Category Archives: વર્ષાગીત

ઘેઘૂર થઇ ગયો છે, વર્ષાનો શામિયાણો – ભગવતી કુમાર શર્મા

કવિશ્રી ભગવતીકુમાર શર્માને એમના જન્મદિને વંદન સહ શ્રધ્ધાંજલી. 🙏🙏

ઘેઘૂર થઇ ગયો છે, વર્ષાનો શામિયાણો
આકાશને ધરા છે, મલ્હારનો ઘરાણો 

ગુજરીમાં જઈને પુસ્તક જૂનું ખરીદ્યુ કિન્તુ
ઉથલાવતા મળ્યો એક કાગળ બહુ પુરાણો

બુદ્ધિ ને લાગણીઓ, જકડાયેલો ઝૂરાપો
માણસ ઉપર પડે છે ચોમેરથી દબાણો

ડૂબી જશે કે તરશે આ કાળના પ્રવાહે
મ્હેં લોહીથી ભર્યા છે મારા બધા લખાણો

– ભગવતીકુમાર શર્મા

સ્વરકાર – આલાપ દેસાઈ (આલ્બમ – સૂર વર્ષા)
સ્વર – હેતલ જાગીરદાર બ્રહ્મભટ્ટ

बिजली चमके बरसे मेहरवा

स्वर : ओमकार नाथ ठाकुर

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बिजली चमके बरसे,
मेहरवा आई बदरिया,
गरज गरज मोहे अतही डरावे ॥

गर गरजे घन बिजली चमके,
पपीहा पिहू पिहू टेर सुनावे,
का करूं कित जाऊं,
मोरा जियरा तरसे ॥

રીમઝીમ રીમઝીમ વર્ષા વરસે -અબ્બાસઅલી તાઈ

સ્વરાંકન – શ્રી જયદેવ ભોજક
સંગીત – ડો.પ્રભાતદેવ ભોજક
સ્વર – પ્રભાતદેવ ભોજક અને નૂપુર મ્યુઝિક ક્લાસ. નડીઆદ

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રીમઝીમ રીમઝીમ વર્ષા વરસે
ગડગડ ગરજે વાદળ
આકાશી દરબારમાં ગુંજે છમ છમ છમ પાયલ પાયલ
રીમઝીમ રીમઝીમ વર્ષા વરસે

ડોલે અવનિ સુગંધ સંગે
લીલી ચાદર ઓઢે
ઝીલમીલ ઝીલમીલ વહેતો વાયુ
સીમાડાને તોડી
ચમકી વીજળી તડાક દઈને
કરતી કોને ઘાયલ
આકાશી દરબારમાં ગુંજે છમ છમ છમ પાયલ પાયલ
રીમઝીમ રીમઝીમ વર્ષા વરસે

ઝરમર બિંદુ વરસે એમાં, સિંધુના ઝબકારા
તરસ્યા મનની ઈચ્છાઓના, એમાં છે અણસારા
ચાલો ઝીલી લઈએ ખોબે આ આકાશી હલચલ
આકાશી દરબારમાં ગુંજે છમ છમ છમ પાયલ પાયલ
રીમઝીમ રીમઝીમ વર્ષા વરસે

-અબ્બાસઅલી તાઈ

ઘરમાં રહું ને તોયે ભીંજાઉ સોંસરવી – ભગવતીકુમાર શર્મા

સ્વરઃ વિભા દેસાઈ
સ્વરાંકન : રાસબિહારી દેસાઈ
ઓડીઓ માટે સૌજન્યઃ mavjibhai.com

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સ્વરાંકન – શ્રી જયદેવ ભોજક
સ્વર – નૂપુર મોદી
સંગીત – ડો. પ્રભાતદેવ ભોજક

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ઘરમાં રહું ને તોયે ભીંજાઉં સોંસરવી
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?

કાજળ કાઢીને મારી ભૂરીછમ આંખનું
મેઘને તે કેમ કરી આંજવો?
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?

હીંચકાની સાંકળમાં નેવાં છલે ને
મોર તોરણ આ ટહુકે આકાશને
ઝાંઝરની ઘુંઘરીમાં લાવી મઢાવું કેમ
કોરા આ સોનલ બોલાશને?
સૂનાં તે ઓરડામાં કેમ કરી
મેઘધનુ કેરાં ગુલમહોર ને તે વાવવો?

ઘરમાં રહું ને તોયે ભીંજાઉં સોંસરવી
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?

ખેતર જવાને પંથ અધવચ્ચે આવીને
છોગાળો એવો મુને આંતરે
કાંડું વછોડી કહું ઊભે મારગ ને
ઘરમાં આવીને ગીત છેડજે!

કેટલું તો મ્હેકે મારી કાયા અબોટી
એમાં માટીનો તોર ક્યાંથી લાવવો?

ઝુમ્મર જડેલી મારી છતમાં ઘેરાય
આવી વાદળ શ્રાવણને અષાઢના
ઓકળીયે ટપ ટપ હું પગલાં મુકુને,
વન ઉભરાયે ભીની લીલાશનાં
વાડામાં વહેતી હો નાનકડી નીક,
એમાં દરિયો તે ક્યાંથી છલકાવવો ?

ઘરમાં રહું ને તોયે ભીંજાઉં સોંસરવી
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?
એવો રે વરસાદ ક્યાંથી લાવવો?
-ભગવતીકુમાર શર્મા

એમ સ્પર્શે પવન તારી યાદનો – મેઘબિંદુ

raining.jpg

સ્વર – સ્વરાંકન ઃ વિજલ પટેલ

પહેલો વરસાદ જેમ માટીને સ્પર્શે
એમ સ્પર્શે પવન તારી યાદનો

રોમરોમ આજ મારા પુલકિત થઇ રાચતા
આંખોથી છલકાતા ગીતે
હૈયાનાં ધબકારા થનગનતા નાચતા
તારી સોહામણી પ્રીતે

બાગમાં ઘૂમ્યા ને ખેતરમાં ઘૂમ્યા
ને પોંકની મીઠાશને મેં પીધી
વહેલી સવારની ગુલાબી ઠંડીમાં
હૂંફાળી ઓથ તારી લીધી

ઝરમર વરસાદમાં પલળ્યાની વેળ
હજુ મહેક્યા કરે છે આજ એવી
તેં દીધેલી વાત મેં સાચવી રાખી
નથી મારે એ કોઇને રે દેવી

સાથે મળીને જે બાંધ્યો છે પુલ
એ છે તારા ને મારા વિશ્વાસનો
જન્મોજનમનો આ ઋણાનુબંધ
નથી કેવળ સંબંધ અહીં શ્વાસનો

પહેલો વરસાદ જેમ માટીને સ્પર્શે
એમ સ્પર્શે પવન તારી યાદનો

ક્યાંક ચોમાસું ગાજે છે રાનમાં – ધ્રુવ ભટ્ટ

ધ્રુવ ભટ્ટની આ વાંચતા વેંત પલળી જવાય એવી મઝ્ઝાની કવિતા! અને એને સ્વર-સ્વરાંકન મળ્યા વિજલબેન પાસેથી. આશા છે, આપને પણ પલળવાની મઝા આવશે!

સ્વર અને સ્વરાંકન – વિજલ પટેલ

ક્યાંક ચોમાસું ગાજે છે રાનમાં
વાડ પરે સૂતેલી સઘળી લીલાશ હવે નીતરતી થાશે મેદાનમાં
ક્યાંક ચોમાસું ગાજે છે રાનમાં…

ઊંચેથી આરપાર સરતું આકાશ હવે ઉતરશે ધોધમાર હેઠું
ભીંજાતા વાયરાઓ વહેશે સંદેશા કે ચોમાસું ધારધાર બેઠું
કાલ સુધી રહેતા’તા આપણે ને કાલથી તો વાંછટો રહેશે મકાનમાં
ક્યાંક ચોમાસું ગાજે છે રાનમાં…

આપણને થાય એવું વાદળને થાય એવું ઝરણાને થાય એવું ઘાસને
આવી ઘટનામાં જે ડુંગરને થાય, થાય નેવેથી દડદડતા ગામને
તમને યે થાય ચાલ ટહુકો થઇ જાઉં અને ઝાડ તળે ગહેકું રે પાનમાં
ક્યાંક ચોમાસું ગાજે છે રાનમાં…

– ધ્રુવ ભટ્ટ

કૃષ્ણલાલ શ્રીધરાણી પર્વ ૫ : ગહન ઘનશ્યામ

સ્વર – સ્વરાંકન ઃ શ્રધ્ધા શ્રીધરાણી

ગહન ઘનશ્યામની મધુરરવ મોરલી
ગગનપટ ઊભરતી પ્રણયનાદે
ઉભય અશ્વિન કરે તાલ મરદંગના
ગગન-ગોરંભ ભરી મેઘનાદે

દિવ્ય સૂર-તાલ સૂણી ગગન્ની ગોપિકા,
મૂર્છના વાદળી-વૃંદ જાગે;
તાલ કરતાલ ધરી, પ્રણય નયને ભરી,
મલપતી સરકતે નૃત્ય-પાદે..

સહુ દિશા આવરી રાસકુંડળ રચ્યું
ઝડપ પદતાલથી રાસ જામે;
અંગ કટિભંગ કરી, નયન નર્તન કરી,
કાન ગોપી હ્રદય ઐકત્ર પામે..

નયન નયને ઢળ્યાં, વીજ ચમકા થયા,
મદનમદ નૈન મરજાદ મેલેઃ
હાસ્ય-મોજાં ચડ્યાં, ગાલ ગોળા થયા
હર્ષ-અશ્રુ ખરી પ્રુથ્વી રેલે..

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more about Dr.Krishnalal Shridharani

Tushar Bhatt
sketch:Nirmish Thakar

BHAVNAGAR:
Some people are like an iceberg; only one-tenth of their personality would be visible. Krishnalal Shridharani, who would have been only two years short now of centenary, had he been alive, is a prime example.

Known to Gujarat mostly as a very sensitive poet of the freedom struggle vintage, he is also vaguely recalled as having been a journalist. Even in the city of Bhavnagar that boasts of him as one of its own, most think of him as Kavi Shridharani, a poet in Gujarati. Yet, this was only one part of his warm, vibrant, radiant and multifaceted totality.

Though little remembered today, Krishnalal’s lasting contribution in the world beyond the boundaries of Gujarat, was in his pioneering efforts at explaining Gandhi and his tactics of fighting the British Empire, to the world at large in English, through writing and books. He was a follower of the Mahatma in strangely contrary ways. He did not believe in aping the Mahatma in his outward appearance and style; he loved pipe-smoking, was always nattily dressed and could easily pass off as a pucca Brown Sahib. But he was not. At heart, he was an Indian, who understood Gandhi and opted to tell the world about the Mahatma through words, rather than through clothes. In the process, he acquired the Western idiom, but remained a staunch Indian in values.

It is perhaps ironical, as also symbolic of his home state, Gujarat, hardly anyone seemed to think of Shridharani, the youngest participant in the epoch-making Dandi March in 1930, save in Bhavnagar.
The city Bhavnagar appears to particularly revel in nostalgia in a general way, and in remembering those who made a name for themselves in arts, literature and culture. It boldly takes pride, pleasure and initiative in reminding itself and others of the greats it had produced.Shridharani’s alma mater, Dakshinamurti, the Bhavnagar Sahitya Sabha, his friends and admirers unfailingly think of the man, with gratitude and affection, on his birthday in September, something the rest of the State too ought to do, at least to erase the stigma that it is a land of the forgetful and the ungrateful.
Although he studied at Dakshinamurti and Gujarat Vidyapeeth,Shridharani was apparently not cut out to be a conventional khadi-clad.He struck his own path and went to Shantiniketan.Rabindranath Tagore was highly impressed by the sensitive Gujarati and urged him to travel to the West. It was to be a momentous journey; it changed the course of his life.Gujarati literature was perhaps the only loser.
Late Harindra Dave, another sensitive soul, poet and journalist, once introduced Shridharani as a man who would swim against not just the current but also the flood. Anybody can make speed with the current, but only those with a rare force of soul could do so against the flow. At Karadi, just before reaching Dandi for the salt satyagrah, Krishnalal wrote a piece, Saput, and earned Gandhiji’s affectionate rebuke for spinning yarn instead of the wheel.
His lifelong passion was writing. He was a journalist par excellence and an equally perceptive radio commentator, and in those days one of the rare breed of those who would wield their pens with facility both in Gujarati and English.
His books in English, including his auto-biography, My India My America, became best-sellers in the early 1940s.Long before he went abroad and began writing in English; Shridharani had won recognition as a poet and dramatist in Gujarati.
Born on September 16, 1911, at Umrala, Krishnalal’s childhood passed mostly in Umrala, Bhavnagar and Junagadh. He lost his father, Jethalal, a lawyer with a roaring practice, when Shridharani was barely eight. The man that grew up did not remember much about his father, but a lot about his mother, Laheriben.
Krishnalal wrote about his mother in a poem, Maari Baa

Aradhanaman smarun roop Baanu,
Ne Baane smarine Prabhuroop pamun.

In 1957,in the revised edition of Kodiyan, Krishnalal noted that the first thing he would see while doing dhyan, just before getting up and when retiring for the day, was that instead of Om,his mind will show him the image of his mother.
His early days carried vivid memories of Girnar, the Gir, its flora and fauna. He joined an innovative educational institution, Dakshinamurti in Bhavnagar. The schooling, full of experiments, proved beneficial for Krishnalal. He would not only take interest in poetry, but also took a hand at painting. When he was hardly 12,he wrote a raasdo, a folk song ,Halya Talakchand Sasare Lo.He penned innumerable such things while in school, but his critical faculty was so sharp that he never included many of these in his collections published later, rejecting them as containing little of poetic elements. But some were really brilliant, such as when he wrote about Gandhi, Daahbhari aankhon Matani,tenu tun aansu tapakyun. His love for painting reflected in his poems too.

Way back in 1941, Balwantray Thakore thought that Krishnalal’s poetry was markedly different from that of either Umashankar Joshi or Sundaram, both tall poets. How and in what specific way,Thakore could not pinpoint but he underlined the language and art as having achieved a fusion in Krishnalal’s poems.His diction, other critics judged , was superb and the sensuousness of his poetry reminded a reader of Keats.
Poetry was not all. Shridharani also did considerable work in drama.

He joined Gujarat Vidyapeeth and was with Mahatma Gandhi during the Dandi March. For his part in the freedom struggle, Krishnalal served a term in jail. He also spent a couple of years at Shantiniketan and was one of the Gurudev’s favourite pupils. He then went to the U.S. for studies ,and during his 12 years there took PhD in Sociology and Political Theory at Columbia University.
He continued writing at a breakneck speed in America, and the outcome was spectacular. In 1939, he gave a book in English, War Without Violence, explaining to the materialist West,the spiritual onslaught of the satyagrah, a non-violent and yet deadly weapon against repression and injustice. In 1946, he returned to India and made Delhi his home, joined the External Affairs Ministry, then under Jawahar Lal Nehru as an officer on special duty. But the poet did not fit in with the Babu culture of government and left the job to become a journalist, writing for the Amrita Bazar Patrika, travelling all over the country and world. In those days Delhi was not as crowded as it is today, and certainly not the madhouse of busybodies that it has become in the past three decades. He used to pen a column for the Gujarati daily, Sandesh too.

He married Sundari, artist daughter of noted Sindhi writer,philosopher and nationalist,Dayaram Didumal,in March,1950.He had wide ranging contacts and was very friendly with a lot of leaders including Nehru, Mrs Indira Gandhi, her husband, Phiroze Gandhi,and Dr S.Radhakrishnan,as also a host of foreign dignitaries.

When in Delhi and not doing anything else, he would potter around his flower-beds and lilly-ponds and read stories to children.

His contribution to the Gujarati literature was immense, mainly as a poet and dramatist. Yet, he was recognised rather belatedly only. Even Gujarat did nothing. It was only in 1958, Krishnalal was suddenly discovered by the literary establishment. He was named for the Ranjitram gold medal for services to literature.

Krihsnalal died unexpectedly on July 23,1960,when he was hardly 49. It was not an age to go and considering what he had already written, much more was yet to come. That was not to be.
Among the noteworthy literary creations of Krishnalal, besides Kodiyan, are Punarpi, Vadlo, Sonapari and three plays, Piyo Gori, Morna Inda and Padmini. His English books include My India,My America, War Without Violence, Warning to the West, The Big Four of India, The Adventures of the Upside-Down, The Journalist in India, Smiles From Kashmir and the Mahatma and the World.
All his works in both languages have a common thread; all reveal him to be a highly sensitive and equally perceptive person. My India,My America won Shridharani ecstatic reviews in the American Press. Thomas Sigrue writing in the New York Herald Tribune hailed it as a “fascinating mixture of autobiography, biography, political analysis,philosophical exposition and fine writing.” The 646-page book’s writer was described by others as a young man who has the wisdom of the ages of his people.

On his return to India, he kept on writing. His four portraits in words of Nehru,Rajendra Prasad,Rajaji and Sardar Patel,as also his monograph on journalism show him as a journalist far ahead of his time,in his style of wrting, his assessment of people and events and his perception of the future.He wrote of India’s first prime minister,Nehru , as a man who seldom had intimate friends who was most of the time,”mangificently and dangerously aloof.The passing away of the Mahatma and Patel had removed from the Indian scene the last men who could admonish Nehu.”Every individual,in order to keep his sanity, must have some people who can tell him when the occasion arises that ‘ you are making a fool of yourself’. The man who occupies too high a pedestal for anybody to stand on equal level with him,runs the risk of losing his sense of proportion”, Krishnalal observed.Of Sardar Patel whom he called a practical man,Krishnalal said: “The death of Patel marked a sharper turning point in the infant career of independent India than did the martyrdom of Mahatma Gandhi….Gandhi left a universal void; the void created by Patel’s passing away is purely national, and so it is felt more intensely…Patel was a strong man, and now India is without a strong man.The passing away of a strong man always creates a serious situation.For,when a strong man dies, he not only creates a void,but he also removes the lid. Pent-up, seething forces begin to find expression.” These portraits were illustrated by caricatures drawn by late cartoonist, Shankar, who later started the celebrated, and now defunct Shankar’s Weekly, a world class cartoon journal.
Most of Shridharani’s English books are not available now. Those few copies that are there are the possessions of pride for their owners.That Krishnalal Shridharani should have passed away so early in his life was a tragic loss not only to literature but also to journalism.The best way to commemorate his memory would be to republish some of his unavailable literature and scan the family archives to see if there was anything unpublished left behind.

And Wikipedia Biography:

About
Dr.Krishnalal Shridharani
(16 September 1911 – 23 July 1960)
Was the world famous Indian poet,Author,playwright,and journalist from India and USA.
Biography
Dr.Krishnalal Shridharani (16 September 1911 – 23 July 1960) was an Indian poet, playwright and journalist. He studied sociology, economics and journalism at various institutions in India and the US. He participated in the Indian independence movement and was imprisoned, during which time he started writing plays and poetry. He also wrote many non-fiction books in English.
Shridharani was born in Umrala near Bhavnagar on 16 September 1911. He spent his childhood in Junagadh. He completed his primary education in Umrala and secondary education from Dakshinamurti Vinay Mandir, Bhavnagar. He joined Gujarat Vidyapith in 1929 and participated as a young man in the Dandi March of 1930. He was arrested near Karadi when he was going for Dharasana Satyagraha. He spent some time in Sabarmati and Nasik jails. He joined Shantiniketan in 1931 and completed his graduation in 1933. In 1934, he went to US for further studies on the advice of James Pratt and Rabindranath Tagore,[1] which made a lasting impression on his attitude.[2] He completed Masters in Sociology and Economics from New York University in 1935. He completed MS in 1936 and PhD in 1940 from Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism.

He started writing for Amrita Bazar Patrika in 1945 and returned to India in 1946. He worked with the Ministry of External Affairs for some time. He married Sundari, a dancer and performing artist. He presided over the history and economics department of Gujarati Sahitya Parishad in 1946. He died following heart attack in Delhi on 23 July 1960.[3][4]

His book which analyses Gandhian philosophy and tactics of nonviolence, War Without Violence (1939) influenced the members and strategies of Congress of Racial Equality, and was widely circulated by African-American leaders during the Civil Rights Movement in the US.[5][6][7] It was studied by Martin Luther King, Jr. during the Montgomery bus boycott.

He wrote total sixteen plays. He wrote Vadlo (1931), a children’s play, during his imprisonment during Dandi March. Peela Palash (1934), Piya Gori, Dusku, Dungali no Dado, Sonpari, Vijali, Vrushal, Mor na Inda are his other plays. Padmini is a historical play.[3][4]

In 1934, his first poetry collection Kodiya was published, followed by Punarapi in 1961. Insan Mita Doonga is a short story based on his experiences with inmates during imprisonment.[3][4]

His original works in English include My India, My America (1941) which is about his experiences during his life in the US.[2] His book War without Violence had a great impact on the American civil rights movement.[6] Others are Warning to the West (1943), The Big Four of India (1941), The Adventures of the Upside-Down Tree (1959), Story of The Indian Telegraph (1953), The Journalist in India (1956), Smiles From Kashmir (1959) and The Mahatma and the World ( 1946). He contributed in several journals and newspapers including The New York Times and Vogue.

વરસાદમાં – ઉર્વીશ વસાવડા

એ રીતે આવીને મળ વરસાદમાં
છોડ છત્રી, ને પલળ વરસાદમાં

આપણું શૈશવ મળે પાછું ફરી
હોય એવી બે’ક પળ વરસાદમાં

તાપથી તપતી ધરાના દેહ પર
લેપ લપાતો શીતળ વરસાદમાં

મોર, ચાતક, વૃક્ષની સંગાથમાં
નાચતી સૃષ્ટિ સકળ વરસાદમાં

વ્હાલ ઈશ્વરનું વરસતું આભથી
તું કહે વરસે છે જળ વરસાદમાં

– ઉર્વીશ વસાવડા

વરસાદી સાંજ – ભગવતીકુમાર શર્મા

આવી શકે તો આવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે;
છત્રી વગર ઝુકાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

કાગળ ઘણા લખ્યા છે પરસ્પરને આપણે;
એની બનાવ નાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

માટીની મ્હેક તારી તરફ તો ઘણી હશે;
સાથે તું લેતી આવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

થોડી જ વારે મેઘધનુ ખીલી ઊઠશે;
ગજરે તું એ ગૂંથાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

નેવાં છલી ઊઠ્યાં છે ને વૃક્ષો ટપક-ટપક;
સંતૂર તું બજાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

કેવળ ગહેકે મોર તો જલસો નથી થતો;
મલ્હાર તું સુણાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

છે કલ્પનાની વાત કે વરસાદ ભીંજવે;
તું આવ ને ભીંજાવ, આ વરસાદી સાંજ છે.

– ભગવતીકુમાર શર્મા

કોઈ ન જાણે! – રમેશ પારેખ

નવેમ્બરની ૩૦ તારીખે ભવન્સમાં ‘સ્વરકાર શ્રી દક્ષેશ ધ્રુવના ગીતો’ નો કાર્યક્રમ થયો – એનું ઇન્ટરનેટ પર ‘live streaming’ – એટલે કે ‘સીધું પ્રસારણ’ થયું હતું .
અને એ જ કાર્યક્રમમાં પ્રસ્તુત થયેલ એક આજે તમારા માટે અહિં… શબ્દો અને સ્વરાંકન સાથે…!! ૨૬મી નવેમ્બર સ્વરકાર શ્રી દક્ષેશભાઇનો જન્મદિવસ – અને ૨૭મી નવેમ્બર કવિ શ્રી રમેશ પારેખનો..!! એટલે એ બહાને પણ ટહુકો પર એમને યાદ કરી એમને શ્રધ્ધાંજલી આપીએ..!!

*****

સ્વર – સમૂહગાન
સ્વરાંકન – દક્ષેશ ધ્રુવ

(Picture from : http://theholidayindia.blogspot.com)

ગામ ચોમાસા હેઠ ભીંજાતું હોય એવા વરસાદના ટાણે
તમને તમે ગમવા માંડ્યા હો તે બીજું કોઈ ન જાણે!

ફૂગ્ગો ફૂલે એમ ઝીણું ખાબોચિયું ફૂલે જોતજોતામાં, જોતજોતામાં ફૂટે.
શેરીએ બૂમો પાડતા રેલા નીસરે એને આંબવા નદી છબિયુંમાંથી છૂટે;
ટીપાં, છાંટા, ચૂવા, વાંછટ, ધાર, ધધૂડા, ધોરિયા, ધોધંધોધા આખા ગામનું ગજું નાણે!

જળની હેબત વાધરી જેવા મનને થાપો મારતી કેવી ગારમાટીના કૂબે,
તમને તમે કેટલું ગમ્યા, કેમ ગમ્યા-એ કોયડાસોતું છિછરું માથું ડૂબે;
જળના આવા ઘોંચપરોણા સાંભળે, જુએ, સમજે, સહે જીવ એે પ્હેલાં દરિયો તેગું તાણે!

– રમેશ પારેખ