Home Actress Lisa Ray Instagram Photos and Posts – February 2021 Lisa Ray Instagram - WASIYAT Fully conscious and in good health, I am writing today my will: After my death Ransack my room Search each item That is scattered Unlocked Everywhere in my house. Donate my dreams To all those women Who between the confines of The kitchen and the bedroom Have lost their world Have forgotten years ago What it is to dream. Scatter my laughter Among the inmates of old-age homes Whose children Are lost To the glittering cities of America. There are some colours Lying on my table With them dye the sari of the girl Whose border is edged With the blood of her man Who wrapped in the tricolor Was laid to rest last evening. Give my tears To all the poets Every drop Will birth a poem I promise. Make sure you catch the youth Of the country, everyone And inject them With my indignation They will need it Come the revolution. My ecstasy Belongs to That Sufi Who Abandoning everything Has set off in search of God. Finally, What’s left My envy My greed My anger My lies My selfishness These simply Cremate with me... - original poem published in Hindi by Basbusha Kohli, a young poet from M.P. appears in Amrita Pritam’s anthology titled ‘Prem Gilahri, Dil Akhrot’ Thank you to those who clarified it’s origins for me.

Lisa Ray Instagram – WASIYAT Fully conscious and in good health, I am writing today my will: After my death Ransack my room Search each item That is scattered Unlocked Everywhere in my house. Donate my dreams To all those women Who between the confines of The kitchen and the bedroom Have lost their world Have forgotten years ago What it is to dream. Scatter my laughter Among the inmates of old-age homes Whose children Are lost To the glittering cities of America. There are some colours Lying on my table With them dye the sari of the girl Whose border is edged With the blood of her man Who wrapped in the tricolor Was laid to rest last evening. Give my tears To all the poets Every drop Will birth a poem I promise. Make sure you catch the youth Of the country, everyone And inject them With my indignation They will need it Come the revolution. My ecstasy Belongs to That Sufi Who Abandoning everything Has set off in search of God. Finally, What’s left My envy My greed My anger My lies My selfishness These simply Cremate with me… – original poem published in Hindi by Basbusha Kohli, a young poet from M.P. appears in Amrita Pritam’s anthology titled ‘Prem Gilahri, Dil Akhrot’ Thank you to those who clarified it’s origins for me.

Lisa Ray Instagram - WASIYAT Fully conscious and in good health, I am writing today my will: After my death Ransack my room Search each item That is scattered Unlocked Everywhere in my house. Donate my dreams To all those women Who between the confines of The kitchen and the bedroom Have lost their world Have forgotten years ago What it is to dream. Scatter my laughter Among the inmates of old-age homes Whose children Are lost To the glittering cities of America. There are some colours Lying on my table With them dye the sari of the girl Whose border is edged With the blood of her man Who wrapped in the tricolor Was laid to rest last evening. Give my tears To all the poets Every drop Will birth a poem I promise. Make sure you catch the youth Of the country, everyone And inject them With my indignation They will need it Come the revolution. My ecstasy Belongs to That Sufi Who Abandoning everything Has set off in search of God. Finally, What’s left My envy My greed My anger My lies My selfishness These simply Cremate with me... - original poem published in Hindi by Basbusha Kohli, a young poet from M.P. appears in Amrita Pritam’s anthology titled ‘Prem Gilahri, Dil Akhrot’ Thank you to those who clarified it’s origins for me.

Lisa Ray Instagram – WASIYAT

Fully conscious and in good health, I am writing today my will:

After my death
Ransack my room
Search each item
That is scattered
Unlocked
Everywhere in my house.

Donate my dreams
To all those women
Who between the confines of
The kitchen and the bedroom
Have lost their world
Have forgotten years ago
What it is to dream.

Scatter my laughter
Among the inmates of old-age homes
Whose children
Are lost
To the glittering cities of America.

There are some colours
Lying on my table
With them dye the sari of the girl
Whose border is edged
With the blood of her man
Who wrapped in the tricolor
Was laid to rest last evening.

Give my tears
To all the poets
Every drop
Will birth a poem
I promise.

Make sure you catch the youth
Of the country, everyone
And inject them
With my indignation
They will need it
Come the revolution.

My ecstasy
Belongs to
That Sufi
Who
Abandoning everything
Has set off in search of God.

Finally,
What’s left
My envy
My greed
My anger
My lies
My selfishness
These simply Cremate with me…

– original poem published in Hindi by Basbusha Kohli, a young poet from M.P. appears in Amrita Pritam’s anthology titled ‘Prem Gilahri, Dil Akhrot’

Thank you to those who clarified it’s origins for me. | Posted on 24/Feb/2021 06:18:56

Lisa Ray Instagram – We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

-Maya Angelou (condensed and edited)
Lisa Ray Instagram – WASIYAT

Fully conscious and in good health,  I am writing today my will:

After my death
Ransack my room
Search each item
That is scattered
Unlocked
Everywhere in my house.
 
Donate my dreams
To all those women
Who between the confines of
The kitchen and the bedroom
Have lost their world
Have forgotten years ago
What it is to dream.

Scatter my laughter
Among the inmates of old-age homes
Whose children
Are lost
To the glittering cities of America.

There are some colours
Lying on my table
With them dye the sari of the girl
Whose border is edged
With the blood of her man
Who wrapped in the tricolor
Was laid to rest last evening.

Give my tears
To all the poets
Every drop
Will birth a poem
I promise.

Make sure you catch the youth
Of the country, everyone
And inject them
With my indignation
They will need it
Come the revolution.

My ecstasy
Belongs to
That Sufi
Who
Abandoning everything
Has set off in search of God.

Finally,
What’s left
My envy
My greed
My anger
My lies
My selfishness
These simply Cremate with me…

– original poem published in Hindi by Basbusha Kohli, a young poet from M.P. appears in Amrita Pritam’s anthology titled ‘Prem Gilahri, Dil Akhrot’

Thank you to those who clarified it’s origins for me.
Image @farrokhchothia

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