They ceased to come for about ten months or more
Then a letter finally came saying, “Go down and meet the train
Your son’s a-coming home from the war”
She smiled and went right down, she looked everywhere around
But she could not see her soldier son in sight
But as all the people passed, she saw her son at last
When she did she could hardly believe her eyes
Oh his face was all shot up and his hand was all blown off
And he wore a metal brace around his waist
He whispered kind of slow, in a voice she did not know
While she couldn’t even recognize his face!
Oh, lord, not even recognize his face!
“Oh tell me, my darling son, pray tell me what they done
How is it you come to be this way?”
He tried his best to talk but his mouth could hardly move
And the mother had to turn her face away
“Don’t you remember, ma, when I went off to war
You thought it was the best thing I could do?
I was on the battleground, you were home acting proud
You wasn’t there standing in my shoes”
“Oh, and I thought when I was there, God, what am I doing here?
I’m a-tryin’ to kill somebody or die tryin’
But the thing that scared me most was when my enemy came close
And I saw that his face looked just like mine”
Oh, lord, just like mine!
“And I couldn’t help but think, through the thunder rolling and stink
That I was just a puppet in a play
And through the roar and smoke, this string is finally broke
And a cannonball blew my eyes away”
As he turned away to walk, his ma was still in shock
At seein’ the metal brace that helped him stand
But as he turned to go, he called his mother close
And he dropped his medals down into her hand

Desiderata speech by Max Ehrmann ISC English Literature

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

 

About Basavanna

Basavanna was an Indian twelfth-century legislator, rationalist, writer, Lingayat holy person in the Shiva-focussed Bhakti development, and Hindu Shaivite social reformer. He was brought into the world in 1130 CE, Basavana Bagewadi, in Vijayapura locale, Karnataka, India.

Basavanna spread social mindfulness through his verse, prevalently known as Vachanaas. Basavanna dismissed sex or social segregation, strange notions, and so forth.

Basavanna’s insightful works fuse the Vachana Sahitya in the Kannada Language. He is otherwise called Bhaktibhandari, Basavanna, or Basaveswara.

A few works are ascribed to Basavanna, which are respected in the Lingayat people group. These join distinctive Vachana, for instance, the Crapped sthala-vachana, Kala-jnana-vachana, Mantra-copy, Ghatachakra-vachana, and Raja-yoga-vachana.

About A. K. Ramanujam

Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan was an Indian author and scholar of Indian composing who wrote in both English and Kannada. He was brought into the world on 16 Walk 1929, Mysore, Regal Territory of Mysore, English India.

Ramanujan was taught at Marimallappa’s Secondary School, Mysore, and at the Maharaja School of Mysore. In school, Ramanujan contemplated science in his first year. Yet his father persuaded him to change his major from science to English.

Afterwards, Ramanujan turned into an Individual of Deccan School, Pune in 1958–59. And then he turned into a Fulbright Researcher at Indiana College in 1959–62. He learnt English at the College of Mysore and got his PhD in Etymology from Indiana College.

Ramanujan filled in as a teacher of English at Quilon and Belgaum. He educated at other US colleges too, including Harvard College, College of Wisconsin, College of Michigan and so on he has delegated the William E.

And then Colvin Teacher in the Branches of South Asian Dialects and Developments, of Phonetics, and in the Board of trustees on Social Idea at the College of Chicago. That very year, he got a MacArthur Association.

A. K. Ramanujan passed on in Chicago on 13 July 1993 as an aftereffect of an unfavorable response to sedation during groundwork for the medical procedure.

The Temple And The Body (Vachana)

Title of The Temple and the Body (Vachana)

Yes, the title of the poem is quite apt.

As the craftsman Basavanna was poor, he offered his body to god Shiva. He offered his body without instinct anything for God. He fell kind of cash to develop a sanctuary for God. In this manner he committed his body as a hallowed place to God.

The human body is in contrast with the sanctuary as people say that God lives in the body of each individual. so the human body is the home of god…

The human body according to belief and knowledge is safe-haven but people say that God exists in every human. So every human has a heavenly being inside them.

Summary Of The Temple and the Body (Vachana)

The writer wants to satisfy God by building a sanctuary for him yet is a helpless man, and henceforth can’t do as such. And he contemplates in pain whether he will have the option to satisfy God.

The writer chooses to regard his own body as a sanctuary, with his legs for columns, body for the place of worship, and the head for a dome of gold. He supports himself by saying that ‘things standing will fall’, implying that structures will be annihilated by wind, downpour, and daylight.

The writer is glad that ‘the moving ever will remain’, implying that he will have the option to convey the ‘sanctuary’ and his ‘God’ always with himself, thus it will never be annihilated. It will ‘stay’.

The theme of The Temple and the Body (Vachana)

Emergence of spirituality

In this poem, Basavanna discloses to us that a rich man can bear to construct excellent sanctuaries out of appreciation for divine beings, yet helpless man can’t.

Notwithstanding, with his commitment, i.e., with unadulterated contemplations, activities, and deeds, he can transform his body into a sanctuary.

Worship and divine

Here the poet wants to satisfy God by building sanctuaries for Him. He wants to do this like rich individuals. However, he doesn’t have the assets to do as such.

Thus, he devotes himself to the administration of God by regarding his legs as the mainstays of the sanctuary, his body the blessed place of worship, his head the vault or the brilliant arch of the sanctuary.

Since he isn’t with the permission to adore in the sanctuaries, he chooses to venerate the Ruler in his own – heart and respect His each’ wish. He announces that he will move (or comply) to the orders of the Master since that is how he can be nearest to the Ruler. ‘

Things standing will fall’ alludes to the sanctuaries which can be decimated by seismic tremors, floods, or the breeze, while the heart loaded up with commitment towards the master will remain godlike.