NO MORE

 


Vijay Malla, well known for his charismatic personality, personal strengths and wondrous singing, as for human fallibility is no more with us. So much did many who had only heard him or heard of him, want to see him live in concert and meet him in person. Oh dear passing day! What else is going to fall from the Kashmiri’s bucket list?

No more, I sing for you
Of love and devotion, people, times
No more, I wear down
An artist and singer, creative, mercurial

Trials came, with my calling
Its wages, my ashes gathering dust
Valley Soul, how you will change!
And be unrecognizable ever more

There are other singers and many of them really good but there cannot be another Vijay Malla, ever. He was the product of our times and culture in the valley. Those times and his mellifluous voice can never be recreated. Vijay Malla was a true artist, of such a stature that his image and voice will remain integral to our mental sketch of the valley. Renowned will be your grave Vijay Malla, even Shakespeare would edict that.

"And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation." (Kalil Gibran)

We never adequately compensated him for what he gave to us and Kashmir. Even the Government, the great patron of arts was found missing in fulfilling its duties towards its talented child. Vijay Malla is survived by his wife Renu Malla and two young kids. 

Listen to his popular audio songs at: http://www.shehjar.com/list/171/2082/1.html

Listen to his video songs at: http://www.shehjar.com/list/171/2080/1.html


 
Tears – Idle Tears (By Lord Alfred Tennyson)

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather in the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
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