Lenin could not live any other way..

 Ilyich told the young people that it was necessary for them to devote all their work, all their efforts to the common cause.

And Lenin's own life was a model of how this should be done. Ilyich could not live any other way, he did not know how to. But he was not an ascetic; he loved skating and fast cycling, mountain-climbing and hunting; he loved music and life in all its many-sided beauty; he loved his comrades, loved people in general. Everyone knows of his simplicity, his merry, infectious laughter. But everything about him was subordinated to the one thing--the struggle for a bright, enlightened, prosperous life of meaning and happiness for all. And nothing gladdened him so much as the successes achieved in this struggle. The personal side of him merged naturally with his social activity....

-Krupskaya

The beggars

I am skirting a high, mouldering wall, trudging through the fine dust. 
Several other people are walking alone. A breeze springs up and above the wall the branches of tall trees, their leaves still unwithered, are stirring over my head.
A breeze springs up, and dust is everywhere.
A child begs from me. He is wearing lined clothes like others and does not look unhappy, yet he blocks my way to kowtow and whines as he follows me.
I dislike his voice, his manner. I detest his lack of sadness, as if his were some game. I am disgusted by the way he follows me, whining.
I walk on. Several other people are walking alone. A breeze springs up, and dust is everywhere.
A child begs from me. He is wearing lined clothes like others and does not look unhappy, but he is dumb. HE stretches out his hand to me in dumb show.
I detest this dumb show of his. Besides, he may not be dumb; this may just be his way of begging
I do not give him alms. I have no wish to give alms. I stand above those alms-givers. For him I have only disgust, suspicion and hate.
I am skirting a tumble-down, mud wall. Broken bricks have been piled in the gap, and beyond the wall is nothing. A breeze springs up, sending the autumn chill through my lined gown, and dust is everywhere.
I wonder what method I should use in begging. In what voice should I speak? What dumb show should I use if pretending to be dumb? . . .
Several other people are walking alone.
I shall receive no alms, not even the wish to give alms.
I shall receive the disgust, suspicion and hate of those who consider themselves above the alms-givers.
I shall beg with inactivity and silence.  . . .
I shall at last receive nothingness.
A breeze springs up, dust is everywhere. Several other people are walking alone.
Dust, dust. . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Dust. . . .

September 24, 1924
Lu Shun

दिशा है सामने एक धुंधली पथरेखा की तरह

 दिशा है सामने एक धुँधली पथरेखा की तरह
और लगातार स्‍पष्‍ट होती दृष्टि भी ।
चीज़ों को इस हद तक पहचाना जा सकता है
कि आशाओं का स्रोत अक्षय रहे
लेकिन फिर भी बहुतेरी समस्‍याएँ हैं
नित नई आती हुई और कुछ अतीत की विरासत भी,
कि नया अभियान नहीं बन पा रहा है ऊर्जस्‍वी, गतिमान ।

अभी भी आस-पास हैं झूठे कमज़ोर संकल्‍प
और खोखले वायदे,
और अविश्‍वास,
और पुराने मताग्रह और पुरानी आदतें,
और भ्रमित करने वाले अप्रत्‍याशित बदलाव भी,
जो तुम्‍हें लगभग अकेला कर देती हैं
और भीषण तनाव पैदा करती हैं तुम्‍हारे भीतर,
ज्‍यों धनुष की प्रत्‍यंचा की तरह
खिंच गई हो मस्तिष्‍क की एक-एक शिरा ।
तुम लौटते हो फिर-फिर
अपने एकान्‍त, उदासियों, अनिद्रा भरी रातों
और घुटन भरे अमूर्तनों के पास,
लेकिन गुफा में घुसते एकाकी योगी की तरह नहीं
बल्कि अपने खाली डोलों को लेकर
कुएँ में उतरती उस रहट की तरह
जो पानी लेकर ऊपर आती है
और डोलों को चुण्‍डे में उलट देती है ।

मानचित्र तैयार है लगभग यात्रा-पथ का,
लेकिन कड़वी पराजयों से उपजी दार्शनिकताओं,
अतृप्तियों-अधूरेपन से जन्‍मी विकृतियों,
पुरातन और नूतन कूपमण्‍डूकताओं,
आसमानी आभा वाली आध्‍यात्मिक वंचनाओं,
शयनकक्षों में रखी गई
पिस्‍तौलों और विष के प्‍यालों से भरे
हमारे इस विचित्र विकट समय में
चीज़ें फिर भी काफ़ी कठिन हैं।
चन्‍द राहत या सुकून के दिन आते भी हैं
तो देखते-देखते यूँ बीत जाते हैं
जैसे वीरान खेतों के बीच से
भागती नीलगायों का एक झुण्‍ड गुज़र जाए ।
-शशिप्रकाश 
(स्वगत कविता का अंश)