
ਦੀਵਾਲੀ ਦੀ ਰਾਤ ਦੀਵੇ ਬਾਲੀਅਨਿ॥
ਤਾਰੇ ਜਾਤ ਸਨਾਤ ਅੰਬਰ ਭਾਲੀਅਨਿ॥
ਫੁਲਾਂ ਦੀ ਬਾਗਾਤ ਚੁਣ ਚੁਣ ਚਾਲੀਅਨਿ॥
ਤੀਰਥਿ ਜਾਤੀ ਜਾਤ ਨੈਣ ਨਿਹਾਲੀਅਨਿ॥
ਹਰਿ ਚੰਦਉਰੀ ਝਾਤ ਵਸਾਇ ਉਚਾਲੀਅਨਿ॥
ਗੁਰਮੁਖ ਸੁਖਫਲ ਦਾਤ ਸ਼ਬਦ ਸਮ੍ਹਾਲੀਅਨਿ ॥ö॥
My call is the call of battle, I nourish active rebellion, He going with me must go well arm'd, He going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. (Walt Whitman)
PURAN SINGH
While the dawn was yet young a Sikh mother emerged out of
Space, and was seen moving towards the Golden Temple at
Amritsar.
“Whither are you going mother?” said Dewan Kauramall. A minister
Of the Mughal ruler of Lahore.
“To the Guru’s Temple,” said she, “to-day assemble there the Guru’s
Khalsa, the holy ones, and I have come to bathe myself and my
child in the current of Nam.”
“But the opening of the temple to the Khalsa to-day is treachery,”
Said the Dewan, “The imperial forces are here to kill every one
That enters the temple.
To-day there will be a great massacre of the Khalsa.”
“What matters it, O good man,” said the Sikh mother, “if my blood
Be mingled with the waters of immortality, it is no death?”
“Have pity on your innocent child,” said the Dewan.
“I loved him so I bring him with me; this death is life for us. You do
Chasham-e-Nam, Jan-e-shorida kafi nahin
tuhmat-e-ishaq poshida kafi nahin
aaj bazar mein pabejolan chalo
dast afshan chalo, mast o raksan chalo
khak barsar chalo, khoon badaman chalo
rah takta hay sub sher-e-jana chalo
hakim-e-sher bhi, majma-e-aam bhi
teer-e-ilzam bhi, sung-e-dushnam bhi
subh-e-nashad bhi, roz-e-nakam bhi
in ka dam saz apnay siwa kon hay
sher-e-jana main aab ba sifa kon hay
dast-e-qatil kay shayan raha kon hay
rakht-e-dil bandh lo dil figaro chalo
phir hameen qatl ho aayin yaro chalo