A Tribute to Lal Ded of Kashmir on her 705th birth anniversary

 A Tribute to Lal Ded of Kashmir on her 705th birth anniversary

Namaskar to all respected guests, brothers, sisters, and friends assembled anywhere and everywhere.

I am Sham Misri from Seattle, Washington, USA. Here is my respectful poem in praise of Mata Lalleshwari on her 705th birth anniversary. It may be read with devotion:

#LV-S-2019

Ode to Lal's Blooming Lotus

(A Tribute to Lal Ded)

2.1       O Lal, you shed all earthly ties,

Desire, anger, greed, and lies.

Your lotus bloomed, so pure, so bright,

A beacon of wisdom, bathed in light.

Through deep devotion, your soul is refined,

O Lal, you shed the chains of pride,

Kam, Krod, Lob, Moh—left behind.

Your thoughts like lotus, fresh and fair,

Were born of meditations deep and rare.

‘O Lal! With each step you walked, your truth aligned.

The mountain of spirit, you claimed its height,

With Gyan’s nectar, you gained your sight.

Your guru’s blessing, a sacred guide,

Cleared all doubts you held inside.

 

2.2       ‘O Lal,’ your faith was fierce, untamed,

A disciple’s heart, in duty, framed.

Though trials tested your resolve,

Through patience, all doubts dissolved.

Irritated, frustrated, yet you stayed,

Until the lotus of wisdom displayed.

 

‘O Lal, ‘Through steadfast practice, you walked the line,
Each step is a prayer, each breath divine.
In silence, you meditated long,
Your spirit is strong, your will so strong.
When you emerged, the mountain tall,
Of spiritual wealth, you shared with all.
Your knowledge vast, like sacred streams,
An 'Amrit' flowing from your dreams.

‘O Lal,’ Through nights and days, you chased your art,

With meditation’s fire, you lit your heart.

The charms and spells you cast aside,

For truth alone, became your guide.

 

O Lal, your power soared above,
A beacon bright, a flame of love.
Your lotus bloomed, your light did shine,
Through your Tap and meditation, divine.
From Sid, your guru, wisdom flowed,
Abundant knowledge, in you it showed.
A disciple pure, a soul so clear,
You banished doubt, you banished fear.

2.3       O Lal, your journey took great strife,
Through night and day, through struggle’s life.
Frustration sometimes clouded your way,
Yet you persisted, come what may.
Kam, Krod, Lob, Moh, Ahankar, all fell,
In the bloom of your lotus, all was well.

O Lal, your lotus bloomed with grace,
In meditation, you found your place.
Your yoga, your tap, they worked such charms,
Bringing miracles from the stillest arms.

O Lal, your yoga worked divine,

In love for Shiva, your soul aligned.

Your lotus bloomed in celestial grace,

A masterpiece -of time and space.

And now, in love’s ecstatic glow,

With Sham’s rhythm, you flow.

The lotus petals, Shiva’s boon,

Forever blooming, beneath the moon.

2.4       Your Journey’s tale, a timeless song,

Where virtue triumphs over wrong.

O Lal, your lotus blooms so high,

A living beacon that will never die.

‘O Lal,’ your lotus has truly bloomed,
Through Tap's fire, where the light was groomed.
Your yoga’s power worked wonders profound,
In your heart, divine rhythms resound.

The lotus petals, pure and divine,
Adorn Shiv's altar, in sacred design.
But these I gather, not from within,
At market stalls, where trade begins.

When will my lotus bloom?  I humbly implore,
Yearning to join where your blessings pour.

Yet petals of the lotus, Sham seeks with care,
From the market’s stall, Sham buys and share.

Lal Leela: OM

 

#LV-S-2018

Lal’s Life-Biography [Poetic]

Lal Leela: OM

Lal chanted "OM" with each breath she took,

A sacred sound, her soul it shook.

In her heart, its melody grew,

In every pulse, its power flew.[2]

Engraved in her heart, its essence grew,

In its sacred rhythm, her spirit flew.[2]

 

With- devotion, she shaped its tone,
In every struggle, she found it grown.[2]

Focused and true, she embraced its grace,
From ignorance's ashes, she found her place.[2]

 

Your amulets and charms, you sought in quest,
To gain the wisdom, to reach the crest.[2]

 

Days and nights, and months you spent,
In silence deep, your soul's intent.

Through introspection, you found the key,
A world of knowledge, vast and free.

 

In the ecstasy of love, Sham swayed,
Where dance of devotion with the cosmos played.

Lal Ded Feeling Lost

Lal Ded, a saint poetess from Kashmir, Feeling Lost 

I had a wooden bow

And only grass for an arrow.

I wanted to build a grand palace,

But I did not know how.

In a busy market,

I left my little shop open.

I searched outside for holy answers,

But my heart still felt unsure.

Lal Ded says:
“When we feel confused,
we need a wise guide—
and we must also listen
to the good, quiet voice inside us.”

Congratulating PM Modi Ji

 9-17-2026

Birthday satire poem

A Chai Cup, a Pill, and a Puffa

On the 76th birthday of Prime Minister Narendra Modi

With birthday greetings from Sham Misri

Part-I [From Vadnagar]

From Vadnagar’s lanes, where kettles sang
And railway whistles rose and rang,
A young boy served the steaming chai,
Who knew he’d one day make the headlines fly?

No dynasty’s gate, no silver spoon,
No English accent in a drawing room;
Just tea, hard work, a dream held tight,
And a habit of turning talk into light.

He debated boldly, swam with cheer,
Played kings and heroes without fear;
Then toward the Himalayas he went one day,
To ask the silent peaks the way.

From ashram paths to public ground,
He found a louder calling sound;
From Gujarat’s charge to Delhi’s throne,
He made the vastest stage his own.

At seventy-six, the birthday bells
Ring louder than political decibels;
For while some leaders count their years,
He counts new projects, goals, and cheers.

Part-II [Dimagi Naxal]

At Red Fort, where the tricolour flies,
He sent one phrase into the skies;
The nation paused, the anchors yelled,
And every panellist’s heartbeat swelled.

“Dimagi Naxal!”—the words took flight,
And studios booked debates that night;
Some clapped with joy, some frowned with pain,
Some searched the phrase again and again.

“Is it me?” cried one intellectual face,
While scrolling fast in digital space;
“Is it him?” asked another with dread,
As prime-time thunder shook the head.

Part-III [Homoeopathy Pill]

Then at SRCC, with comic skill,
He called that phrase a homoeopathy pill;
A little dose, a gentle bite—
Yet critics coughed the whole long night.

“No substance there!” some loudly said,
“But why has everyone lost sleep instead?”
The pill was small, the reaction grand—
A self-diagnosis across the land!

Part-IV [Naraz Puffa]

Then came the Naraz Puffa, round and sore,
With spectacles, outrage, and much more;
He puffed at breakfast, puffed at tea,
And puffed at every TV screen he’d see.

His WhatsApp group had admins galore—
One thousand twenty-four, perhaps more;
Their daily prayer, both sharp and rough:
“Why is this chai-wallah doing so much stuff?”

One elder Puffa rose to say,
“Our old privilege is slipping away!
Words must come from elite salons—
Not railway stalls or humble lawns.”

A younger Puffa, meek but wise,
Looked through his foggy, worried eyes:
“But sir, he is Prime Minister now.”
The elder puffed: “That is the problem—how?”

Part-V [At BRICS]

Then Bharat Mandapam opened wide,
And world leaders came from every side;
At BRICS, in Delhi, India stood
With handshakes, dialogue, and global good.

Brazil and Russia, China too,
South Africa and partners new;
They came to speak of trade and peace,
Of innovation, growth, and global ease.

The New Delhi Declaration took its place,
With cooperation written face to face;
Resilience, sustainability, innovation’s flame—
And India chaired the global game.

The Naraz Puffas watched in fright:
“Why are global leaders here tonight?
Why is Bharat in the centre seat?
Why does this diplomacy look so neat?”

Xi and Putin, presidents near,
A summit full of global gear;
And there stood Modi, calm and bright,
Turning a meeting into India’s spotlight.

Part-VI [Modi at 76]

At seventy-six, on September’s day,
The greetings came from far away;
For a son of Vadnagar, born in 1950,
Still sets the nation’s clock safely.

Then memory opens February’s door,
When I met Modi ji—not once before;
A warm handshake, steady and bright,
With a calm, smiling face and eyes of light.

No camera crew, no breaking-news cry,
No panel shouting, “Explain this, why?”
Just one firm clasp—yet I must confess,
My hand felt charged with political excess!

His smile was calm—serene and bright,
It made a nervous author feel quite light;
I thought, “This is no ordinary chai—
It is courage and energy passing by!”

Even now that handshake stays in mind,
A memory warm, enduring, and kind;
Its wave still travels through palm and pen—
Perhaps that is why I am writing again.

The Naraz Puffas, on hearing this tale,
Turned pale, then puffed beyond the scale:
“A handshake too? This will not do!
Now Sham Misri will write a poem or two!”

But I replied, with a writer’s grin,
“When warmth and goodwill travel within,
Let Puffas protest, let pundits sigh—
I shall still raise my cup of chai.”

So, raise a cup—not only tea—
For service, strength, and energy;
For phrases that make the pundits cough,
And Naraz Puffas puff and scoff.

May health and purpose light your way,
May Bharat rise in every day;
From Sham Misri comes this birthday cheer:
“Modi ji, may your vision shine year after year!”

Part-VII [Yed Vaer]

And now, before the banquet ends,
Before the Puffas call their friends,
One final Kashmiri cry we hear—
A grievance, comic, loud, and clear:

“Yed vaer!”

“Why was no non-vegetarian dish served here?” [2]

The Puffas sighed, their faces tough—
“Global leadership is fine enough…
But without a proper feast, we say—
What kind of birthday is this, anyway?”

With warmest wishes, Modi ji, may your purpose ever shine,

Sham Misri salutes your journey, strength, and vision divine.

 

**The Merchant and the Silly Thief**

Long ago in India, a merchant—a man who sells things—went far away to work. He worked hard and saved five hundred rupees. “Time to go home!” he said.

A thief saw him. The thief’s eyes went pop! “Five hundred rupees!” he whispered. “I will follow him.”

The thief ran up. “Hello, sir! Where are you going?”

“Home,” said the merchant.

“Wow! Me too!” said the thief. “Can I walk with you?”

“Sure,” said the merchant. “Come along.”

They walked and walked. At a little hotel, the merchant went to eat dinner. The thief searched for the room. Search, search, search! Pockets? No. Bed? No. Pillow? No. Sock? Only toes. Not one penny!

“He is tricking me,” thought the thief. “He has no money at all!”

The next day, the thief asked, “Sir, how many rupeess do you have?”

“Five hundred,” said the merchant.

At the next little hotel, the merchant went to dinner. The thief searched and searched. Under the pillow. Under the sheet. Behind the door. Inside a shoe. Nothing! Not one penny!

“He is tricking me again!” thought the thief.

At last, they came home. The merchant opened his purse and took out five rupees.

“Here,” he said. “These are for you.”

“No, thank you,” said the thief. “I don’t want one rupee. But may I ask one question?”

“Yes,” said the merchant.

“I am a thief,” said the thief. “You are safe at home now. I won’t steal from you. I was after your five hundred rupeess. You showed me you have it. But please tell me: where did you hide it when you went to dinner?”

The merchant smiled. “I put it under your pillow.”

The thief’s mouth felt open. “Under MY pillow?!”

“Yes,” said the merchant. “Every time. Before dinner, I tiptoed over and slipped it under your pillow.”

The thief groaned. “I searched your pillow! I never searched for my own pillow! I am a very silly thief!”

“Very silly,” said the merchant. “But very polite.”

“Thank you,” said the thief. “I will go home and search my own pillow. Goodbye!”

And that is like people looking for God outside. They run here. They run there. They look under every pillow—except the right one. God is not lost far away. God is very close, inside your heart.

The Four Blind People and the Elephant

 The Four Blind People and the Elephant

Once upon a time, four blind people were sitting beside a road. They had heard people talking about a large animal called an elephant, but none of them had ever met one.

“I wonder what an elephant is like,” said the first person.

“I would like to know too,” said the second.

Just then, a kind man came along with his elephant.

“Would you like to touch the elephant?” he asked.

“Yes, please!” said the four friends.

The kind man led them close to the elephant. Each person reached out and touched a different part.

The first person touched the elephant’s leg.

“Ah!” he said. “An elephant is like a big tree trunk.”

The second person touched the elephant’s trunk.

“No,” he said. “An elephant is like a long, thick snake.”

The third person touched the elephant’s tusk.

“You are both wrong,” he said. “An elephant is hard and smooth like a pointed stick.”

The fourth person touched the elephant’s ear.

“No, no!” she said. “An elephant is like a huge leaf.”

Soon, the four friends began to argue.

“An elephant is like a tree trunk!” said the first.

“It is like a snake!” said the second.

“It is like a pointed stick!” said the third.

“It is like a giant leaf!” said the fourth.

The kind man listened for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “You are all partly right. Each of you touched one part of the elephant. But none of you touched the whole elephant.”

The four friends became quiet. They understood that each person had learned a small part of the truth.

Moral

Sometimes people argue because each person sees or knows only one small part of a bigger truth. We should listen to others, learn more, and try to understand the whole picture before saying that we are completely right.

 

The Three Point Puzzle

 

Episode 2: The Three-Point Puzzle

When the initial dust settled—and when journalists realized they couldn't simply ask, "Who exactly are these Dimagi Naxals?" without getting a philosophical thesis in response—the government decided to clarify.

Enter **Union Minister Kiren Rijiju**, armed with a three-point description that he delivered with the confidence of a man who had just solved a particularly difficult crossword puzzle:

Point One:  Those who support Maoists and reject the Indian Constitution.

Point Two: Those who stand with separatists and support Article 370 (the former special status of Jammu & Kashmir).

Point Three: Those who allegedly want to cut the "Chicken's Neck" (the Siliguri Corridor) to separate India's Northeast from the rest of the country.

The nation digested this information.

Some nodded sagely. Some scratched their heads. Some wondered if they had accidentally supported Article 370 at a dinner party once and should now be worried.

The government stressed that the term was *not aimed at ordinary opposition leaders or critics*a clarification that, obviously, made everyone wonder if they were the exception.

To be continued…Posted 13-9-2026