Marathi Love Poems
- Poetry (from the Latin poeta, a poet) is a form of literary art in which language is used for its aesthetic and evocative qualities in addition to, or in lieu of, its apparent meaning.
- The Indic language of the Marathas, spoken by about 60 million people in Maharashtra and elsewhere
- an Indic language; the state language of Maharashtra in west central India; written in the Devanagari script
- Carey, Serampore, 1810, 8vo: Kennedy, Bombay, 1824, fol.: Jugunnauth Shastri Kramavant, Bombay, 1829-1831, 4to, 3 vols.: Molesworth, ib. 1831, 4to; 2nd ed. 1847, 4to; ed. Candy, Bombay, 1857, 4to, 957 pages; abridged by Baba Padmanji, ib. 1863, 8vo; 2nd ed.
- (मराठी) is one of the widely spoken languages of India, and has a long literary history. In Maharashtra state about 70 million people speak Marathi.
marathi love poems – Chicken Soup
So What’s The Deal?
Friends are more than just the people you hang out with. They make you laugh, they keep your secrets, they offer advice (some good, some bad), they give you a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes they move away, or betray your trust, or flake out, but mostly they are the people who are always there for you. And they know you’ll be there when they need you most. Because that’s what it means to be a friend.
Sometimes friendship is overwhelming, sometimes it’s confusing, sometimes you feel like you don’t have a friend in the world, buy don’t worry, it’s like that for everyone. That’s what the stories in this book are all about. They’re from real teens, and they’re about the bizarre, difficult and wonderful things that really happened to them and their friends.
Put that together with weird facts, cool graphics, fun advice and quizzes designed to help you figure what you and your friends are all about, and you’ve got the real deal on friendship
Peace of Shit a Poem / Obituary Mr Marquis Pets /Rains
It has rained cats and dogs , distempered pussys in Mumbai , since last night , the roads are flooded , gutters choked , this is what happened last year, what happened year before last , life goes on.The Mumbaikar braves it all, he walks the on a live wire with Death overshadowing him, this morning news was a guy travelling in a local train on his way to work standing near the entrance of the train got into an argument with two commuters who beat him up badly, the 300 train travellers watching this reality show none coming to his help, a local journalist Sivnath rushed him to the Sion hospital he was proclaimed dead, he leaves behind a young wife and a daughter.
This is the other dark side of the Marathi Manoos ..the two guys were eventually caught by the railway police this is Mumbai life on a slow track.
Mee Mumbaikar , hollow words , when Man destroys another Man not for religion, not in defence but because he believes in Might is Right.
Funny had I not joined Flickrs I would be writing this at Word Press.But I have to reduce the load on my Homesite , so I am bringing my poems here re edited revitalised ..
I walked from home with my F100 shooting Boran Road , I dont have the energy to punish myself or my surviving camera in the heavy waters.I opened shop at 11.45, I packed off the staff gave them an off , they live nearby , one guy stays at Mulund he called up it was bad day of flooding at his end..Mumbai in the rains ,, bhuta , a cup of Irani pani kum chai, Brun Maska ..some Kheema is the right stuff for a restless soul..roads lead to Good Luck Irani joint near Mehboob Studios..
photographerno1: 05/23/2006 5:50 AM
head above shoulders
a heart filled with boulders
missing files and folders
beauty is ugliness
in the eyes of the pissholder.
life peace of shit as
you grow older
find a new
ass licked beholder
my 366th poem titled peace of shit this poem happened as I was commenting on Velvet Paws latest Ratty post.
Rats are very intelligent ..I kept White Rats.
These I would buy from Marquis Pets , I owe my love for animals to Douglas Marquis , there is not a single lad that has never bought a fish, Persian cat, a dog, parrots, love birds guinea pigs , hamsters, squirrels, from Marquis.
Marquis died a few years back, his wife was bedridden but she could do all her work directing the help.
And their bedroom was the hall, Marquis was a chronic asthamatic, always wheezing, never cursing.
Marquis was a Chor Bazar freak, he would leave very early morning, to buy the glass pieces that came from ship breaking yards, out of this he made unusual Aquariums, he bought all kinds of stuff, made cages, custom made, in my alcoholic days when the booze joints were shut for dry days specially at the Yacht restaurant ..they would give me a take away ofa quart gin I would come to Marquis borrow a steel glass mix it with water get tanked.. listen to Marquis’s yarn..
I remember a very big shot Shetty who was on his last legs thrown out of his house a more condemned alcoholic than me .. would come and drink his hooch, country made stuff thar wa 100 proof or somethinng like that.
He was a terrible sight he spoke of good times, his kids, his homlessness, gave me the creeps as I was on the kerbside trying to walk his walk..
Yes I came away I never forgot Mr Shetty.
And I never forgot Mr Marquis.
He was known fondly as Dougie.
Bandra Banstand was Marquis’s Haunt or Adda opposite the Sea Rock Hotel, opposite the mega star Sharukh Khans house would be a horse cart of Marquis kids took rides grew up with their Dreams..
I miss Marquis but do bang into his son Chris who was settled in United States but gave up all that came home to take over his dad business of Pets.. Chris Marquis.
Chauthi Ko Moharam Ki
jab shimr e laeen aaya
hazrat ki shahdat ka
har ek ko yakin aaya
sab khalke khuda royee
khud karbo bala royee
jab katle shahedee ko
woh dushmane din aaya
shahe kehte the
bhai se dariya ke tarai se
khemo ke hatane ko
woh lashkare ki aaya
ek hashr aya hoga
andher jahan hoga
gussa jo tumhe unpar
aye mahe jabi aaya
kehte the shae wala
aye kaume jafa pesha
tumne jo bulaya to
yeh khak nashin aya
kyon mujhko satate ho
kyon mujhko kudhate ho
mein aap se rehne pe
is ban mein nahi aaya
Shaukat he tere nale
kuch aise asar wale
sun sun ke jinhe muhko
har kalbe jigar aya
This is the Matam that my wife and Marziyas mother recite on the eve of 5 th Moharam that was last night..
I copied it here as this was what my late mother Shamim Shakir recited when we were little kids and so the torch has changed hands and keeps burning from one generation to the next..
My maternal grand father Daroga Nabban Saab of Pata Nala Imliwali Galli wrote marsiyas too, and he was a direct descendant of the poet Mir Anis .
At home at Colaba his picture hung on the wall..along with that of my maternal grand mother Nazmi Begum…
My mother though later in life had allowed Mumbai to become her last home always yearned for Lucknow that she kept alive through her choice of Lucknowi cooked food, rituals and rites.
She wrote a lot too, read a lot of Urdu literature in her spare time, but the most important lesson she gave us all 7 kids was to love our neighbors as they were family too..
So religious hate, bigotry, never entered our house at all..
Our servants were Christians and our main maid was a kind old lady of Marathi origin we called Aiee ..means Mother.
Today it is the seed that she planted in our childhood has helped us – we think and feel for our surroundings..surroundings that are not fenced by barbed wires of narrow mindedness .
Yes Mother is a lifetime emotion that remains after ones mother has departed and gone..
Mother baptizes us with the holy waters of our Faith.. as they drop as tears on on our heads..on a stormy night ..of thundering emotion….